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Evidently the children didn’t hear him. As Hunter passed his sister the bowl, he asked, “Why do you think we use strings of cranberries to decorate at Christmas?”

Georgia was becoming used to how the children’s minds worked, in only a day. She tied off her embroidery thread. “Because, dear, it is difficult to string other types of foods. Grapes would be too moist.”

Beside her, Sophia gave a little snort of laughter. “And cucumbers would be too awkward.”

Gabrielle—who was wearing the same rumpled clothing from yesterday—hummed as she selected the proper cranberry. “That would be as silly as using—I don’t know…”

“Gourds!” her brother exclaimed. “Gourds and pumpkins on the tree!”

“Right,” Gabrielle announced with an innocent nod, bending over her cranberries string. “Imagine a thick, girthy gourd hanging between a pair of limbs.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Sophia hummed nonchalantly. “I can think of a good use of a girthy gourd.”

Frozen in the middle of sliding her needle through the fabric, Georgia’s gaze flew to Demon across the room, lips pressed tightly together. When he winked at her again, it was almost impossible to hold in the laughter. There were tears forming at the corners of her eyes as she fought against the urge to howl.

Instead she glanced at Sophia. The woman was grinning directly at her. Grinning as if they shared a joke.

The Duchess of Exingham just referenced using vegetables as a marital aid. To you. In polite conversation.

Well, obviously not very polite, or this wouldn’t have come up, but still.

Georgia ducked her head and blinked rapidly, biting the inside of her lip hard enough to draw blood, pretending difficulty putting away her embroidery. If she didn’t focus entirely on her breathing, she would lose her battle with the laughter.

“And why do we roast chestnuts, do you think?” mused Hunter, shifting forward to steal another handful. As he munched, he mused. “Is it just because it’s nutty? Do we just love nuts?”

Georgia bit her lip. She was not going to laugh. She was not going to—

From the couch, Bull—proving he was listening—called out, “Do ye think we ought to consider roasting other things to see if they turn out as well?”

“If you want to try exploding peas, Uncle Bull, you’re welcome to it.” Gabrielle’s little tongue was sticking out between her teeth as she concentrated. “I think it sounds messy.”

“Bananas,” Hunter announced authoritatively. “Eggplants.”

Eggplants. Bananas.

Georgia squeezed her eyes shut to try to contain her laughter. The fact that Sophia beside her was snickering didn’t help.

Bull called out, “Carrots?”

Oh God, another long and phallic food!

Hunter sniffed. “Gourds,” he stated, bringing them full circle.

That did it; Georgia burst into laughter and toppled sideways into Sophia, who was clutching her stomach as she chortled happily. The two of them must look like loons, but Georgia couldn’t seem to make herself care as she desperately wiped at her eyes.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had this much fun.

That was how Thorne found them when he stomped into the room, rubbing snowflakes from his hair. “Good Lord, what am I interrupting?”

Georgia managed to pull herself together. “H-hello, my lord. We were just—”

“Gourds!” announced Sophia, dissolving into giggles again.

Thorne raised a brow, then glanced at the children, who rolled their eyes in unison. Hunter mock-whispered, “I think they’re talking about sex again, Uncle Thorne.”

“Oh dear.” He pretended shock. “I dinnae want to ken, do I?”

From the sofa, his knitting needles clacking industrially, Bull called out, “Ye really dinnae. Trust me.”