“Very well,” George said. He held up his good hand. “Lady Jane and Lord Devon both enjoy coffee. We’ll count that as a match. So too does Mr. Dour. But Lady Jane also enjoys tea, so there’s a match with Newburton and Quillsby. Lady Jane matched with Quillsby on the issue of mathematics, with Newburton on the efficacy of exercise for body and mind, and with Dour on the importance of having”—he swallowed hard—“a horde of rambunctious children.”
Jane blushed.
Mr. Dour nodded vigorously.
George rushed ahead, counting matches. “On the issue of books and reading, Jane matched most closely with Mr. Newburton, and on the issue of the theater and opera, she is well-matched with Mr. Quillsby. Am I missing anything?”
“The matter of charity,” Jane said. “All of us agree on its importance.”
“Quite right,” George said. “That means Mr. Dour has matched with Jane three times. Mr. Newburton three times. And Mr. Quillsby three times. It seems a draw. Lord Devon has participated in only one of the conversations, so though it was a match, he has but one point.”
Jane’s fists found her hips. “Is this how you think it should be done? With points?”
“And why not? You wanted a practical system. This is one. Oh, and does anyone have any insurmountable issues? Answers to questions that you cannot live with? If so, speak so we know you are done. You may exit the competition now.”
Jane’s mouth dropped open. “This is not a competition!”
“Is it not? I thought you were being matter-of-fact about it all.”
She glared.
He ignored it. “No insurmountable objections, gentlemen?”
The suitors remained silent.
“Very well then, onto cards or charades or what have you?”
“No.” Jane stormed toward him. “You are not in charge here, Lord Abbington.”
“And neither are you. A conversation about coffee just dissolved into a roaring, gladiatorial mess.”
She closed her eyes, took a breath, then opened them back up with a smile. She turned away from George and to the suitors. “Lord Abbington’s concerns are valid. We must remain civil.” She knelt and picked up some of the mangled mistletoe, holding it high as she stood. “I would have liked to give these away to the village, but they have been so damaged—”
“We’ll fix them, Lady Jane.” Mr. Newburton strode forward, holding his hands out to her. He took the bruised greenery from her and set about repairing the ribbon, adding an apple.
“Thank you. That’s quite kind of you.”
George could see the light of a realization enter the eyes of all the suitors at once. Newburton had just increased his tally. The mistletoe was off the floor and under intense scrutiny in minutes.
Jane smiled at them all, and George felt the urgent need to scoop her up and carry her from the room. He sat back down.
“Well done, Sir Knight,” Edmund said. “Your armor is truly shining.”
“Shut it, Eddie.”
Jane walked between her diligent suitors, inspecting their work. “George’s ham-fisted attempts to tame us have given me an idea.”
“Oh ho ho, my friend,” Edmund whispered, “she’s not done yet. What will it be this time?”
“God save me,” George groaned.
“You can save yourself,” Edmund said. “Offer for her hand.”
“Keep your voice down! Why do you insist on this thread of thought?” It had already caused too much havoc in his mind and body.
Edmund shrugged, smiled. “The two of you are damned adorable together. You’re my relationship of choice.”
“What does that even mean?” he hissed. Then he raised his voice for all to hear. “What sort of infernal idea do you think I’ve provided you, Lady Jane?”
