with a clerk who was willing to backdate the marriage certificate for us.
“June second,” William says. “And yes, we were fortunate enough to begin a family while on our honeymoon. As for an heir . . .” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I’d be more than happy with a healthy baby girl. In fact, I’m quite certain that’s what I’m going to get. I’d even be willing to wager on it.”
For the first time, a pinprick of interest gleams in the earl’s eyes.
“Would you?” Tynesford says.
“I would. I’m so certain, I’d lay ten to one odds on it.”
A ripple of surprise through the crowd, almost drowned out by the earl’s guffaw. “Well, then, far be it from me to discourage a man willing to gamble at such outrageous odds. Shall we say ten pounds?”
The gasps take on an edge of excitement. Surely William won’t agree. If he loses at those odds, he’ll owe the earl a hundred pounds, the modern equivalent of over ten thousand dollars.
“Accepted,” William says.
The earl’s laugh grows louder. “You really are mad, aren’t you? All right then. Ten pounds at ten to one odds. Now, see that you don’t murder this bride before she can give you that child.”
William stiffens. His mouth opens.
“William!” a voice calls, as August pushes his way through the crowd. “Finally.”
He embraces us as if we didn’t just spend two hours together. Then he glances at his brother, as if only now noticing him there.
“Everett,” he says, his tenor voice ringing out. “Thank you for entertaining my friends. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
“No, your friend just wagered me ten pounds at ten-to-one odds that his wife will have a daughter.”
“Did he?” August looks at me, his brows rising in question.
I dip my chin in a nod.
“Well, then,” August says, “allow me to join in the fun. I won’t give quite as good of odds, but shall we say ten pounds at five to one odds?”
Tynesford chuckles. “How much have you had to drink tonight, August? All right then. I accept your wager.”
“Excellent,” August says. “Now please allow me to steal my friends away . . .”
As he steers us from his brother, he whispers, “How certain are we about that?”
“Very,” I say.
He exhales. “Excellent. I will look forward to my spring windfall. Come along then. I have so many people for you to meet, Bronwyn. Have you ever heard of . . .” He whispers a name into my ear.
My eyes must round, because he laughs. “Very good. Then we’ll begin there.”
It is the ball of my dreams. Beyond my dreams. My youthful fantasy had been all about the gowns and the dancing. I have the first, and I get the second, with both William and August escorting me around the dance floor until my feet hurt. But it’s more than that. It’s the people for one thing. I meet some I know from history and some I’ve never heard of, but if August introduces us, it’s because he finds them interesting. I expected to be in a corner with William, and instead I have incredible conversations with bright, witty and fascinating people.
There is also the food. One can never discount the food. Raw oysters are all the rage, and they’re here in six varieties. There’s sweetbread pate, which I’m sure is delicious, but I’ve never been a fan of organ meats. Tiny quail with delicate truffles. Deliciously fried rice coquettes. And fruit, every variety of fruit available in this era, showing off the estate’s wealth. Imported oranges and pineapples. Greenhouse strawberries and grapes. Platters of exquisite little cakes and one entire tray devoted to Nesselrode pudding—chestnuts and fruits and liquor in a cream gelatin base. Knowing I can’t judge the alcohol content—and the Victorians poured with a liberal hand—I take only a nibble or two from William’s bowl of pudding. I also eschew all punches except the one August assures me is alcohol-free, a sad little pitcher at the end of a table groaning with bowls of jewel-toned beverages.
The pièce de résistance, though, is the ice cream. Which is . . . Am I being a complete twenty-first century snob to say I get a laugh at the ice cream? Row upon row of tiny silver dishes with a tiny half-melted scoop in each.
Had it been summer, it’d have been difficult to produce ice cream for this many guests, and the treat would be reserved for dinner parties. The Courtenays have an ice house—an insulated and sheltered well