Blast. Estelle had thought her plan almost foolproof, but Victoire had suddenly made this all feel so much worse because she was being nice about it. As if she believed it, as if it were exciting and romantic and not... a ridiculous thought that she ought never to have acted on.
Estelle floundered slightly in the face of her sister’s selfless encouragement, because to backtrack now, to demur or shy away, would be most embarrassing – and also, as it happened, most unlike her. So then Victoire would definitely know something was amiss, and if Torie figured out the truth and turned to well-meaning pity for her, Estelle might tear her own guts out.
“No,” she said, her cheeks pink without trying for a different reason now. “I truly don’t know. I have met so many men, they all seem to blur into one.” Estelle was desperately trying to think of even one conversation she had had in the last few months with an eligible man that she could say had gone unequivocally well, and she was coming up blank. “If he has chosen anonymity, probably he is unsuitable anyway,” she said, dismissively: this was a muddle and a mess and a mistake, because Torie’s honest enthusiasm was a little overwhelming and now she thought there was something serious here.
(So Estelle really would have to send another along bouquet next week, because she could not allow even a made-up expression of interest in her to burn out that fast.)
Estelle floundered slightly in the face of her sister’s selfless encouragement, because to backtrack now, to demur or shy away, would be most embarrassing – and also, as it happened, most unlike her. So then Victoire would definitely know something was amiss, and if Torie figured out the truth and turned to well-meaning pity for her, Estelle might tear her own guts out.
“No,” she said, her cheeks pink without trying for a different reason now. “I truly don’t know. I have met so many men, they all seem to blur into one.” Estelle was desperately trying to think of even one conversation she had had in the last few months with an eligible man that she could say had gone unequivocally well, and she was coming up blank. “If he has chosen anonymity, probably he is unsuitable anyway,” she said, dismissively: this was a muddle and a mess and a mistake, because Torie’s honest enthusiasm was a little overwhelming and now she thought there was something serious here.
(So Estelle really would have to send another along bouquet next week, because she could not allow even a made-up expression of interest in her to burn out that fast.)
