“Goodness, what was he telling you?” Rosalie asks, breaking her own rule and looking over at MissPine, who grins back at her.
“Oh, just thoughts on a few acquaintances I’ve noticed you don’t particularly like.”
That could be any number of people. “Which ones?” Rosalie asks, shooting a glare at the back of her oblivious brother’s head.
“Mr. and Mrs.Plory,” MissPine whispers.
Oh, Rosalie does hate them. Their son, Thomas Plory, is a lovely young man. But his parents are the most vituperative, snide, judgmental people she’s ever met.
“He was telling me about the time Mrs. Plory tried to sayyou were too short to rear healthy children and you managed to make a server fall into her with a tray of champagne glasses?”
Rosalie’s mouth drops open. She has half a mind to box her brother about the ears, until she realizes MissPine is giggling. It’s such a ridiculously pretty sound.
She looks back at MissPine, who has her lace-gloved hand over her mouth. “It’strue?”
Rosalie just blinks. She—oh—Christ.
MissPine’s giggles turn to full-out laughter. Mr.Dean and Christopher look back at them and Rosalie can’t help but start to laugh herself. Ahead of them, Mr.Dean rolls his eyes and keeps walking, while Christopher smiles at her and then hurries to catch up.
MissPine reaches out to clutch at her arm so they don’t fall down. “How wonderfully wicked of you,” she says.
Rosalie shrugs, her cheeks aching from smiling and laughing, her arm warm beneath MissPine’s palm. “What, like you’ve never done something similar?”
MissPine’s eyes go wide. “I could never.”
“After your performance at the garden party, I highly doubt that. It was veryEmmaof you.”
“It was not. If anyone is like Emma Woodhouse, it’s you,” MissPine insists, letting go of Rosalie’s arm to brush at her curls while they amble behind Christopher and Mr.Dean, who are now almost at the pond through the thinning trees.
Rosalie feels the absence of MissPine’s fingers keenly. “I surmise you found Emma’s conduct questionable, then?”
MissPine gives her a look. “You didn’t?”
“I thought her motivations admirable. Her execution was... unfortunate,” Rosalie decides.
“Or perhaps her staunch belief in her own self-assurance andability were merely hubris, hiding her inner desire for the same companionship, and proving her as fallible in love and relationships as anyone else,” Miss Pine counters.
Rosalie blinks. “That is an astute reading of the themes.”
MissPine snorts and rolls her eyes. “It is the basic reading.”
“Ask a man, he’ll give you a different one entirely,” Rosalie replies.
“Oh? Did your brother think differently?”
“A few of my brother’s friends determined it an excellent example of women needing to listen to their betters and allowing cooler male heads to prevail.”
“Bollocks,” MissPine says.
Rosalie laughs, surprised, and MissPine grins. “What did your brother think?”
“Richard?” MissPine asks. “I doubt he’s read it. It would be too... frivolous for him. Though he’d probably side with Mr.Knightley.”
“Typical,” Rosalie says with a sigh.
MissPine nods. “But he’s a good brother. Not quite as fun as yours seems.”
“Do you miss him?” Rosalie finds herself asking. “I take it he doesn’t live nearby.”
