The Earl's Wager

by Rebecca Thomas

  She circled him, never removing her gaze from him. What exactly was she asking? “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Miss Duvall, but rest assured I’m here to help. I found the perfect match for my sister, and I’ll do the same for you.”

  “Yes, I understand, my lord. So I’m wondering how to pique his interest. Can you answer that question, or should I ask Oliver?”

  He swallowed and narrowed his gaze. “No, no need to ask Oliver. You could talk to the gentleman about the weather, or ask after his health, or maybe you can ask if he…” Will wasn’t sure what to say. Maybe he wasn’t up to the task of procuring a match for someone other than his sister, after all, because the way she looked at him seemed to spell trouble. “If he has hounds, perhaps?”

  She blinked several times, eyeing him oddly.

  Everything about her said she was an innocent maid, but she was American. Maybe women were different there, and he just wasn’t used to their behavior. Most women—no not most, no women—who were young and unmarried ever held his gaze so long with such keen challenge punctuating a seemingly guileless question.

  Stopping directly in front of him, she peered up at him, standing inappropriately close. “I’m to ask him if he has hounds?”

  “Yes, you could,” he blurted, then cleared his throat. He took a step back, but he didn’t want her to know she confused him, so he rounded the corner of the table instead.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of flirting.” Her delicate brow arched. “How do I flirt with him—that is how I want to capture his attention.”

  He gulped. “That wasn’t what I had in mind. I don’t think it’s what Oliver had in mind either. Maybe we should sit down?” He gestured toward the damask-covered sofa and matching wingback chair. Even if she didn’t need to sit down, he did.

  Confound it. She’d managed to skillfully avoid giving up the identity of the man she was interested in marrying. When he sat on the sofa, she sat unusually close.

  “Miss Duvall, let us start now in our lessons with some things you need to know.” Was he really going through with this? His earlier optimism plummeted. “I have some experience with my sister, but since you aren’t an Englishwoman, it’s understandable.”

  “What’s understandable, my lord?” she queried.

  “For example, you are sitting too close to me.” He cleared his throat again, even though there was nothing to clear. “If I was a potential suitor, then propriety would dictate that you sit farther away from me or in the adjacent chair.”

  Her delicate eyebrows made a V, and she looked sufficiently perplexed, so Will didn’t believe she was purposely acting rash. “But if I want to see if he’s interested in me, wouldn’t I want to sit close? How else would I know if we suit?”

  “No,” he said, “absolutely not. You need to keep your proper distance.” He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation—they’d met only a few hours prior. He needed more time to prepare his lessons and made a mental note to discuss the appropriate distance when sitting and standing. “Suitability is beside the point at the moment. Right now, we are discussing the basics of what your lessons should entail. Who you select as a possible match will come later on. But who is the gentleman you are interested in? I should know who he is. Tell me his name.”

  “His name is Sir Richard Hamilton.”

  Will bolted to his feet in indignation. “Sir Richard Hamilton has a son older than me. He’s old!”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I guessed as much.”

  How was she so calm? What was her game? “He’s likely twice your age, maybe even thrice.” He strode to the books lining one wall and placed a hand on the edge of a shelf to steady himself. “You can’t possibly be interested in him. What of children? Surely you want children.”

  Shrugging, she said, “I don’t require children, my lord. Unlike yourself, I don’t need an heir to carry on with my title and the property it entails.”

  “What are you about, Miss Duvall? None of this makes sense. Unless a woman is destitute, or craving a title, why would she willingly marry a man old enough to be her grandfather?” Truly, he was perplexed. With a sister as clever as Arabella, he’d thought he’d seen all there was to see when it came to women and mischief.

  She stood, tipped up her chin, and glided across the room like she was skating across an ice-covered lake. Again, she put herself in his personal sphere, when there should’ve been a greater distance between them. “I don’t require an heir. I don’t have to marry a man who requires a child. It’s very simple.”

  “It’s not simple at all.” He crossed his arms. “A woman should want children.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want children. There are just other things I want more.”

  “Such as?”

  “My lord, we seem to be getting off track. You are supposed to be tutoring me in whatever you feel is going to make me more marriageworthy or attract the right kind of suitor.” She flipped her hand in the air. “My personal wishes or interests concerning children have nothing to do with you and me.”

  Although she was right, he found it peculiar. He did recall a similar discussion with his sister, and her ambivalence toward being what she deemed “becoming a brood mare.”

  “Perhaps this is a discussion for another time,” he said, “but I assure you Sir Richard Hamilton is not the right choice for you.”

  “Excuse me, my lord, but you barely know me. We’ve only met today, so how can you have any inkling as to who is the right choice for me?”

  “He’s near doddering,” Will stated emphatically.

  “Many women marry someone well beyond their years.”

  His ire was building, but he suppressed the urge to tell her the way it was going to be. Yes, she was correct that many women did marry much older men, and it wasn’t as if society frowned upon it—he just frowned upon it. “All right. I am here to help you in your debut, not debate the merits of marriage to Sir Richard Hamilton.”

  “Yes, and I’m here to tell you that there’s really no need to tutor me because I’ve already found the man I want to marry.”

  “Regardless, I’ve agreed to do this for Marsdale. He feels you need to have some basic lessons. And I’m here to provide them.” He strode to the writing table and retrieved the parchment, as though showing it to her made their agreement more official. “I’ve started a list. The first thing we should consider is your clothes. I know a modiste in London who’s quite good and very sought-after.”

  She sighed as though she might finally be resigned to her fate. “Fine. Whatever you want. If clothes made by your modiste will help me get what I want, then so be it.”

  “I’m glad we’re finally in agreement, Miss Duvall.”

  “What else do you have on that list?” she asked.

  “Dancing, the use of proper utensils, proper dinner conversation.” He looked up from reading. “Or, in your case, proper conversation in any circumstance.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means it’s inappropriate to speak of someone’s pregnancy.”

  “How else are you supposed to say it?”

  “You can say she’s increasing or expecting a child,” he replied.

  “Fine. What else is on that list?”

  “If time will allow, we should consider a voice coach to help you with your accent.”

  She gaped. “My accent? As far as I’m concerned, you’re the one with the accent.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “This is where I draw the line. I am not seeing a voice coach.”

  All right. Maybe for their first day he’d pushed a little too hard. “Fine. I’ll take voice coach off the list. I was thinking maybe we’d go to the theatre, if you’d like. I’m not sure if it might be different here than in America. Is that acceptable to you?”

  “I suppose that would be all right. I might like the theatre.” She pressed her lips together in a hard line before gazing up at him. “But I’d sti
ll like to know a little bit about flirting.”

  His stomach churned, and he questioned whether he might be hungry. Growing up with Arabella should have prepared him for the likes of Georgia Duvall and her impertinent line of questioning. “When Oliver asked for my assistance in teaching you our customs, I don’t believe flirting was one of his objectives.”

  At least she had the decency to blush, although she didn’t look away. “No. I suppose not.”

  Miss Duvall was well past Arabella’s level of precociousness. And considering the first time he laid eyes on her she was wearing a jockey uniform, he didn’t know why she kept surprising him. “The first item on our list to accomplish is to learn what are, and are not, appropriate things to discuss with a man, and talking about flirting isn’t one of them.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense at all. How else am I to attract Sir Richard’s attention?”

  “No.” He distinctly smelled the scent of lilacs. He backed up. Whatever perfume Miss Duvall wore certainly didn’t matter. This conversation was too much. She had latched on to wanting knowledge about flirting like a hound with his favorite bone, and Will could see he’d have a hard time releasing the bone in question from her grasp. “I am not the right person to be having this conversation with. Discuss it with Arabella if you like. I’ll come by tomorrow morning, and I’ll have another list with me. A list of appropriate topics to discuss with a man, and it most certainly won’t include flirting.”

  “All right. We’ll discuss it later then. But I don’t understand. I can’t talk about pregnancy or flirting, but hounds are all right?”

  “Yes. I think that’s quite enough for the day. I must say hello to my sister, then I need to return to my estate.”

  “And what did I learn today, exactly?” she queried. “That I’m supposed to ask Sir Richard if he has hounds?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.” It was an imbecilic answer to her question, but he didn’t have time to reassess his project. “Tomorrow we’ll discuss dining and the proper use of utensils. I will arrive in time for luncheon. Later in the week, we’ll go to London to see the modiste.”

  “Arabella has spoken of her childhood at Black Pine Hall, but I haven’t been there yet. It’s not far, is it?”

  She asked entirely too many questions. Although he imagined Arabella would be no different, since he’d been gone for several months.

  “It’s an hour’s carriage ride. I must leave now.” He should get Arabella’s take on the chit. Then again, maybe he didn’t want to know how much of a project he’d undertaken.

  “Good day, my lord, until tomorrow then.”

  He’d taken on much more than he’d comprehended when he agreed to tutor the American, Miss Georgia Duvall. But he’d made a wager, he’d given his word, and he wasn’t backing down.

  Chapter Four

  Georgia spent the next morning with Harland and the horses like she usually did, but she couldn’t linger at the stable because she had to prepare to meet with Grandleigh for luncheon. From her room, she’d seen his carriage pull round to the front of the house.

  She’d hoped her questions about flirting would have scared him off, but unfortunately her brazenness hadn’t appeared to work. Of course, she knew she didn’t need to flirt with someone to get them to notice her, but she’d hoped to shock him into rethinking his tutoring plan and resigning from his position before it began.

  If she had anything to do with it, she’d have Lord Grandleigh so frustrated with her that he’d quit his matchmaking position by the end of the day. Better yet, in less than an hour.

  She’d instructed Eloise to fetch her rose-colored day dress. The dress was old and too small. She didn’t even know why she’d packed it all the way to England, except a part of her loved the feeling of the worn cotton fabric against her skin, and perhaps a reminder of home would give her the confidence to thwart the earl and his tutoring agenda.

  Eloise secured the row of buttons in the back. “My lady, the dress appears to be awfully small.” It was obviously the maid’s proper way of telling her the dress showed too much cleavage, especially for a day frock, but it worked perfectly into Georgia’s plans. If he thought she needed instruction in eating and the proper use of utensils, then by God, she’d give him that, and a lot more.

  Once downstairs, she found the earl in the dining room speaking with the butler. When she approached, he immediately turned his attention to her. If she hadn’t been watching for it, she would have missed his quick glance at her cleavage before he snapped his gaze to her face. In a completely composed voice, he said, “Ah, there you are. I trust you’ve had a good morning with the horses, Miss Duvall?”

  She didn’t think for an instant that the earl cared one way or the other about her morning in the stables. Still, she couldn’t resist adding cheekily, “It went fine. Thank you for asking. How was your morning?”

  “It went well. I spent more time considering our lessons, and, well, I don’t want to overwhelm you on the first day, so I’ve instructed the kitchen staff to keep the meal simple. No courses.” Georgia noticed how his gaze moved from her face to the front of her dress, or lack thereof, but to his credit, he kept to the conversation at hand. “S-soup and biscuits. Will that be acceptable?”

  “Perfectly acceptable.” She enjoyed a private chuckle at his slight stutter and guessed it was because of her dress. “Will Oliver and Arabella be joining us?”

  “No, they’re eating at the inn in the village today.” He strode purposefully to the opposite side of the dining table. “Do you need instruction in regards to where everyone usually sits at the table, according to rank and whose household you belong to, or do you have a clear understanding of these English standards?”

  “My lord, need I remind you my mother was an Englishwoman?” She bit down on her lip, resisting the urge to smirk.

  “No, but from what Marsdale said, she died when you were quite young.”

  “I was twelve, so not quite that young.” The death of her mother, even twelve years later, still stung.

  “I was seven,” the earl said quietly.

  “I beg your pardon?” Georgia asked. “You were seven for what?”

  “When my mother passed,” he said simply.

  Georgia never expected him to speak of something so personal. English lords weren’t supposed to be so forthcoming and vulnerable. His tone and the sadness therein caused her to question her original goal of taunting him mercilessly. “I see.”

  She still wanted the man to quit this ridiculous matchmaking notion and leave her alone, but because he’d shared a small part of his past, she surprised herself by backing down a tiny bit. “Arabella may have mentioned this to me as well. You were both too young to lose your mother.”

  “As were you.” He gazed at her so intensely she noticed the deeper gold flecks in his green eyes.

  A twinge of something pulled at her conscience. It was bad enough losing her mother at age twelve; she couldn’t begin to imagine what having her for five fewer years would have been like.

  She didn’t want to like Will Sutton or feel any level of sympathy for him and tore her gaze away, reminding herself she was here to make his job difficult. Surely he’d quit if he determined she was a lost cause.

  He gestured toward the table. “Shall we take our seats?”

  “Of course.” As she glided past him, she caught him gazing at the neckline of her dress again. His jaw tensed, and there was a definite tightening of the skin round his eyes.

  Immensely pleased, she hoped this meal would end quickly and she could move on. They sat across from each other, and the footman placed a bowl of soup in front of each of them.

  “If we were at a formal dinner party, you’d make conversation with the gentleman seated beside you. But because these are merely lessons, I chose to sit across from you this time.”

  “I’ll never understand why so much fuss goes into where everyone sits,” she commented.

  “Not only where we sit. Don’t
forget the order in which we enter the dining room. I’m speaking of dinner parties, of course.” He lifted his spoon, so Georgia did the same.

  “Yes, I know the gentleman of the house selects the highest-ranked woman to lead in first.”

  “Not always,” Grandleigh replied. “It can be the most respectable according to age, or in some cases a stranger to the party who needs a proper introduction.”

  “Well, hallelujah, I have a chance of being the first person escorted into a dining room at a dinner party. I never thought to aspire to such grand accomplishment before.”

  He rolled his eyes upward.

  She twirled her spoon before submerging it in her soup and was thrilled to see her comment annoyed him. Although, she couldn’t help noticing the unique green of his eyes—not sea green, and not mossy green, but something in between. “I fear you’ve given me something to pine over and wish upon a star for.”

  “Go ahead and make light of our customs, but tradition is everything and of the utmost importance in England.” He set his spoon down with a slight thud. “Instead of being difficult about it, I suggest you accept it and immerse yourself in all I’m trying to teach you.”

  “How am I being difficult about it?” she quipped. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Perhaps, but your tone suggests you aren’t entirely happy about it. And sarcasm doesn’t help your cause.”

  Ah, yes, the cause. The cause to get her married off. Why would she want to make it easy on him by being complacent? If she was going to have to participate in this tutoring arrangement, then she may as well make it fun.

  She scooped the vegetable soup into her mouth and purposely left some broth on her bottom lip. After setting the spoon down beside her bowl, she fixed her stare on Grandleigh. Slowly, she stuck her tongue out to retrieve the spilled broth.

  “You might want to be a little more careful.” He stared at her mouth.