He noticed the wrinkling of her nose, because he was looking intently at her, however hard he tried to convince himself to be watching the racecourse sights as they walked. For a split second, he was worried about what it meant (if she dared laugh at him, he would...) but the moment and the flurry of worry passed him by, and she saved herself with that answer.
They might very well get on, she had said. (Kris, in turn, tried not to show any twitch of pleasure on his mouth. He certainly didn’t want to her to think he cared for her opinion of their prospects, getting on together.) Anyway, the less he said here the better, because the more he was learning about Miss Dashwood and all her idiosyncrasies. Pet names, she said? Hopefully he would never be so grossly familiar with her that she gained the courage to give him one. Hopefully...
“Perhaps,” he merely said, raising an eyebrow more affectedly than usual, if only to amuse her. It would be easy enough to arrange – as simple as sending her a letter. A trifling gesture if ever he’d heard of one, and yet... still not something he ever did. He barely corresponded with his own sisters. “Maybe once I’ve met your Charles I’ll think about introducing you,” he teased, aware there was no fair exchange in that order of things, with the special honour of meeting her so-called leading man and his dearth of affection for the owl in question.
But he was already giving Miss Dashwood a great deal of himself here – wasn’t he being polite and accommodating and chivalrous enough already? He didn’t need to debase himself by leaping at the chance to write letters of drivel to her, thank you.
They might very well get on, she had said. (Kris, in turn, tried not to show any twitch of pleasure on his mouth. He certainly didn’t want to her to think he cared for her opinion of their prospects, getting on together.) Anyway, the less he said here the better, because the more he was learning about Miss Dashwood and all her idiosyncrasies. Pet names, she said? Hopefully he would never be so grossly familiar with her that she gained the courage to give him one. Hopefully...
“Perhaps,” he merely said, raising an eyebrow more affectedly than usual, if only to amuse her. It would be easy enough to arrange – as simple as sending her a letter. A trifling gesture if ever he’d heard of one, and yet... still not something he ever did. He barely corresponded with his own sisters. “Maybe once I’ve met your Charles I’ll think about introducing you,” he teased, aware there was no fair exchange in that order of things, with the special honour of meeting her so-called leading man and his dearth of affection for the owl in question.
But he was already giving Miss Dashwood a great deal of himself here – wasn’t he being polite and accommodating and chivalrous enough already? He didn’t need to debase himself by leaping at the chance to write letters of drivel to her, thank you.
