“Are there any others?” Nigel laughed. “Honestly, I did not even think Jane could get angry. She has always been delightful company. We spent rather a lot of time together when her mother was conspiring to force Olivia and me together.”
“Lady Cotswalts orchestrated that match?” Blake frowned.
“And mine,” Alexander chimed in, laughing good-naturedly.
“You should be careful, Rochester. If she decides that you are the one for her daughter, there will be no stopping her,” Nigel teased.
“I doubt that is likely to happen.” Blake remembered the look of disgust the Viscountess had leveled him with the night he had first met Jane. “Still, you seem to be describing an entirely different person, not the Miss Pembleton I have known thus far.”
“Well, perhaps you shall see the truth of her shortly. After all, we are set to play games in the parlor after dinner.” Nigel grinned at Alexander. “Do you remember the last game of charades we played?”
“I do not think I have ever laughed that hard. Jane was in exceptional form that night,” Alexander agreed, smiling at the memory.
Blake shook his head in disbelief.
There is no way they are talking about the same woman. This is some elaborate ruse to wind me up—that is all.
Yet, hours later, as he stood in the parlor, playing charades with the rest of the group, he realized that both Alexander and Nigel had been speaking the truth.
They had decided to play verbal charades and split into teams by gender. Jane was standing in the center of the parlor, her posture no longer that of a prim and proper lady, but someone entirely at ease in their own skin. Her lips were pursed in thought, and Blake found himself curious about the softness of her expression.
A moment later, with a smile, she held up two fingers.
“Two syllables!” Cressida yelled.
Jane nodded enthusiastically and then held up one finger.
“First syllable.” Emily stared at her sister intently.
Blake watched as Jane tugged on her ear, clearly indicating ‘sounds like.’ A moment later, she mimed with truly comedic overacting a sneeze.
“Breeze!” shouted someone.
“Knees?” ventured another.
“Trees!” volunteered Alexander before Richard elbowed him. “Sorry.”
“They are already winning by three points,” Richard murmured.
“Wheeze!” yelled Cressida, which earned her a nod from Jane.
Jane promptly began to mime coughing, clapping herself on the back several times as though she were struggling to breathe. Good-natured laughter rose around her, and she seemed entirely in her element.
Who is this woman? Certainly not the fussbudget who scolded me about ‘impropriety.’
“Wheezing!” Emily yelled.
Jane whooped in delight and ran to her sister and Cressida, who both stuck their tongues out at the men. Jane, however, did not, instead taking a glass from a passing tray and sipping her drink.
Blake watched as Jane began to speak to the women around her, gesturing animatedly and laughing.
“That reminds me of a most wonderful joke. How did it go again? Ah yes!” Every now and then, she brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. “A lawyer who was most unwell made his last will and testament and left everything he owned to fools and madmen.”
“Surely not.” One of the group giggled, though Blake struggled to recall her name.
Jane nodded. “Now, when the man was asked why he had done such a thing, he replied, ‘It is fools and madmen who made my fortune—it is only right it returns to them.’”
The group erupted into uproarious laughter. One woman even raised a hasty hand to her lips to keep her drink where it belonged.
