Chapter Twelve #3
As if the decision was too much to sit down for, Georgina rose and stepped behind her chair, holding the back of it. “I believe the new mother wren will have at least four babies who will fly on their own.”
He held back a smile at her obvious pleasure. However, he knew her to be an expert on birds, so the odds were not in his favor. “Very well, then I say she will have five fly the nest.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, but then I’d have to hope one doesn’t fly. I just couldn’t.”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin before lifting his coffee cup. “Then perhaps a bird’s future isn’t the best event to wager upon.”
She nodded before she started to pace back and forth behind her chair. “It can be anything?”
“Yes.” He sat back, enjoying the briskness of her movements and the thorough thought she was putting into such a minor pastime.
Suddenly she halted, looked at him, then shook her head and continued her pacing.
He bit down to keep from laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed out loud in the company of a lady.
Had he ever? With his male friends it was a regular occurrence, or had been before his catastrophic gamble.
That he had the urge to laugh with his wife was significant somehow, but he’d save it for a time of introspection—not now, while he enjoyed his wife’s company in the daylight, an event he surely would have lost a bet on.
Her pace slowed and a smile filled her face. Returning to her seat, she took a sip of her cocoa, which had to have cooled by now.
He found himself too curious to remain silent. “You have thought of something.”
“I have. I’d like to wager that by dinner, I can name all of your servants and you cannot.”
“What?” It was the furthest thing from his mind. “Some of these servants have been here since I was a child. That would hardly be fair.”
She shrugged and bit into her fifth and—hopefully—final scone.
“Why would you wish to wager on such a difficult task for you?”
“Because I want to know all our servants before we return to London, and this will make it fun to do.”
It probably made sense on some feminine level that he didn’t understand. “Very well. And what will you wager that you can name all our servants?”
“And you cannot.”
“Yes, and I cannot.”
She moved her spoon back and forth on the table, probably unaware that she did so, but it proved exactly how excited she was. “If I win, then you must accompany me to the first ball hosted after we return to London and promise to dance with me twice, even though we’re already married.”
“Is that because we didn’t get to dance before we married?”
“No, not at all. I understand why that was impossible. I want to finally dance twice at a ball. While I was out in Society, I was only asked for one dance at every ball I attended. I enjoy dancing immensely, so it was quite a disappointment, but we can dance together as much as we like, even though it may be frowned upon.”
Two thoughts flew through his mind. The first was that she might be such a terrible dancer that no one wished to dance with her after seeing her, though he found that difficult to believe.
The second thought was far more sobering: no one wished to dance with her simply because she was who she was.
It was that thought that had his protective instincts coming to the fore and fighting with his new need to keep the Durham name unblemished.
“And you, husband? What will you wager if you accept my terms?”
His mind immediately changed tack, too many options involving his wife unclothed coming to mind, which he didn’t need to gamble on.
He was quite sure that would happen regularly while at Crestfield.
Finally, he hit upon an idea. “If you can’t name all the servants by dinner and I can, then you will visit my mother every week without me so that I don’t need to. ”
“Without you? Why?”
“It is a chore for me, and rarely have I done it satisfactorily, but as my wife, you can fulfill that obligation nicely.”
“Why do you not like your mother? She seems lovely.”
Blast, he should have thought of something else. “It’s not that I don’t like her. She has been the perfect mother. It is more that I have been an imperfect son, and I prefer not to be reminded of that.”
Georgina nodded as if she understood more than he said. That was not reassuring.
“Very well, husband. We have a bet. At dinner, we will both write down the names of all the servants and see who wins.”
“Indeed we will.” He rose. “Now, shall we seal our bet with a kiss?”
Her eyes lit at his words before she jumped up, almost knocking her chair over in her haste. “I doubt that’s how it’s done at White’s.”
He chuckled as he pulled her into his arms. “No, it is often done with a drink or a handshake. But with you, my lady, only a kiss will do.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I agree.”
He lowered his head to give her a chaste kiss, but her tongue immediately sought entrance to his mouth. Despite the staff standing nearby, he deepened the kiss, fairly certain he tasted her soft sigh…and cinnamon.