Perfect. Your face is perfect: what a horribly opaque remark! Was she making fun of him again? Laughing somewhere beyond that clear, impervious deadpan? Thistle Potts was a perfect enigma, Endymion decided there and then. Unreadable, a book closed fast. That, or he supposed he had never gotten to know her well enough to learn to read her.
He ought to try not to be too concerned with what she made of his face, anyway. Endymion nodded gratefully at the suggestion instead, supposing he should probably attempt to get himself out of this situation sooner rather than later. She had a hold on him; he pushed himself upwards again, and this time was rewarded with much less dizziness.
He paused there before he tried to move from sitting upright to standing again, studying her for a moment with a little curiosity lingering in his look. “Well, perhaps I’m safe from spinsterhood,” Endymion answered, trying to resist the playful smile tugging at his mouth and entirely failing, “but maybe not from bachelordom.” She seemed perfectly at ease with her lot – he thought he would have noticed if that particular twinkle of amusement in her eyes had been fake or forced, untranslatable though she may otherwise be – but after saying it so jokingly, Endymion wavered slightly at the thought of being alone forever. “Though I do still have a little hope,” he added, with much the same wistful earnestness he had always had when it came to romance and had never been able to disguise.
He ought to try not to be too concerned with what she made of his face, anyway. Endymion nodded gratefully at the suggestion instead, supposing he should probably attempt to get himself out of this situation sooner rather than later. She had a hold on him; he pushed himself upwards again, and this time was rewarded with much less dizziness.
He paused there before he tried to move from sitting upright to standing again, studying her for a moment with a little curiosity lingering in his look. “Well, perhaps I’m safe from spinsterhood,” Endymion answered, trying to resist the playful smile tugging at his mouth and entirely failing, “but maybe not from bachelordom.” She seemed perfectly at ease with her lot – he thought he would have noticed if that particular twinkle of amusement in her eyes had been fake or forced, untranslatable though she may otherwise be – but after saying it so jokingly, Endymion wavered slightly at the thought of being alone forever. “Though I do still have a little hope,” he added, with much the same wistful earnestness he had always had when it came to romance and had never been able to disguise.
