Page 36 of Counting on Love

Alice hmm’ed and stared off into the distance, thinking. Georgiana watched the Taverstons, who were exchanging looks back and forth as if reading one another’s thoughts. Lord Taverston started to say something, then stopped, shaking his head. If he were to guess wrong, his teammates would have to silently wait for their opponents to come up with an answer unpressured.

Georgiana struggled a little desperately: Eaten with fruit or meat—bread? Pity your head-ache? No.

Lady Olivia snapped her fingers. “Pie-bald!”

“Good show!” Lieutenant Taverston cried.

The next was a lengthy one that no one could decipher. Eventually, Mama provided the answer, but admitted she’d heard the riddle before, so they should not win the point. The Taverstons took the next three, noisily, with much commentary, before Alice answered one. Then Lord Taverston again. The contest was becoming a rout. Or a competition amongst the Taverstons—leaving their guests behind. Lady Iversley took notice.

“I think I’ve exhausted the riddles for this evening,” she said, closing the book. “Let’s play something else.”

“Oh, one more. Please, Mama?” Lady Olivia begged.

“One more?” Lord Taverston made a similar, though gentler, plea after giving his sister a soft look.

Georgiana did not mind watching the siblings entertain one another. She found it sweet.

She added her voice to the choir. “Just one more?”

Lady Iversley reopened the book. “‘My first is ready to fulfill, each new intention of the will; my second’s neither more nor less, than a redundant part of dress; my whole resembles wedding bands, in coupling two unwilling hands.’”

Georgiana looked to Alice who gave a small shrug, then frowned with determination.

Olivia said, “Han—”

“Bootlace!” Lieutenant Taverston foiled her guess.

“Bootlace?” Lord Taverston repeated with exaggerated scorn. “How do boots—”

“When I use my boot, my will is fulfilled. Sometimes the infantrymen need a swift kick.”

“But lace is a critical part of a dress, not redundant,” Lady Olivia corrected him, laughing.

“Coupling two unwilling hands?” Lord Taverston shook his head.

“I have done so with my bootlaces,” the Lieutenant said, with mock affront. “With prisoners, sometimes, one must make do.”

“Oh, bosh,” Lady Olivia said.

Alice interrupted. “I believe the answer should be handcuff.”

“Miss Fogbotham is correct,” Lady Iversley said.

Lady Olivia slapped Lieutenant Taverston’s shoulder. “I was about to say ‘handcuff.’”

He pouted. “All right. Mother, give us another chance. Livvy’s in a pet.”

Lady Iversley sighed a long-suffering maternal sigh. “Last one. ‘My first is a counterfeit greatly in vogue, with the loit’ring truant, or sluggard at school, though I hope from my heart the sophistical rogue may be flogged for so craftily playing the fool.’” She raised two fingers. “‘When the tempest is up and the busy wind sighs, o’er the high-swelling waves which are dark with the storm, my next all the hurricane’s fury defies, and proudly presents its unchangeable form.’” She held up three. “‘Of my whole I shall not give you more than a hint, it derives, like Antaeus, its strength from the earth, and on Irishmen’s bosoms will always imprint, a token of love from the place of their birth.’”

Irishmen? Shamrock. Sham. Rock. It fit, didn’t it?

Lieutenant Taverston called out, grinning, “Clod-dock.”

“Crispin!” Lady Olivia’s scowl was contradicted by the giggle that followed. “That isn’t even a word.”

“It is. Those rings they wear. Love and loyalty and whatnot.”

Lord Taverston burst into laughter. “Claddagh. Claddagh.”