Page 70 of Never Beguile a Duke
“I’m assuming your gratitude,” the Duke of Beaufort replied with a grin. “The lady must spend the remainder of the ball with the man she selects, even if that man is not her betrothed. Ladies, choose wisely.”
“Scandalous,” Miss Sutton said, catching her sister’s eye, and the two of them dissolved into giggles.
“Winifred,” her mother said, pressing her napkin to her mouth and paling. “I need to lie down for a bit. Please offer my regrets to the Duke of Beaufort.”
“Would you like me to accompany you upstairs?” Winifred asked, hoping her mother would accept the offer.
“There’s no need for you to miss the festivities as well,” her mother replied as she rose.
Damn.
“However, I expect you to advise me of what occurred with Nora’s waltz when you retire this evening.” She gave Nora’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then shuffled from the dining hall, still clutching the linen napkin to her face.
“Why did Amelia leave?” Nora asked, her question barely carrying over the conversations swirling around them.
“She needs to lie down,” Winifred replied in an equally soft tone. “I hope the dinner wasn’t too exhausting for her. Perhaps I should stay with her.”
“There’s no need for your concern.” Nora tilted her head toward the group of men at the far end of the table. “If she has a setback, Doctor Barnes is already present to assist. Now, how do you suggest I determine which man is my fiancé?”
Glancing at the Duke of Roxburghe, Winifred scrunched her face, mulling over several suggestions. “I suppose his scent would be the best indication of identity.”
“As long as no other man wears the same cologne…” Nora glanced at the end of the table, catching the Duke of Roxburghe’s gaze.
He winked, then extended his hand to the Duke of Lennox.
Winifred snickered, shaking her head. “Apparently, there’s a wager involved, too.”
“Of course there is,” Nora groaned and raised her eyes to the ceiling.
“I’m certain you’ll know him,” said Winifred, patting Nora’s hand and then grinning. “Perhaps I should ask to participate in their bet…”
“What need have you for funds?” Nora asked, a tiny wrinkle appearing between her eyes. “The Duke of Roxburghe offered to pay for any expenses you may incur.”
“While I appreciate his generosity, I prefer not to be dependent upon my sister’s husband for the remainder of my life.” Winifred rose and, despite Nora’s protest, marched to the head of the table.
“Your Graces,” she said, curtsying low.
“How may we assist my fiancée’s sister this evening?” The Duke of Roxburghe twisted around in his seat.
“I’d like to set a wager on tonight’s waltz,” she said, her gaze flicking to the Dukes of Lennox and Grisham.
“Intriguing.” The Duke of Lennox moved aside his plate and leaned closer. “What are your terms?”
Winifred nodded toward the ladies seated at the center of the long table. “Each of your fiancées will correctly guess her betrothed.”
“All three?” The Duke of Grisham, with who she’d had very little interaction, turned his full attention to her. “The mathematical probability of that occurring is quite small.”
“Then, you shouldn’t be concerned about losing.” Winifred tilted her head. “Unless you don’t trust Miss Philbert…”
The Duke of Grisham’s light brown eyes slid to Miss Philbert. “Name your terms.”
“Fifty pounds, against each of you, and if I win, I receive triple my wager.” Winifred held out her hand.
“Agreed.” The Duke of Roxburghe shook first, followed by the Duke of Lennox, and, after a long moment, the Duke of Grisham.
The clinking of silver on crystal quieted the room, and the Duke of Beaufort rose, his curious gaze locking on Winifred.
“Please make your way to the ballroom,” he said, gesturing toward the dining room exit. “We will begin in ten minutes.”
