No time for nerves. Best to be direct. “We all know why we are here, and it is not to celebrate the Christmas season.”
She had not known it could get even quieter, but it had.
“Let us lay the facts on the table, amongst the scones and jams. I am a woman with a tattered reputation. I am also a woman with a significant dowry. My father is an earl. You men need wives, or want them, for one reason or another. Whether it be for money or improved social standing. None of us are here to make a love match.” She waited for a reaction, an objection.
None came.
Her nerves relaxed. The final statement had been a daring one, and she was not supposed to dare anymore, but it must be said. She had to know. If any of the men were after love, she would not be after them.
She smiled at them all. “I propose we follow a system, especially designed to determine which of you I will best suit with. In a practical sort of way.” Comfort, shared interests, and kisses. “Questions?” She peered at the suitors.
Mr. Dour’s face was blank.
Mr. Quillsby had turned red.
Mr. Newburton looked thoughtful.
“Well, this just got interesting,” Edmund muttered, leaning back in his chair and scratching his chin.
She dared not look at George, sitting so near her brother. He was a practical fellow, too. Surely, he would understand the necessity of her plan, but if not… seeing the thundercloud over his brow might bring her nerves back in full force.
What she suggested was entirely unconventional. They were all here for a convenient courtship, a practical arrangement everyone knew of but no one spoke of, preferring to hide matters of money and social advancement behind a façade of romance. She’d just ruined the illusion, and there was every chance her plan would backfire.
“Sensible notion,” Mr. Dour said.
Mr. Newburton’s gaze swung to Mr. Dour. “Do you mean that? I’m not so sure. It sounds practical, but it seems… wrong.”
Mr. Quillsby faced them both. “No, no. I can see how the plan has merits. Expedites the process a bit. Nothing wrong with that.”
“What sort of system do you speak of, Lady Jane?” Mr. Dour asked.
It had worked. It hadactually worked. Newburton was not as convinced as she would like him to be, but he’d see once they started that this was only, as Mr. Dour said, sensible.
What sort of system?
Comfort, interests,kisses.
The last one would be a bit beyond the pale, not at all proper, but last night she’d realized how she could make it more acceptable.
After leaving George and returning to her private sitting room, she had sat amongst the piles of mistletoe, trying to ignore the very real threat her heart might beat right out of her chest, her lips fall off her face from smiling too much. All the mistletoe in the wood. Ridiculous George.
Horrid mistletoe. But it needed to be used, and if used in the right way, it could bring joy to many. And help her to a decision.
Comfort. Interests.Kisses.
With a Christmas twist, testing kisses would lack the scandal that would otherwise surround it.
“There will be three, for lack of a better word, rounds,” Jane said.
Edmund snorted. “Like boxing?”
Jane took a slow sip of tea, narrowing her eyes at her brother over the cup’s rim. “If you must make the analogy to understand the concept, then yes.” And it would, in a way, be a competition. “First, I should like to ask you all some questions, become better acquainted, but in a more direct manner than used during courtship. We shall learn what interests we share that can make our union an amiable one, and we will do it in a fraction of the time usually employed for the endeavor.”
Mr. Dour nodded, taking a bite of toast. He chewed with vigor. “Excellent.”
Mr. Newburton frowned at the window. “I can’t say I disapprove.”
“May we ask you questions in return?” Mr. Quillsby inquired.
