Endymion was trying his level best to rein in his smile, he was – but it was hard to suppress the amusement as she at last gave in to the accusation of hiding, if an accusation it was. Though he liked her alternative explanation better, and was more amused still when Thistle showed it to him, as if to prove it. “Of course: whatever you’d like to call it, Miss Potts,” Endymion said, nodding mock-earnestly, with just a touch of mischief to it.
“Mothers can be that way,” he agreed in sympathy, although he plucked the card out of her hand before she could protest, to examine that space (– and perhaps the names on either side of it, just out of curiosity –) matter-of-factly. As if satisfied with his examination, he handed it back to her. “At wanting you to dance, or to marry?” Her sister had just married, and another was engaged, so she must have come back into focus for it, he imagined; but perhaps the height of Mrs. Potts’ hope nowadays was prodding Miss Potts into being sociable.
“Mothers can be that way,” he agreed in sympathy, although he plucked the card out of her hand before she could protest, to examine that space (– and perhaps the names on either side of it, just out of curiosity –) matter-of-factly. As if satisfied with his examination, he handed it back to her. “At wanting you to dance, or to marry?” Her sister had just married, and another was engaged, so she must have come back into focus for it, he imagined; but perhaps the height of Mrs. Potts’ hope nowadays was prodding Miss Potts into being sociable.
