Estelle listened with rapacious interest to the description of him, though she tried not to show any of it, just to sit demurely. Besides, she could not trust it: it was surely biased, from a family member. Although Miss Dashwood had just admitted a jealous interest – and Estelle’s mouth upturned briefly, knowingly, at that – because that admission was certainly bound to be honest.
She did enjoy someone who could be direct. Advancing his interests; Estelle’s posture straightened at that, a little less interested in making him the happiest man possible. An advantageous marriage and an excellent wife ought to be all he needed to be perfectly happy, in Estelle’s opinion, so she could not be too worried about that.
At least he didn’t sound like a lost cause – some antisocial, awkward bachelor – if Miss Dashwood was assuring her that he would have managed to find a suitable wife on his own. That was promising. Estelle would not have the patience for an incompetent fool.
The question of what she was looking for took Estelle by surprise, so she ran her gloved thumb alongside the edge of the tea menu for a moment before speaking. “Besides the description you have just given?” She half-joked with a small simper, as if the girl didn’t know any young woman would feel obliged to all kinds of sycophantic agreement in an interview of this kind. “I...” There was a faint line between her eyebrows as she thought, most seriously, of how to define the husband she was looking for. “I am sure I should only be happy with a man who is sociable in society, and proud of his place in it. A man who is responsible, who recognises his duties, cares for his family and protects their reputation, who yet has aspirations of his own and – well, integrity, I suppose.” Had she said too little or too much? Wrong or right? She didn’t know; but Estelle would be betraying herself if she didn’t make things plain now. “I could not bear to be married to a mindless rake,” she confessed, praying that Miss Dashwood’s cousin was not any of the above, “or a man who still has all the foolishness and follies of a boy.” She glanced up now, a little pink, almost abashed at her demands. “Do you suppose I am asking for too much?”
She did enjoy someone who could be direct. Advancing his interests; Estelle’s posture straightened at that, a little less interested in making him the happiest man possible. An advantageous marriage and an excellent wife ought to be all he needed to be perfectly happy, in Estelle’s opinion, so she could not be too worried about that.
At least he didn’t sound like a lost cause – some antisocial, awkward bachelor – if Miss Dashwood was assuring her that he would have managed to find a suitable wife on his own. That was promising. Estelle would not have the patience for an incompetent fool.
The question of what she was looking for took Estelle by surprise, so she ran her gloved thumb alongside the edge of the tea menu for a moment before speaking. “Besides the description you have just given?” She half-joked with a small simper, as if the girl didn’t know any young woman would feel obliged to all kinds of sycophantic agreement in an interview of this kind. “I...” There was a faint line between her eyebrows as she thought, most seriously, of how to define the husband she was looking for. “I am sure I should only be happy with a man who is sociable in society, and proud of his place in it. A man who is responsible, who recognises his duties, cares for his family and protects their reputation, who yet has aspirations of his own and – well, integrity, I suppose.” Had she said too little or too much? Wrong or right? She didn’t know; but Estelle would be betraying herself if she didn’t make things plain now. “I could not bear to be married to a mindless rake,” she confessed, praying that Miss Dashwood’s cousin was not any of the above, “or a man who still has all the foolishness and follies of a boy.” She glanced up now, a little pink, almost abashed at her demands. “Do you suppose I am asking for too much?”
