The shake of her head, no matter how gently it came, pierced his heart and his hopes – the rejection was coming. He was right – I’m not dressed for it, she said; but how gracefully she had wounded him, to pretend that was all! – a spontaneous trip to Paris was not to be. But before Endymion could wither away to the depths of despair, Miss Dashwood had offered him another window, afforded him a consolation prize that was, itself, invaluable.
“The garden it is,” Endymion agreed happily, suddenly all alight again – fond eyes; wide smile; his arm offered to her with an easy flourish. It did not even dampen his spirits altogether when she frowned at him. Because dear, dear Poppy was only defending him, even to himself, and that was why she was the best person in all the world. She had called him clever, the darling thing, which he knew wasn’t true, but it warmed him anyway. Her presence, already, was a heavenly comfort – so delightful that if she had ordered him to do nothing but disparage himself, Endymion would have been just as honoured.
He inclined his head at her softly to show he was listening and would take her word as law there, and then offered her an unusually shy, guileless smile. “Very well, Miss Dashwood,” he promised, as he led them through a set of double doors to the quieter garden, sparing no attention for anything but her. Once they were in the garden, Endymion fell to a stop and met her gaze directly with another look of imploring earnestness. “You should know I would do anything for you.” What did she want to do now? He would do it; never mind the garden, he would follow her to the end of the earth.
“The garden it is,” Endymion agreed happily, suddenly all alight again – fond eyes; wide smile; his arm offered to her with an easy flourish. It did not even dampen his spirits altogether when she frowned at him. Because dear, dear Poppy was only defending him, even to himself, and that was why she was the best person in all the world. She had called him clever, the darling thing, which he knew wasn’t true, but it warmed him anyway. Her presence, already, was a heavenly comfort – so delightful that if she had ordered him to do nothing but disparage himself, Endymion would have been just as honoured.
He inclined his head at her softly to show he was listening and would take her word as law there, and then offered her an unusually shy, guileless smile. “Very well, Miss Dashwood,” he promised, as he led them through a set of double doors to the quieter garden, sparing no attention for anything but her. Once they were in the garden, Endymion fell to a stop and met her gaze directly with another look of imploring earnestness. “You should know I would do anything for you.” What did she want to do now? He would do it; never mind the garden, he would follow her to the end of the earth.
