The Double Wager

"A letter for you, your Grace," that individual said, handing him the folded sheet that Henry had given to Betty's care the night before, "to be delivered to you as soon as you returned home this afternoon."

"Ah!" said Eversleigh. "Why was it not dealt with by Ridley?"

"It is personal, I understand, your Grace," his valet replied. "Her Grace entrusted it to her maid's care."

Eversleigh gave his servant a swift glance and took the letter. When he had finished reading it, he threw it down onto a dressing table and shocked his man by swearing aloud.

"When was this given to you,, John?" he asked.

"At noon, your Grace."

"And how long had the maid had it?"

"I did not ask, sir."

"Summon her," Eversleigh ordered, picking up the letter again and pacing the floor as he reread it.

A frightened-looking Betty knocked timidly at the door a couple of minutes later and bobbed a curtsy when she was let inside.

"This letter," Eversleigh said, "when did my wife give it to you?"

"Last night, your Grace."

"And why was it not given to me this morning?"

Betty was twisting her apron around and around one finger. "Her Grace told me I must not give it to John until noon today, your Grace," she explained, "and I was to tell him to hand it to you when you came in."

"I see," he said, terrifying the poor girl further by fixing her with a stare from beneath his heavy lids. "Have you seen my wife today?"

"No, your Grace."

"No?" His eyebrows rose disdainfully. "Is it -not part of your normal duties to help her rise in the mornings?"

"Yes, your Grace, but she was gone when I took her chocolate upstairs this morning."

"Indeed?" he said. "And what time was that?"

"Nine o'clock, as usual, your Grace."

"Did it not strike you as strange that she was not there?" he asked.

"Her Grace sometimes rides early, sir," she replied.

"I see. But did it not alarm you when she did not come home, even at luncheon time?"

"Yes, your Grace," she whispered.

"Speak up, girl," he barked. "Did you tell anyone of your fears?"

"I spoke to Miss Manford and the young lady and gentleman," Betty said.

"Ah, the Bow Street ru

"They helped me search the room, your Grace."

"Indeed? And by what right, may I ask, did you do such a thing?" Eversleigh asked.

"Mr. Ridley suggested that we see if the duchess had taken anything with her, your Grace."

"Ah, the plot thickens,", he commented with irony. "And what did you find, Betty?"

"Some clothes and a valise have been taken, your Grace, she replied.

"And anything else? Any jewelry or other valuables?"

"No, nothing, your Grace."

"Little fool!" he exclaimed savagely. "No, not you, girl," he added when an already overwrought Betty burst into tears. "John, send Mr. Ridley to me."

John ushered Betty out of the room ahead of him. Ridley arrived a few minutes later.

"Well, James," Eversleigh said, "what do you know of my wife's disappearance?"

"Nothing, your Grace, except that she has gone," said Ridley, "and has taken a small amount of hand luggage with her. I have checked at the stables. She has taken no horse or carriage."

"So she is still here in London," Eversleigh mused, "or has taken the stage somewhere."

Ridley did not reply.

"How much money had she, James, do you have any idea?" the duke asked.

"She received her allowance three weeks ago, your Grace. The next one is due next week."

Eversleigh slammed the letter down on the dressing table and swore again. I am a prize fool, do you know that, James?" he asked.

Ridley was wise enough not to offer an opinion.

"I would return that ring and that signed document anonymously," Eversleigh continued. "I did not wish to give her the humiliation of knowing that I had discovered her secret and paid her debt. And it never for a moment crossed my mind that she would think that rogue cousin of mine was responsible."

"Did she think that, your Grace?"

"Yes, and has confessed all in a farewell letter to me, Eversleigh answered with vicious self-reproach in his voice. "Where would she have gone, James?"

"I have spent all afternoon searching my mind for an answer, your Grace," Ridley said.

"To her brother, do you think?"

"We have checked there, sir."

"Ah. 'We' being you and the Bow Street ru

"The Bow-? Yes, your Grace. Sir Peter and his wife know nothing of her whereabouts. We did not hint that the duchess had disappeared."

"Thank you, James," Eversleigh replied dryly. "I suppose all of London will know of it before the world is much older."

"Not from me, your Grace."

"Hmm. I believe I shall pay a call on my illustrious heir, James."

Ridley coughed. "He is in London, sir, and has not had contact with her Grace today. He lunched at Watier's and visited Tattersall's this afternoon. He is currently at White's, I believe, sir."

Eversleigh gave him an interrogative glance, eyebrows raised.

Ridley coughed again. "I promised Miss Manford a few days ago that I would have him watched, your Grace. I have taken the liberty of engaging the services of one of the younger footmen."

Eversleigh regarded his secretary through his quizzing glass. "I seem to have a houseful of spies," he commented. "We should perhaps hire ourselves out to the government for use against the French. That will be all, James. And, ah," be added as Ridley turned away, "if my household has not collapsed without the services of that footman for a few days, I could probably do without him for a while longer."

Ridley bowed his head. "He shall receive your instructions," he said curtly, and left the room.

Eversleigh rang for his valet again.

"A clean neckcloth, John," he ordered, "and my cane, please. Instruct the cook that I shall not be home for di

Five minutes later, Eversleigh was again leaving the house to begin the tedious task of visiting every stagecoach stop in London in the hope of discovering some clue as to Henry's whereabouts. He tried not to think about where he would begin looking for her in the city itself if he could find no evidence of her having left it.

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Henry sat on the stagecoach for much of the day, although she had had a long wait after her dawn departure from home. She had an inside seat, which would have been a blessing on most occasions. But inside a stage, sandwiched between an amply endowed matron and a thin man in dark city clothes, was not the place to be on a sweltering hot day in July, especially when one was wrapped in a heavy gray cloak to camouflage the fine appearance of a peach-colored muslin day dress. Henry was conscious of leaning into the fat lady to her right, while the city man, gazing through the window to his left and apparently lost in thought, leaned into her left side, his thigh pressed knowingly against hers, his upper arm brushing her breast whenever a jolt in the road gave him the excuse to move. And it was a very bumpy ride.

Henry was thankful when they stopped longer than usual at two i

The only thing that gave her any comfort at all on the interminably slow journey was the plan that gradually took shape in her mind. She would see Oliver Cranshawe plead and beg and squirm within the next few days. Revenge on him would never begin to make up for the ruin of her marriage and the loss of Marius, but at least it would give her great satisfaction and occupy her thoughts for a few days. She composed in her mind the words she would write to him.