mouth and sang in a lovely tenor voice:
Wring my withers
You saucy wench.
Whisper you love me
But not in French.
Tell me you’ll wed me and make it soon
Else I’ll grow feathers and fly to the stars.
I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. My eyes teared. My husband rose,
quickly walked to my end of the table, and slapped his palm between my shoulder
blades.
“I will have to have Brantley take the leaves out of this table,” he said. “I
cannot be expected to rise every few minutes to thump your back.”
“That is an excellent idea,” I said when I caught my breath. “Then we can thump
each other’s backs.”
I saw that John had utterly lost control as well. He was gulping down water and
choking. To my astonishment, I looked over to see Brantley with his fist stuffed
in his mouth.
“It did wring her withers,” Thomas said gravely seemingly oblivious of the
collapse he had caused. He leaned over and lightly kissed his wife’s cheek.
“I was won over picturing him glued over with white feathers,” Amelia said. “He
drew me in with those feathers, even though I was forced to critique his effort,
just a bit, you understand. I tried to tell him that stars didn’t rhyme with
soon, that one expected to hear Else I’ll grow feathers and fly to the moon, but
he just gave me that archangel’s smile of his and told me, no, he never wanted
to do the expected. that was boring. No perfect rhymes for him. He never wanted
to bore me. And, of course, he hasn’t.”
Lawrence was just shaking his head. As for Brantley, he stood stiff as a
fireplace poker now, all contained again. I looked at the two footmen, who were
not, obviously, as well trained as Moses. Both their heads were averted. I could
only see their profiles.
“Sir,” Amelia said to Lawrence, “I hate to bring this delightful dinner to a
close, but I have to be honest here. I believe your poor wife is nearly ready to
fall asleep in her gooseberry foole.”
I was tired, but how could she tell? I had laughed as hard as everyone else. But
it was true. I was flying at only half-mast.
“You’re right, Amelia,” Lawrence said to me, that deep kind voice of his all
filled with warm concern. “My dear, the gentlemen will be along shortly. I,
myself, am ready for some relaxation. We will come into the drawing room with
you and Amelia for a little while, then it’s off to bed with you.”
“Oh, all right,” I said, and then had to catch myself on a yawn. “If you wish.
It has been a long day. Besides, I’ll need to walk George, and I never know how
long he will wish to sniff around.” I leaned over toward Thomas. “Would you
really come to my bedchamber window and sing me a marvelous song like the one
you wrote for Amelia?”
“I shall have to think of something like ‘Ode to a Laughing Girl.’ Hmmm. I shall
work on this, Andy.”
Amelia motioned to one of the footmen. He reached her side in but a moment to
assist her out of her chair. She stopped, still halfway standing. “Oh, goodness,
it isn’t up to me now, Andy, you’re the new mistress. When you wish us to leave
the table, you must give the signal and do the rising.”
I put my fingers in my mouth and let out a light whistle. “There, the signal is
given,” I said, and pushed back my own chair. Brantley was beside me in an
instant. “My lady,” he said, and that level, very formal tone of voice chastened
me immediately.
My husband wasn’t pleased, either, but I refused to leave the dining table like
a ponderous matron wearing a purple turban on her head.
“I see that you and Brantley will have to perfect a signal,” Lawrence said. “Whistling
will do to call a horse but not to call the other ladies to attention.”
The three gentlemen rose, waiting until we were out of the dining room before
they resumed their seats and enjoyed their port. I could almost taste the port,