A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,20
nose.
“I never lecture. Don’t rush your evaluation of the brandy’s appearance. Hold it up to the light, mentally compare it to others you’ve sampled.”
She complied, though the brandy looked like brandy to her. Garnet liquid with amber fire in its depths when examined by candlelight. Quite pretty, actually.
“Perhaps the next time you’re not-lecturing, you could impart a few insights about those witty retorts at which I fail so regularly.”
“Look at me.”
Never accede to a man giving orders. Never. Althea continued studying her brandy. “For a fellow who professes not to lecture, Your Grace, you certainly—”
“I am imparting an insight. As you nose the brandy, look at me. Convey with a glance that you take your time evaluating what’s on offer, that your judgment is neither hurried nor ill-informed regarding any matter of substance. Look at me as if you’ll take the same care evaluating me, should I ever be worthy of your whole attention.”
Althea regarded him, realizing that this little discourse on proper consumption of spirits applied to tea, chocolate, wine—any social occasion where a beverage was served. She sipped, and found that the brandy had acquired subtleties of taste, sensation, and aroma for being more carefully considered.
Just as some people became more interesting upon closer acquaintance.
“I daresay you have a talent for this,” Rothhaven muttered, taking up the cribbage board and extracting the pegs from the compartment on the end. “Do we cut for the first deal, or shall the lady go first?”
Althea stalled by taking another sip of her brandy—a lovely potation, now that she bothered to notice. Warming rather than fiery, sunshine and fruit with a hint of sweetness instead of the syrupy banality of a cordial.
Rothhaven’s question—whether to cut for the deal or observe the inane ladies-first protocol—was another test of some sort. Althea could bow to good manners and have the advantage of the points in the first crib, or she could flout convention in one detail and open the game without respect to gender niceties.
She might not have the first crib in that case, but she would imply that convention did not always control her.
“It’s always like this, isn’t it?” she said, setting her drink aside. “Every moment in company is an opportunity to either conform to or conflict with expectations. The choice is mine.” Why hadn’t she seen this more clearly? On an intuitive level, she’d known that breaking rules carried consequences, but she’d not considered that breaking rules could have benefits.
Interpreting rules opened up worlds of opportunity for gaining the upper hand in society.
“Precisely,” Rothhaven said, setting the deck before her. “You choose, and others can either accept your choices or find someone else to bore with their small-mindedness.”
Interesting point of view for a man who chose to hole up in his manor house like a fox in his covert.
“So what is your pleasure, Lady Althea? Shall you have the first deal or do we cut the deck?”
“You are my guest,” she said. “Why don’t you decide?”
He snorted, whether with humor or derision Althea couldn’t say, and she probably wasn’t supposed to care. He picked up the deck and began dealing, which hadn’t been one of the options under discussion.
Ladies did not take strong spirits as a rule. Nathaniel’s mama, however, had been very clear that what applied to delicate flowers in the south of England was inapplicable to the hardier specimens contending with northern winters. Even her companion, the formidable Cousin Sarah, took an occasional nip.
Lady Althea made sipping brandy into a feminine production. She combined grace, daring, self-restraint, and a subtle sensuality that proved ladies should not take spirits because gentlemen got ideas merely observing the process.
Nathaniel tried to focus on his cards, though the game was going badly. Lady Althea played with assurance, and she made prudent choices.
“You are enjoying a run of luck,” he said, discarding an eight and a seven. In the next instant, he recalled that the crib—the third hand that alternated between the two players—belonged not to him but to her ladyship this round. He’d just put very valuable cards into her ladyship’s crib.
Who named this wretched game anyway?
“I like cribbage,” she replied. “No other two-handed game comes close for balancing luck and skill.”
Nathaniel could think of at least one other two-handed game where luck and skill were in even greater demand.
He lost. He lost not because he was the victim of bad luck, but because he liked watching Lady Althea shuffle the deck, because he’d had a bit too much brandy too quickly for