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Fourteen

Georgine’s bedchamber

Fernleigh House

Nine days later—almost midnight

Frustrated, partly because of the cloying heat and partly because Robyn still had not tried to consummate their marriage, Georgine kicked the bedcovers off. Oh, these past several days, he had been attentive as always, even sharing several more of those soul-shattering kisses and a few breath-stealing caresses too.

But the dashed, obstinate man went no further.

And she knew full well Doctor Tinsdale had not forbidden marital relations.

Even now, heat scorched her cheeks upon recalling the disconcerting conversation.

Blushing and stammering, she awkwardly asked the physician during his last visit if her shoulder had healed enough to permit conjugal relations. He agreed it had, as long as she and Robyn took care with what positions they practiced.

Positions?

There are more than one?

Well, that certainly provided more education than she expected or needed from the good doctor.

Mustering up every ounce of courage while firmly stamping her mortification into the ground, she then braved asking Doctor Tinsdale if he had conveyed that sensitive information about her ability to participate in intimacy to Robyn.

After giving her a long, considering glance—and she swore he hid a small smile, but his mustache made it impossible to tell for certain—he finally shook his head.

“No, Mrs. Fitzlloyd. I believe that is a conversation best left to you and your husband.”

Bother and blast.

Surely even a green girl could contrive a more subtle enticement than pointing at the blasted mattress.

Georgine had tried to broach the delicate subject with Robyn.

She truly had.

Thrice, as a matter of fact.

Last week, while playing Backgammon, she had leaned forward and whispered, “Sometimes, the surest way to win is to take a risk… and put all one’s pieces into play at once.”

“Indeed,” Robyn said with a triumphant grin as he trounced her thoroughly. Again. “I hope you do not use that strategy when placing wagers for the Ladies of Opportunity.”

Smug dolt.

A few days later, when strolling in the garden after supper, she eyed the abundant flower beds before saying brightly, “Matilda has such a gift with flowers and plants. Though if the seeds had never been planted, we would be standing next to an empty patch, wouldn’t we?”

“Tis a wondrous thing, how God orchestrated plants to grow.” Robyn plucked a yellow rose and presented it to her. “For you, my love.”

Georgine had hidden a frown as she sniffed the delicate, silken petals.

Was he deliberately being thickheaded?

She had said seeds, for pity’s sake.

Seeds!

Only last evening in the library, Georgine had become positively brazen as a doxie—or at least she thought she had. She pulled a brown leather volume from the shelf and then sighed.