Page 3 of A Reckless Wager
Handing her the glass of lemonade, he proceeded to pour himself one. At a time like this he needed something more potent, but alas, not to be had at Almack’s. He’d have to make do with… Good Lord, he almost spit it out. How could anyone ruin lemonade? Perhaps the tea was better. He helped himself to a glass of tea, but it was worse—best stick to drinking nothing. And no eating the cake. It looked dry enough to choke someone to death. He didn’t relish his demise yet. Nor Lady Georgiana’s. Where had that thought come from?
He’d swear the lemonade was spiked with spirits because his head tingled, and his heart raced as if he had just ridden his horse at break-neck speed recklessly through the countryside.
“Lady Georgiana, may I escort you back to your aunt? I have another engagement which I must attend.” It bothered him more than it should that she was so difficult to decipher. She appeared almost aloof and not interested. He glanced into her inquisitive eyes and got a peek into her curious soul. So she was not unaffected, as neither was he—interesting tidbit to end the evening on.
“Good evening, Lady Georgiana.” Phillip bowed, turned, and walked away, damning his accelerated heart and pulse. No matter what his mother, sister, or Lady Osborne thought, he was not looking for a wife.
Phillip made his way to Brook’s and found his two friends entertaining themselves with drinks and chess. “Where were you?” he groused as he sat in a comfortable chair near the table housing the chessboard and his two traitorous so-called friends.
“You didn’t think we would attend again so soon, did you? We, unlike you, are not looking to be leg-shackled,” replied Percy Bedford. “I do not have a title that needs to be forwarded to an heir.”
Percy was right. He didn’t possess a title, but he was a much-sought-after, wealthy aristocrat. “What about you, Hartley? You must produce an heir as the first-born son.”
Both men looked at each other, then him, and smirked. “Not yet, my friend. The ‘Earl’ is just a courtesy title, as you very well know. Until my healthy, vibrant father passes and turns the dukedom over to me, I will sample the wares. So to speak.”
“Speaking of wares, how is your mistress?” Phillip asked as he took a sip of whiskey the servant handed him moments ago. And damn fine whiskey it was.
“Funny. She is no longer my mistress, and you know it. I don’t appreciate the jab.” He moved his queen forward. “Checkmate. That’ll be five pounds. Care to double or nothing?”
Percy moved his chair back from the table and stood. “No. Unlike you, my mistress awaits my visit with open arms and…” He down his glass. “Goodnight.”
“Rather rude, don’t you think?” Hartley waved the servant over and had his glass refilled. “Anything interesting happen at Almack’s?”
Anything interesting? Phillip mused. “I’ve decided to accept the Earl of Southport’s invitation to spend a week in Bath hunting. I’ll meet you at the duke’s hunting lodge after.”
“What changed your mind?”
Yes, what changed his mind? Lady Georgiana’s green eyes appeared in his vision. “Nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.”
His friend chuckled. “I don’t believe you. Percy and I were just discussing Southport’s house party and decided to accept his invitation as well. We don’t want to miss a moment of seeing you trip up around Lady Georgiana Knightly.”
Blackstone’s insides churned. “I only met the girl tonight, and you weren’t even there.”
Hartley chuckled. “The rumors are spreading that you and Lady Georgiana are the latest matchmaking project of Lady Osborne. A betting book has started this very evening. People are betting on when, not if, you two will wed.”
A betting book? It was not the first time Phillip’s name was in the betting books, but for marriage? “I look forward to spending the week proving you and everyone else rash enough to bet on me wrong.”
Chapter Three
When she realized Lady Osborne was escorting the viscount towards her, Georgiana almost slithered off her chair. Her heart beat so fast she thought it might burst through her chest. Her hands shook, and her knees knocked together. When it came time to stand and curtsy, she panicked, picturing herself collapsing in a heap of pale purple satin at the viscount’s booted feet. Nicely polished Hessians, she’d admit, but she didn’t want to visit them up close. No fancy dress shoes with buckles and heels for the viscount. Her heart sped up now, thinking him too manly to wear such feminine shoes. The viscount was no Beau Brummel. Even though being dressed as a dandy was all the rage, she preferred how the viscount dressed. Dark colors and manly. No shocking chartreuse for him. She had to fight not to gawk at the older gentlemen who dressed just so while shopping for their young brides.
Enough dawdling and back to the viscount. His dark hair hung unusually long for the fashions of today. His superfine brown coat fit him perfectly, along with his buff-colored breeches. Cream and tan paisley waistcoat and off-white cravat complemented his ensemble.
His looks aside, that was the most awkward time spent in Viscount Blackstone’s presence. Not at all as she imagined meeting the man of her dreams for the first time. She’d dreamt of waltzing scandalously close and then sneaking a private moment in a dimly lit garden alone with him on numerous nights. How disappointing to find out he was such a bore and couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Perhaps it was time to stop dreaming of the viscount and prepare to be a spinster and a burden upon her papa and aunt for the rest of her days, never having lived her life to the fullest potential. Whatever that may be. She didn’t understand why she’d been punished with wallflower status. Her papa was an earl and very rich. She was his only daughter. Anyone she married would receive a large dowry and inherit all properties not entailed to the crown, per her father’s will. Anything linked to the earldom would go to her cousin, Robert. Still, she should be marriage-worthy, shouldn’t she?
So what if she rode a horse better than some men. Shot a rifle better than her papa. She liked to garden and get her hands dirty, not just point to a servant and have them plant. So what if she wasn’t your average, boring debutant? As she buried herself beneath the counterpane and closed her eyes, she prayed there was someone out there for her to marry.
“It’s done,” Pansy said to Octavia the following morning as they shared tea and biscuits per usual.
“What is done?”
Pansy smiled as she placed her china cup down on the matching saucer without a sound. “Set my matchmaking skills in motion. I introduced Viscount Blackstone and Lady Georgiana Knightly.” Pausing, she patted her perfect coiffure. “And I don’t want to put on airs, but I could see plain as day the attraction that sizzled between them.”
Octavia laughed. “Oh please, you say the same thing every time you try to make a match.”
“Yes, well, I’m right most of the time.”
Now Octavia frowned into her tea cup. “You may have a point. But I will have to wait and decide for myself when I witness them together in Bath.”
