“Yes, thank you, Mr. Quillsby,” Jane said. She carefully picked her away across the room, taking a seat across the table from Mr. Quillsby. Was he a barrister? The thought rang true, though she could not be entirely sure. If she’d had more time to speak with her suitors in the last week, she would know. The thought made her feel growly. Had Christiana purposefully doused her in responsibilities so she could not spend time with the other suitors? Had it been her odd and ineffective way of pointing her more forcefully toward Lord Sharpton?
She glanced the man’s way.
Lord Sharpton’s eyes narrowed when their gazes snagged. “Good morning, Lady Jane.” The words poured from his lips slowly, mired in resentment. He lifted a teacup in salute.
“Lady Jane, I hope you are recovering from your fall,” Mr. Quillsby said, leaning forward over the table eagerly, his cravat brushing into a pat of butter on his plate.
“I am quite well this morning,” Jane reassured him, trying not to fixate on the splotch of butter on his cravat.
Mr. Quillsby popped to his feet again, turning halfway toward the sideboard across the room. “May I prepare a plate for you, Lady Jane?”
Jane’s muscles bunched, halfway to launching her to her feet. “I can do it myself, but…”
Mr. Quillsby’s shoulders sagged.
Jane moved to do it herself but unclenched her muscles and stuck her rear firmly to her seat. “I’d be quite grateful if you would help me. I’m a bit sore.”
Mr. Quillsby perked up and trotted to the food. “I hope you have a good appetite, my lady.”
Lord Sharpton tittered. “Appetite? For what?”
Jane suppressed a shudder. If she could touch Lord Sharpton’s voice, she’d likely come away with some sort of unidentifiable ooze on her fingertips.
Mr. Quillsby returned to the table, setting a plate piled high in front of her. “I was hoping you might join me for a walk this morning. A good appetite will prepare you for a vigorous march.”
Jane liked his smile. It looked… buoyant. “Thank you, Mr. Quillsby.” She tried to hide the hesitation, but she feared her voice gave her away. How much food did the man think she needed? He’d put at least six toast points on the plate and three or more rashers of bacon. She counted two scones. “And I’d be delighted to walk with you. I’ll certainly be prepared for a march with this sort of sustenance.”
She’d determined to get to know her suitors better, and this was the way to go about it, was it not? The rituals of courtship—walks, sharing meals, learning one another’s likes and dislikes. She could easily start with Quillsby, then extend her attentions to the other fellows. A single day’s activities would prove enough to know her mind, surely.
“A vigorous march, eh?” Lord Sharpton drawled. He laughed once more, leaned forward, and propped his elbows on the table, waggling his brows. “I daresay you never provide the ladies enoughsustenance, eh Quillsby?” He snorted, then fell back into his seat.
Was the man drunk?
At least Lord Devon was not here. She could handle no more than one drunken sot at a time.
“And me?” The oozy voice once more.
Jane swallowed and lifted her gaze to Lord Sharpton.
He drummed his fingers on the table with one hand and pulled at his cravat with the other. “When shall we spend time together?”
Jane managed a lighthearted laugh. “I’m sure we will find time, my lord.” Not likely. Her schedule would be unfortunately full any time he asked.
He downed the rest of his drink and tore a piece of bacon off with his front teeth. “I’m not opposed to making use of the nighttime hours. If you’re free.” He winked and left the room.
Jane shivered. She despised the man.
“He’s a rotter. I’d not trust him,” Mr. Quillsby said. He looked at her with earnest, pleading eyes. “You should not be alone with Lord Sharpton.”
“I do appreciate your concern, Mr. Quillsby. Thank you.”
“Not to worry, Lady Jane. I will protect you.”
“Yes. Lovely. Thank you.” Did he mean it? Or was it part of the courtship dance, a strategy to secure her dowry?
But he seemed so nice. So accommodating. So well-intentioned. As did all the other fellows. George had found her perfectly acceptable candidates. And they did not at all mind that she’d ruined her own reputation. Any of them would make her a perfectly fine husband. She could always count on George.
He had done his part. It was time she did hers. She finished off a piece of toast and stood. “I’m ready for our walk if you are, Mr. Quillsby.”
