Jane nodded. “It’s only fair. Another round will include play. Cards. Charades. Games that require collaboration to see if we work comfortably with one another.”
Her gaze flicked to George. She could not help it. He sat straight as an arrow, his good arm stiff at his side, both hands fisted, knuckles angry welts of white and red. His anger glowed in the colors of Christmas—red holly berries on white snow.
“And the third round?” Mr. Dour asked.
Jane took a deep breath and spoke on the exhale. “To be revealed at a later stage.” The kissing. But she dared not admit that just yet. They may very well guess in a few hours more.
Jane stood. “I will now retire to the east parlor where everything needed to assemble mistletoe has been neatly laid out. We might as well ease our minds by keeping our fingers busy as we learn about one another.”
Mr. Newburton jolted to his feet, spilling his tea. “We’re to begin now?”
“This very moment?” Mr. Quillsby asked.
“I do not see why not.” She smiled at the three men. “Shall we commence, gentlemen?” She swept from the room without waiting for an answer, Edmund’s raucous laughter following her into the hall.
A hand wrapped gently around her shoulder. She glanced at it, strong and big with a slight dusting of hair on top. It looked out of place on her modest merlot-colored gown. One finger trailed along the edge of her bodice, almost brushing her bare skin. She tried to breathe normally. She failed. She need not lift her gaze to know who the hand belonged to, strong and capable yet gentle as it was.
“Are you well, Jane?” George’s deep voice rolled around her like a warm breeze. “Because you must be out of your wits to suggest what you just did.”
She looked up, a fire lighting in her belly. “Out of my wits? Not at all.Youdo not seem well. You should return above stairs. There is no longer any reason for you to stress your health in order to help me. As you see, I’ve discovered a more expedient route toward a decision.”
She pulled her shoulder from his grasp. Being near him felt too daring, and she’d promised Lillian—no, promised herself—she would dare no more. He no longer looked like a goblin king this morning. His head was no longer bandaged, but his arm still nestled in a sling. He looked merely like George. But what that meant had shifted into something she no longer understood.
Best to keep her distance.
“Not for the world. I’m keen to see what you’re up to with your mistletoe and pointed conversation.”
Jane blinked. “You do not approve.”
“Will that keep you from doing as you please?” He grinned.
“Why do you smile? Surely you’re not amused by my stubbornness.”
“I admire your independence, even if I disagree about how you use it. There is still a place for courtship in your life, Jane. You deserve the attention and respect courtship would ensure you.”
“Hmph. Flattery and deceptions, hints of love with no intention of falling. I do not wish to fall, anyway. Did that already.” She huffed. “You carry the injuries still from that little debacle.”
“A fall from a tree is not falling in love, Jane.”
She waved her hand as they entered the East Parlor. “They both end in pain, George. There is no reason not to be practical about it all. And the suitors agree.”
“I’m disappointed,” George grumbled. “I thought them more sensible than that.” He stopped before a table and picked up a bit of mistletoe, twirling it between his fingers.
Tables were piled high with mistletoe and red ribbon, green apples and holly.
“The footman said you ordered every tangle of mistletoe cut from their homes and deposited in my sitting room.”
“I did.”
“I did not need this much. No one needs this much. Pure extravagance.”
“You have it now. What do you plan to do with it? Besides keep your suitors busy while you interrogate them?”
“I’ll make a bunch of the things to hang in every doorway. Since I have enough for every doorway. But mostly, I’ll give it away. Put a festive bundle in every basket sent to every villager and shop in Little Wittington.”
“A lovely proposition.” His eyes warmed.
“I’m glad you think so.”
