“I do not wish to marry him.”
“And what of the other men? The ones I sent?”
“True gentlemen, all.”
“I suppose I've helped you once, Lady Jane. Allow me to help you once more. This is the most expedient means to a conclusion. Do you not wish to wed?”
Her gaze slid away from his, her eyelids fluttering down to hide her expression. “I do. But I would like to marry a man I respect and admire. I cannot simply put their names in a hat and choose one.”
He could not argue with her good sense there. Without respect and admiration, a union could mean a lifetime of misery.
“No one wishes you to be unhappy Lady Jane or to observe such lax decision-making protocols as plucking a name from a hat. But you’ve had months to choose and at least three proposals.”
“From a man I will not marry.”
“Still, you are unengaged. Let me help you make a decision. I’m excellent at helping. And at decision-making.”
“Thank you for your offer, but I do not need your help.” She tried to smile, but it looked more like she was baring her teeth. She flounced toward the door, and he suppressed a laugh. Jane flouncing proved funny.
“You may notwishmy help, but you mayneedit, Lady Jane!”
She slipped through the door, narrowing one last gaze at him that could clearly be interpreted asno. “You need your rest, Lord Abbington. Acting as my matchmaker would be too much for your poor, injured constitution.”
“You injured it.”
She winced. Her face flushed. “I am sorry.” She spoke to the floor. “I have already apologized, and I did mean it.Domean it.”
“Do not let it bother you. I’m glad it happened. Well… not glad it happened but glad I could be there to save you.” He sighed. He’d said all this before. His brain felt terribly muddled.
She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you.”
He swatted toward the door with his good hand. “Go. If you will not take my help, I think I will rest. It will allow me to heal quicker so perhaps I can make it to Martha by Christmas.”
She nodded and closed the door behind her.
He needed to get back home to his uncle, too. He could not leave Martha alone with their uncle and her dying husband on Christmas of all days.
But there was no way in hell he could travel by coach or horse with this hellish headache. He'd be stuck here until it let up. Hopefully in a day instead of a month.
His eyelids grew heavy. His thoughts slowed to the pace of an aged farm horse walking to the pasture of his final days.
Sleep claimed him, and a pair of mobile red lips pressed against his in the darkness of his dreams.
Chapter 5
In the hallway outside of George's bedroom, Jane hesitated. Her body felt weak, limp, exhausted. She desired only her bed and a good night’s rest.
But she owed her guests an explanation. They had tried in their various ways to speak with her, to make sure she was well during the hubbub that had followed George's barely conscious entrance to the house. She had hardly recognized them. Their voices of concern had been mere flies at the edge of her periphery. She had swatted them away, her entire being fixated on a single point—George.
He was well now. Or as well as he could be at the moment. Healing, at least. She could now put her attentions elsewhere—on the bevy of bachelors willing to marry her.
Jane took a deep, sustaining breath, threw her shoulders back, and straightened her skirts as best she could. My, but they were wrinkled. At least she’d changed out of her trousers earlier. She marched to the door where a rumble of voices signified the guests’ presence. She threw the door open and sailed inside the room.
Her father and brother, her five suitors, and Katherine jumped up at once.
Christiana rolled to a stand in the same sultry manner she did everything.
And Lillian flew across the room, her golden curls streaming behind her, and wrapped Jane in a hug. “What's happened? The doctor would only talk to your brother and father in private, and they refused to tell us a thing. Christiana has been quite put out,” Lillian whispered close to Jane’s ear. “She wants to know as much as the rest of us, but your father won't even tell her.”
