Chapter Twelve #2
Philip raised his brows at Beeson. “You’ve met her.” He waited for the old gardener to comprehend what he meant.
Beeson’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes, I see. We will be sure to take care of everything, so there will be no need for her to worry, or think we are too slow.”
Satisfied, Philip gave the man a smile. “I appreciate that. Now, I’m off to break my fast.” Turning on his heel, he left the building and headed directly for the terrace before the ballroom. Once there, he’d simply walk over to where he was sure she’d have the footmen serving the meal.
When he reached the terrace, he walked toward the table and two chairs set up just outside the dining room. A footman stood awaiting his request, but there was no sign of his wife. Where could she have gotten to now?
“My lord.” Mrs. Newman walked out onto the terrace. “I received your message, but Lady Durham requested to break her fast out here with you. I hope that is acceptable.” The woman set a vase of pansies on the round table that sat ten easily.
“It’s fine. Where is Lady—my wife?”
“She went to her dressing room to change.” Mrs. Newman lowered her voice. “She said she wished to look her best of her first full day as your wife. I do believe she is quite taken with you.”
He stared after his housekeeper as she scurried back inside.
His wife was taken with him? He’d hoped that she might develop feelings for him, and that eventually he might feel something for her.
But so soon? Until now, every thought had been focused on navigating the time until they married.
It appeared he had other thoughts he’d need to attend to now.
One of which was whether he should go to her dressing room, as he’d originally intended, or stay put.
With the speed at which his wife moved about the house, he determined the best chance of seeing her was to remain where he was.
The footman pulled out his chair, and he sat a moment before his usual coffee was set down before him.
No sooner had he taken a sip than Georgina swept out onto the terrace in a bright purple dress, matching the pansies on the table almost perfectly.
He was just congratulating himself for staying where he was when she came directly to him, a wide smile on her face, and kissed him on the cheek.
She then took her seat next to him. “Good morning, husband.”
Still a bit shocked by her action, he found himself forgetting what to say.
“I hope you don’t mind having our meal outside.
It’s such a beautiful morning, the temperature quite moderate and the clouds so few.
I thought the fresh air was a wonderful way to start our lives together.
” She smiled at him as she lifted her cup and took a sip.
She actually closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them as she put the cup down.
“There’s nothing quite like hot cocoa sprinkled with cinnamon… well, except for maybe your kisses.”
He stared at her as her cheeks turn a pretty shade of red. “You slept well, then?”
“Oh, very well. I believe it was the best sleep of my life, probably because I’m so happy. To be away from my family, in my own home, free to do as I please, and with a very handsome husband who truly wants me, I couldn’t be happier. I feel I need to return the favor somehow.”
What he’d done was nothing extraordinary—then again, if he hadn’t needed the money, he was well aware he wouldn’t have married her, and that didn’t sit well with him. “You must remember that your dowry allowed me to keep my family estate and the family reputation, so I have you to be grateful to.”
She stilled in lifting a scone from the tray the footman held. “Was it truly so much?”
He nodded and waited for the servant to head back into the house. “Yes, it was.”
“I understand that you placed a significant bet. What did you bet on?” She took a bite of scone and chewed, a crumb caught on her lips in the corner.
The urge to lick it from her lips caught him by surprise. He forced himself to ignore it. He could lick her all he wanted tonight.
“Husband?”
He blinked and looked at her. “Yes?”
“What did you bet your fortune on?”
“I thought I had made a sure bet. You see, I have a good friend who had a plan that would mean he couldn’t marry until he was thirty, but then he fell in love and married a year too early.”
Georgina’s eyes widened. “Lord Tamworth and Sophie?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m disappointed for you, but I admit to being very happy for Sophie. She loves Lord Tamworth more than she loves books. I quite think she sees him as her hero.”
He didn’t read the novels that were becoming the rage among young women.
As far he was concerned, heroes were men who went into battle to save the country.
“Unfortunately for me, their marriage lost me everything except this house. It was your dowry that allowed me to pay the debt and keep all that I had. In fact, the man I lost to came to call this morning.”
Her brows rose as she accepted two honey cakes from the footman. “That is rather rude, or did he come to collect his money? I would think his solicitor would talk to yours and all would be done.”
Pleased he didn’t have to explain that part to her, he finished chewing a bite of his poached eggs then took a sip of coffee. “You’re quite right. I was baffled as to why he arrived, and so early. First of all, he has no regard for societal rules.”
She nodded emphatically.
“Secondly, he had hoped to interest me in another bet.”
Georgina put down her fork, her brows lowered in concern. “How did you answer him?”
“I told him I wasn’t interested. And that I had just married and that other things were more important.”
Though her brows relaxed, she continued to stare at him.
He waited, but when she didn’t say anything, he found himself wanting to know what she thought. “Do you have a question I might answer for you?”
“Yes. I’m trying to understand the allure of gambling and if it has anything to do with what is bet upon.
For my part, I have indulged in card games where we put down bets, but I never lost so much as my pin money for the week.
I know they bet more on the races at Ascot.
I have also heard whispers of something called gaming hells.
But I don’t understand how gambling brings people such excitement.
When I bet on card games, I find it’s quite the opposite.
I become nervous, and it ruins the game for me.
I’m baffled by the craving to gamble that brings a gentleman such as yourself to risk everything.
Is that what the men bet on at White’s, when someone will marry? ”
There was no judgment in her voice, just honest curiosity, so he took no umbrage at her questions.
“At White’s, anything can be a bet, from”—he paused, as he was about to say when a lord lets his mistress go—“from what bill will pass in Parliament to the amount of rain to fall by the end of a fortnight.”
His wife pulled at her earlobe as she digested that information. “And these are the topics that make betting exciting?”
He held back a chuckle, because she was right to question it.
Only men who were bored with life, or—like himself—being ridiculously selfish found amusement in such frivolity.
“Let me see if I can help you understand. Yesterday, you said the wren was a new mother and if she had more than five eggs, they probably wouldn’t all survive. ”
“Yes, that’s true, unfortunately.”
“What if I were to bet you that however many eggs she has, only two would hatch and live long enough to fledge?”
“Oh, no. She would be a much better mother than that. I’d say that all but one would survive to fly the nest.”
“Then if I were to say that if you’re correct, I shall have the cook serve you marzipan every day, would you accept my bet?”
“Of course, because I love marzipan and I know I’m right.”
He raised his brows to see if she would see the allure. As he expected, she did. He could tell the moment she understood, because her face made everything clear.
“Ah, I think I see. And it is this excitement that you gave up as part of the betrothal contract?”
“It is.”
“Then you could not bet upon the new mother wren.”
Surprised by the sound of disappointment in her voice, he paused to think about his agreement. “There may be a reason I could.”
She immediately sat straighter and set down the fourth scone she’d been about to bite into. “How?”
“If I remember correctly, the agreement was that I not bet with any other man on anything.”
“That sounds quite conclusive.”
He gave her a sly smile. “It said nothing about any woman.”
Her eyes lit with excitement. “That means you could bet with me!”
“According to the actual wording, I can. I could even argue further, if needed, that upon marrying, we became one.”
She turned her head slightly as she pulled on her earlobe once again. “If we are one, then it would be as if you were betting against yourself.”
He nodded, pleased at how quick her mind moved, like everything else about her.
“Then because the contract states any man, as I’m a woman, you can bet with me. Also, since we are one, to bet with me would be betting with yourself. Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Exactly. And since it’s between the two of us, it could be considered just a marital game, not actually gambling, especially if we leave money out of it.”
“I do like that reasoning. That would mean we could wager on the mother wren.” She smiled, obviously delighted with the prospect.
“We could. What about her would you like to bet on, and what would be your wager?”