“Ever?” Katherine asked.
Jane set her mouth in a thin, determined line.
Lillian sighed. “I suppose it's for the best. But things might get awfully dull without it.”
“When did any of our dares ever turn out well?”
Lillian tilted her face up and studied the ceiling. “Well—”
Jane held up one finger. “We gave Tabitha the dare to give the duke a wrong name over and over again. And he caught on.”
“True. But that ended up with Tabitha happily married to said duke.” Lillian dropped her gaze from the ceiling to Jane.
“Yes, but first Tabitha almost insulted every matron of theton. And the duke was quite angry with her.”
“True.” Lillian shrugged. “But all's well that ends well.”
Jane held up a second finger. “Then…” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “No one knows this but me.”
Lillian leaned forward, too, her eyes wide. “What?”
“I dared myself to take the road North.”
Lillian popped backwards, her eager expression dropping from her face. “You daredyourself? I'm not sure that counts.”
Katherine maintained her perfect posture and placid expression. “I must agree with Lillian, Jane dear. I’m not sure it’s the same at all. Dares are rather formal things, are they not? Pacts between two people?”
“It does too count. I did not have the courage, but then I knew what would give me courage… and so I dared myself. And you see how that turned out.” She swept an arm across the room, indicating her suitors. “No more daring. It comes to no good. Even today, I dared to go get the mistletoe on my own. A stupid decision.”
She did not have to look at Katherine and Lillian to know they agreed.
“From now on, I will be meek and biddable. Starting tomorrow, I will spend time with each of my suitors, getting to know them and seeing whom I might suit with.”
“Except for Lord Sharpton,” Lillian said.
“Except for Lord Sharpton,” Jane agreed with a whisper, “and Lord Devon.”
Lord Devon was slumped in his seat, staring daggers into the fire, and Lord Sharpton was cutting them a glance as if he’d heard his name from across the room.
Jane continued in a whisper, “By Christmas, I'll know which man I can live with.”
Lillian leaned forward, her voice urgent. “I do wish you would reconsider your position on love. A tattered reputation does not mean you forfeit the right to be adored and to adore someone in return.”
Jane looked at her feet tapping impatiently on the floor. She could not keep them still. Her mother used to snap a hand to her thigh to still the bouncing. She’d shake her head and say, “Can you ever stop moving?”
No. Jane really could not. And now she would move herself forward in a productive direction instead of in any direction her flights of fancy took her. Love—a fanciful notion, and worse than that, a risk, a daring escapade like running off with a single man or climbing a dying tree. It would only end in pain. She had merely to look at her father to know that truth.
Falling in love was just about the most daring thing a woman could do. And Jane had given up being daring. She’d be the practical sort from now on, practical and safe.
Chapter 6
The foul, sticky poultice the doctor had instructed George to rub into the back of his head stunk to the high heavens, but it seemed to work. George had been able to move successfully from the bed to a chair near the fire. With a blanket draped over his legs, he felt like a damned invalid. His foot tapped impatiently. Why did it take everyone so long to do something that he could do in half the time? Perhaps not half the time, but damn, he hated waiting. It always seemed like he could do it faster and that was likely only because he'd be doing it himself. Time did not stretch interminably before one when one actively moved.
A flurry of footsteps in the hallway announced the arrival of everyone he'd been waiting for. A footman, Mr. Jenkins the butler, Mrs. Bradley the housekeeper, and Edmund walked in together.
George sat up straighter. “I had not been expecting you all at the same time.”
“Here we are.” Edmund spread his arms wide. “Now, what will you do with us?”
