If her attention had been anywhere but his eyes, she would have missed the subtle shift. Her praise, or what she'd intended as such, seemed to land, but inelegantly. Much like a sloppy incantation ruined a spell, Angel's words had been off. But where?
Easy smile lost to a wary curiosity, Angel took a moment to study his face, her own enthusiasm quickly reined in. "You have a reputation for being you." She offered evenly. "You are the most inscrutable yet well-regarded man in a rather public family. You are near in age to my eldest brother and my father's heir. On parchment, you could be equals, but you are many things Renzo is not." Even comparing Renzo to Mr. Selwyn felt far too charitable on her brother's behalf.
Ticking the points off on her fingers, partially to keep her hands from initiating contact in public, Angelica laid out the blatantly obvious (to her). "You know the North Atlantic trade and British culture in ways Renzo never bothered to learn, you know your fleet and your market, you're magnetic in conversation where Renzo is imperious in all things, and you arrived tonight as an equal. No false inferiority, no blustery overcompensation; you are effortless." She'd kept careful watch on his far as she listed her accounting of the evening, hoping for the spark and smirk to reappear. If appeals to his pride were ineffective, he'd be an even rarer man than she believed.
"Mr. Selwyn, my father wants to expand his power in a competitive market knowing he won't be at the helm forever. He also knows his son. He was hoping for a rival that appeared socially inept, ignorant, or at least uneasy in his role. Of course, liking you is a disappointment for him."
"I hate to disappoint, but I believe I was the only Corvo favoring you this evening." She gave him a pout at that, hoping to draw him back to her initial sense of play. "You will have to forgive me for keeping what I know of you to myself. Something about praising you to my family seemed ill-advised." She offered her palms in a playful 'what could I do?' though the gesture was rhetorical. Offering her thoughts on a man to her father hadn't occurred to her since her own engagement. She wasn't a fool, but she was her father's daughter. She knew what sort of scrutiny she'd be inviting to her life if her father thought she favored a man, regardless of her intention. The damned Witch Weekly was a grand reminder of that.
Easy smile lost to a wary curiosity, Angel took a moment to study his face, her own enthusiasm quickly reined in. "You have a reputation for being you." She offered evenly. "You are the most inscrutable yet well-regarded man in a rather public family. You are near in age to my eldest brother and my father's heir. On parchment, you could be equals, but you are many things Renzo is not." Even comparing Renzo to Mr. Selwyn felt far too charitable on her brother's behalf.
Ticking the points off on her fingers, partially to keep her hands from initiating contact in public, Angelica laid out the blatantly obvious (to her). "You know the North Atlantic trade and British culture in ways Renzo never bothered to learn, you know your fleet and your market, you're magnetic in conversation where Renzo is imperious in all things, and you arrived tonight as an equal. No false inferiority, no blustery overcompensation; you are effortless." She'd kept careful watch on his far as she listed her accounting of the evening, hoping for the spark and smirk to reappear. If appeals to his pride were ineffective, he'd be an even rarer man than she believed.
"Mr. Selwyn, my father wants to expand his power in a competitive market knowing he won't be at the helm forever. He also knows his son. He was hoping for a rival that appeared socially inept, ignorant, or at least uneasy in his role. Of course, liking you is a disappointment for him."
"I hate to disappoint, but I believe I was the only Corvo favoring you this evening." She gave him a pout at that, hoping to draw him back to her initial sense of play. "You will have to forgive me for keeping what I know of you to myself. Something about praising you to my family seemed ill-advised." She offered her palms in a playful 'what could I do?' though the gesture was rhetorical. Offering her thoughts on a man to her father hadn't occurred to her since her own engagement. She wasn't a fool, but she was her father's daughter. She knew what sort of scrutiny she'd be inviting to her life if her father thought she favored a man, regardless of her intention. The damned Witch Weekly was a grand reminder of that.
![[Image: NpMgQU7.png]](https://i.imgur.com/NpMgQU7.png)