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The Game and the Governess
by Kate Noble
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“I think this will be fun,” Ned declared. “Being you.”
“What will be so fun about it?” Turner replied, his tone neutral.
“Simply that I won’t have to worry about anything. Not about my clothes, or about paying proper attention to my hostess, all those little annoyances that make up an Earldom.”
Turner made a noncommittal noise.
“Thus,” Ned continued, “I will get to spend all my time wooing any young woman I please.”
Turner pulled up on his reins, slowing his – actually Ned’s – beautiful black stallion. The horse whinnied in displeasure. Apparently Turner had not learned the nuances of riding a thoroughbred like Abandon. He responded to the lightest touch.
Unlike the horse Turner usually rode, which seemed to ride as stubbornly as a mule.
“Perhaps we need to establish some rules,” Turner murmured. “About the wager.”
“Oh?” Ned said. “What kind of rules?”
“…Basic things. Such as, if either of us reveals our true selves, that man loses.”
“That makes complete sense,” Ned nodded. “However, since this is a wager where I bear the brunt of the work,” he continued reasonably, “I think it should be established that you are expressly forbidden from interfering.”
“How could I possibly interfere?” Turner replied, trying his best to keep Abandon from dancing as he came to a stop.
“You could spread lies to any lady who shows interest in me, you could – oh here, let me.” Ned said, reaching over and taking Abandon’s reins, loosening Turner’s grip. “You cannot choke up so high on the reins. He will think there is something to fear.”
Turner moved his hands further down the reins, letting them go a bit more slack. Abandon calmed down immediately.
“Oh,” Turner grumbled. “Thank you.” Then, after a moment of resettling himself on Abandon’s back, he spoke. “I agree to your rule. This is a gentleman’s wager, and I will act as a gentleman throughout.”
“In fact, I don’t think you should be permitted to say anything bad about me,” Ned decided. “Not even a minor slight. You are only allowed to sing my praises.”
“Since you will be wearing my name, if I slight you, I will be slighting myself,” Turner reasoned, but at a look from Ned, he held up his hand. “All right. I shall only sing your praises. But – I have a condition as well.”
“Pray continue.”
“The object of your affection has to be a lady of good breeding. Someone gently-raised. No chambermaids, no cooks.”
Ned’s brow came down. How did he guess…? But Turner just smirked.
“The premise of this wager is that you, as me, could make a lady fall in love with you. Thus, it would have to be someone I would court. And while I may be your secretary, I am still a man of property –”
“For a few more weeks at least.”
Turner shot him a glare. “And previously an officer in the Army.”
“And these qualifications make you as snobbish as the highest lord,” Ned replied drily. Having to limit himself to only ladies would be slightly more difficult, but… “Fine, I agree to your stipulation. Besides, I have found that the fairer sex does not differ overly by level of society when it comes to matters of the heart. If you confess your love, chances are they will confess it back.”
“Oh, and that’s another stipulation.” Turner added, nudging Abandon forward, making their way up the road again. “You cannot declare your feelings. Her declaration must be spontaneous.”
“What?” Ned cried, kicking his stubborn steed into moving, catching up to Turner. “Turner, that is ridiculous!”
And it thoroughly destroyed Ned’s plan. He had it all laid out. He would meet a girl (although, now chambermaids and cooks were out of the question it seems) he would woo her for a se’ennight, then he would declare his love. And he would have a whole week for her to declare it back, to wear her down. And if on the off chance he received a firm ‘no’, he would have a whole extra week to secure his interest with someone else.
“Why is that ridiculous?” Turner countered. “You mean to prove that your good humor wins the day – not your ardent declarations. Your object, whomever she may be, cannot be influenced by such a thing.”
“I don’t think you understand how this works. No young lady – not of good breeding anyway, which is your stipulation – will make a declaration of love without first hearing one from her object.” Ned shook his head. “It simply isn’t done.”
Turner seemed to consider it for a moment. “Well then, perhaps we revise what constitutes a declaration of love.”
Ned smiled. Finally, a rule that would work in his favor.
“All right. What does constitute a declaration?”
“Well, obviously, if you can get the girl to express her feelings, either written or publicly, then that will carry the day.”
“But if she doesn’t? If she is too well bred for that?”
“Then…” he thought for a moment. “If you can collect three things from a lady, it will serve as proof enough.”
“And what are these three things?” Ned asked suspiciously.
He ticked them off on his fingers. “A dance, in public.”
“Easy enough.” Ned conceded.
“Second, a token of affection. A glove, a pressed flower, or some such nonsense. Oh, and it has to be freely given, not taken without her knowledge.”
“Turner, if these are your qualifications, I will not only have one lady in love with me within a fortnight, I will have them all,” Ned scoffed.
“And third: an…intimate knowledge of the lady.”
Ned pulled up short. “An intimate knowledge?”
“Yes – the location of a mole on a concealed part of her body, something to that effect. All women have these little things.” Turner grinned like a cat of prey again – his tiger smile. “How you find out the information is up to you.”
“Now hold on,” he said sternly. “You are requiring that I seduce someone. And that could have longer reaching consequences than a fortnight.”
Turner shrugged. “Only if you cannot get her to declare her love openly. There is still that option. Besides, seduction is not a requirement – only a possible method of obtaining what you require.”
A possible method? Hell, it was the only method Ned could think of. Suddenly, he felt as if he had no grounding anymore. He swayed in his seat, grasping hard to keep upright.
“You have grown callous,” Ned shook his head.
“Have you grown uneasy?”
“Not at all,” Ned shot back immediately. “I simply prefer to avoid doing things that cannot be undone. But if that’s what it takes…”
However, his bravado belied a strange sensation in his striking at his gut. Could it be a… a qualm? A hint of guilt?
“If you feel unequal to the task… you could always forfeit,” Turner said, his voice gruff.
“Before the game’s even begun?” Ned’s head shot up. “No, of course not.”
So this was Turner’s tactic, was it? Make more and more ridiculous qualifications in the hopes it would break him, and thus ensure his victory. Well, he didn’t take into account Ned’s luck.
His eyes fell to the signet ring he wore on his right hand. The Earl of Ashby’s crest. It had been his great-uncle who had first pointed out his luck. When he’d taken Ned at twelve into his care, Ned at first had railed against it, hating being away from the only home and family he had ever known. But then after time, the old Earl had cuffed him upside the head and said… “You’re lucky to be here, don’t you realize? If you were out there, people would want something from you. And without my protection, you might be foolish enough to give it to them.”
His eyes narrowed. Yes, Turner, his old friend, wanted something from him. He wanted to be right, and he wanted Ned to b
e wrong.
Well, as long as he was the Earl of Ashby, he would not be taken advantage of. He would not be cowed so easily, by something as mundane as a smidge of guilt. He would prove Turner the fool, show him the truth of his good nature, his luck…
And he was right. This was going to be fun.
For more about The Game and the Governess,
as well as Kate Noble’s other books,
please visit www.katenoble.com
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