“Lily?”
“She has taken a particular liking to me, it seems. I cannot very well continue calling her ‘piglet’ as if her regard meant nothing.”
He laughed unexpectedly. “Of course. Very sensible. One should not slight a pig unnecessarily. Unfortunately for me, the sow seems rather disinterested in my friendship.”
“And this disappoints you?”
“Immensely. I crave nothing more than the sentimental regard of those in my company.”
She cocked her head and frowned. “Even those predisposed to despising the very ground on which you walk?”
“Especially those.”
“Why, may I ask? Is it not natural for opponents to maintain a healthy disdain for one another?”
Adam looked away, uncomfortable with the directness of her questions. “I suppose it is.” Then he cut his eyes toward her. “After all, how could we remain enemies if we ceased hating each other?”
His comment appeared to startle her. “We? I was speaking of piglets. Now, you talk of us. This all seems rather unexpected.”
“Right. But let us not speak of piglets. Let us instead discuss the merits of remaining enemies. After you, Jane.”
She placed a finger dramatically against her chin. “The prospect of despising you gets me out of bed in the morning. I rise each day thinking, ‘how might I ruin Adam Ashford today?’ Your turn, sir.”
He pursed his lips in thought. “My disdain for you serves as a good reference point. Having a reliable enemy allows me to see all others in a better light. It allows me to sort people into two convenient categories—my enemy and everyone else.”
“Should not your categories be more nuanced?”
“Such as?”
“Such as friend of your enemy, enemy of your enemy, enemy of your friend, and those you truly love? To name just a few?”
The sparkle of her eyes made clear her amusement with the discussion. This pleased him, though he did not know why. “I see your point. Perhaps I should reconsider my categories. But see here, we have identified only two merits of maintaining a healthy hatred for each other. Surely, there are others.”
She nodded agreement. “There is at least one more.”
“And that is?”
“Convenient scapegoating. Having an enemy tells me whom I might blame for all the ills of my life. For all the ills of the world, actually. Without a proper enemy, I might be forced to consider my own role in such unpleasant things. How terribly inconvenient.”
He chuckled again. “Well said. I, too, find comfort in having such a readily available scapegoat. Keeps me from the need for self-reflection. And everyone knows that gentlemen abhor such distressing and taxing thoughts.”
“Just as I suspected.” She giggled, much to his surprise. An awkward pause overcame them, as often happens when conversation trends perilously toward painful truths. He inhaled a breath to rekindle the discussion.
“I have my letter with me. Do you still have yours?”
“Of course. Do you not trust me?”
He hesitated only briefly. “I do. However, you do not appear to return the favor.”
She looked away quickly. A half minute passed before she replied. “I am still deciding. I can promise no more than that.”
Disappointment flooded him. Despite the animosity between them, he wanted her to trust him but understood why she could not. Distrust between them had been cooked into their respective family stews long before either of them had been born. He gathered the dark emotion into a neat ball and stuffed it into the depths of his heart where he regularly discarded such things. He forced a smile instead.
“I should be the one to distrust you, Jane, after what you did to me on my twenty-first birthday.”
She whipped her head to face him. “What did I do to you, Mr. Ashford?”
Her eyes betrayed her. She knew precisely of what he spoke. Nevertheless, he took pleasure in reminding her. He assumed an appropriately grim expression for the telling.
