“Oh,” Estelle said, raising her eyebrows in exaggerated understanding over her teacup as she raised it to her lips again, “I see.”
She ought to have known even the most eligible of gentlemen had some inane quirk about him – if Atticus Foxwood had been perfect, Miss Dashwood would not have had the time nor need to place advertisements and meddle with candidates, for he would have been snatched up at once. Still, Estelle supposed: as far as flaws went, a fondness for his owl was hardly the worst thing in the world.
She supposed she could suffer to marry a man who doted so much on a pet. As long as he doted all the more on her. For half a moment, Estelle had thought I do think he’d take a shine to you was Miss Poppy Dashwood’s approval bestowed upon by her cousin – but oh, no, she had meant Merlin, the owl. Estelle laughed along, shaking her head. “Well, I should be glad to meet him – meet them both, I mean,” she amended, with a conspiratorial glint. It was a little unorthodox, but if feeding an owl a snack or two was the way to win herself a husband, so be it. “That is,” Estelle added, looking up at Miss Dashwood with a flicker of false modesty and a small conspiratorial smile, sure that the girl did, since they were getting along so well – “if you approve of me too.”
She needed Poppy Dashwood to sing her praises and be a bosom friend, if this was to have any effect at all.
She ought to have known even the most eligible of gentlemen had some inane quirk about him – if Atticus Foxwood had been perfect, Miss Dashwood would not have had the time nor need to place advertisements and meddle with candidates, for he would have been snatched up at once. Still, Estelle supposed: as far as flaws went, a fondness for his owl was hardly the worst thing in the world.
She supposed she could suffer to marry a man who doted so much on a pet. As long as he doted all the more on her. For half a moment, Estelle had thought I do think he’d take a shine to you was Miss Poppy Dashwood’s approval bestowed upon by her cousin – but oh, no, she had meant Merlin, the owl. Estelle laughed along, shaking her head. “Well, I should be glad to meet him – meet them both, I mean,” she amended, with a conspiratorial glint. It was a little unorthodox, but if feeding an owl a snack or two was the way to win herself a husband, so be it. “That is,” Estelle added, looking up at Miss Dashwood with a flicker of false modesty and a small conspiratorial smile, sure that the girl did, since they were getting along so well – “if you approve of me too.”
She needed Poppy Dashwood to sing her praises and be a bosom friend, if this was to have any effect at all.
