Miss Flint's laugh was a refreshing one; it was high-pitched and bell-like, genuine and unforced. It was different from that of the debutantes who felt obligated to let out a laugh every few seconds, lest they seem unfriendly and unapproachable. He simply stood silently, a smile across his face, and admired hers, feeling no obligation to return the same awkward laugh he'd offered twice just this evening.

"I'm sure they've heard an earful already," he responded. (Any gentleman who would unabashedly stalk a woman was the sort, in his opinion, was one who lacked reality - and might very well talk to their sheep.)

Offering his arm once more, Edward was determined to carry on the evening with a pleasant disposition rather than a tense chest. People would only speculate if he gave hem a reason to speculate.

"I wish I could say I did," he said, biting his bottom lip to prevent his smile from becoming unnaturally wide. "You might say it was once an aspiration of mine, but my days of heroism have long passed," he teased. In reality, he'd never once been a hero - a healer's intern, but never a hero.

"And you, Miss Flint," he said, turning towards her as they stopped at the refreshments table. "Do you often find yourself in need of rescuing?"

---