How does he do that so easily?
It is a struggle, but I manage to regain enough self-control to jot down a few more times, and then I hand him the slip. He does not even glance at it, preferring to stare at me with his lush green eyes clouded with passion.
The look makes me tremble, which is lovely, but I am trying to do A Thing, and he is ruining it with his besottedness.
With a flutter of my lashes, I gesture to the sheet in his hand.
It does nothing!
He is too smitten to look away.
“Ahem,” I say pointedly.
As he is not entirely lost to reason, he perceives my meaning and consents to a fleeting glimpse. Then he immediately returns his attention to me.
“No, you must read it,” I say insistently. “It does not work if you do not read it.”
Now he is bewildered, which is all his fault.
If only he had shown proper interest when I handed him the document!
Sebastian examines the information I have arranged in nice, neat columns, then places the sheet on the table, seemingly uninterested in the contents.
“You are supposed to ask me what it is,” I say with exasperation.
Allowing a tolerant smile, he replies, “It is a schedule. I can see that because it has dates and times on it.”
Vexing creature!
“You aresupposedto ask me what it is a scheduleof,” I say, then pause for several seconds to allow him to comply, which he does not do, forcing me to sayahemyet again.
“Beg pardon,” he replies, making no effort to suppress his laughter despite the sternness with which I regard him. “Please, dearest, darling Flora, tell me what that is a schedule of before I expire from curiosity.”
I take the high road and answer smoothly as befits my dignity. “My father’s availability over the next two days,” I announce, though it is not strictly true. The itinerary is more of a prop than an actual representation of Papa’s plans.
But it is just strange enough to confound Sebastian, who draws his brows together and says without an air of comprehension, “All right.”
Graciously, I explain that should he like to make an offer to my parents first, he will know where to find them. “It is anecessary precaution, I think, as you made your declaration of love tothem,not to me,” I say with remarkable calm.
And itisremarkable, because I am in effect proposing to him.
It is as outré as a young lady may be, short of appearing in her petticoat in Hyde Park.
He does not seem to grasp the import of the moment or the high courageousness of my actions, and instead points out that applying for permission from one’s legal guardian is the commonly accepted practice. “It is called asking for your hand, and I have already done it.”
I goggle.
The scoundrel, trying to steal a march on me!
But it is also the most monumental thing that has ever happened to anyone.
(Do not doubt it: I can be thrilled and riled at the same time—it requires no effort at all!)
Defending my ground, I exclaim, “I proposed first!”
Obviously, I want credit for my daring.
“All right,” Sebastian says agreeably.
