Page 64 of When the Marquess Was Mine
“Oh, quite,” said Sterling with a laugh. “To be perfectly frank, Winston ought not to have sat down with them—Heathercote’s a devil at cards. Still, once he did, he had to make a wager.”
“Why?”
Sterling cleared his throat. “I believe he’d lost a rather large amount. The only way to right his ship was to make a bold play.”
“Because he was already losing badly, he ought to risk even more?” Georgiana could only imagine what Sophie, who always played the odds, would say about that. “Isn’t that utter madness?”
He smiled indulgently. “It’s complicated, darling. Not something you need to worry about.”
“But I can’t help it,” she exclaimed. “My dear friend Kitty spent several weeks in absolute despair that her husband had lost their house! Of course I want to know.”
He darted another glance at Lady Sidlow, who sat in stony displeasure. “And I’m telling you—against my better judgment,” he added, despite no evidence of reluctance or hesitation. “I don’t know why you’re upset about it.”
“Charles lost the deed to their home!”
Sterling waved it away. “He’ll come about. If Westmorland is any sort of gentleman, he’ll allow Winston the chance to win it back.”
“But what if Charles doesn’t win?”
For the first time a shade of annoyance flickered over his face. “Then perhaps he deserves to lose the house.”
“What?” Georgiana exclaimed. “What about Kitty and their child? Sterling, you can’t approve of that. Surely you wouldn’t do such a thing?”
Sterling paused, startled. “Of course not. I wouldn’t let that lot get the better of me—they’re a sharp bunch, Heathercote and Westmorland. Winston was a fool, but don’t you see, this is his best chance to come about.”
Georgiana threw up her hands irritably. “I’m afraid I don’t. Charles lost the deed to his home, and therefore he must wager more and more until he wins. But what if he never does? You said Heathercote and Westmorland are devils at cards. Charles might just keep losing until he’s got nothing left. Yet you think that is his best chance to come out whole. Is that right?”
Sterling shrugged. “It’s a matter of honor, my dear.”
“Well, if that is gentlemen’s honor, I’m very glad not to be a gentleman,” she declared, sitting back in her chair.
He burst out laughing. “And I am twice as glad you’re not! You’re the perfect lady; why would you want to be a man?”
“I would never wager my house, if I were.”
Still chuckling, he made a motion of surrender. “I’m sure you would not.”
He took his leave soon after, promising to come again soon now that she was back in London. Mary came to clear away the tea tray, and Georgiana sat in discontented silence. Sterling thought Charles Winston should keep gambling with Rob and his friends, even though they were far better at it, because that would be the only honorable way for Charles to regain possession of Osbourne House. For the first time she wondered at her fiancé’s perception and judgment.
“I know you do not welcome my advice, Georgiana,” said Lady Sidlow, breaking into her thoughts. “But you are asking for trouble.”
She tried not to roll her eyes. “I know—gambling is not appropriate for ladies, nor is talking about gambling.”
“Of course it is not,” said her chaperone. “But I refer more to pushing Lord Sterling to tell you things men generally don’t tell ladies.”
Lady Sidlow was forever telling her that she was wrong, and Georgiana was forever chafing at it—even when she knew her chaperone was right, and she’d stretched some bound of propriety too far. Today, though, there seemed more to it.
“Why don’t you like Sterling?” she asked on impulse.
Lady Sidlow froze. “It is not my place to have an opinion about Lord Sterling.”
“But you don’t.”
The older woman hesitated. For a moment, something like doubt flashed across her face—an expression Georgiana had never seen before. “Lord Wakefield was very clear about my duties. He approves of Lord Sterling, and that is all that matters.”
She should let it go. Lady Sidlow was starchy and prim and Georgiana had spent two years dreaming of being free of her fussy oversight. But that flicker of doubt, and her own turbulent thoughts about Sterling and Rob, pushed her to ask. “I know,” she said. “But I am asking, one woman to another, why you don’t like Sterling.”
Lady Sidlow’s lips parted in surprise. She stared for a moment, then clasped her hands in her lap. “Very well. I will tell you, on the clear understanding that I am not trying to contravene your brother’s wishes. It is only my opinion, and I am well aware it carries no weight with anyone but myself.”
