“Ahh, Miss Essex, you are delightful when you’re mistaken. As I’ve said a few times before—I’ll have to start keeping track—if you knew my sister, you’d have a much different opinion of what you assume, I believe…trust me.”
“That’s the problem. I find I can’t…believe you, that is,” she said in a clipped monotone.
“I’ll simply have to prove you wrong, which, if I’m being honest, hasn’t been too difficult to do,” Lord Penderdale said with a cheeky tone.
“Honesty is always welcome but rarely found,” she returned, her hands fisted on her lap as she resisted the urge to stand and go toe-to-toe with the frustrating man. She was about to address Mr. Finch. However, Lord Penderdale spoke before she could get the words out.
“But opinion and truth are different, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Finch?”
Elizabeth’s attention shifted to her friend, watching as Patricia’s eyes shifted between Lord Penderdale and herself, as if searching for salvation from the evident fight she’d somehow been dragged into.
“Well, I believe I’ve been told that is the case, Lord Penderdale,” Patricia answered after a moment.
Elizabeth turned a disbelieving glance on her friend. “You believe?” When had Patricia ever stated something weakly? She was a woman of deep and loud opinions, one of the reasons she was a fearless and devoted friend. And now, suddenly in the presence of Lord Penderdale, she was all soft-spoken? Elizabeth just stared mutely at her friend, trying to figure out how the world had just turned on its ear.
“I’m going to go on instinct here, but who perhaps told you, Miss Finch?” he asked in a charming voice.
Elizabeth’s attention snapped to him at the tone of his words. “Are you sincerely using your charm—”
“You find me charming? Delightful. The feeling is mutual, I assure you. But you interrupted my question to Miss Finch.” He waved a hand. He’d dismissed her.
Dismissed her after scolding her. Elizabeth’s face flamed with frustration.
“Well, that is…” Patricia took a deep breath. “Miss Essex.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, waiting for the nightmare to end. Was this truly happening? She was having afternoon tea with her delightful friend, discussing various topics, only for it all to be hijacked by the most infuriating man ever born.
She opened her eyes and met his scrutiny, not willing to back down a centimeter.
He regarded her, prolonging the moment withfar too much delight, if his expression was any indicator. “Well, Miss Essex, which is it?”
She took a deep breath through her nose. “Well, if you wish to have a debate, Lord Penderdale, we need more tea. Because I assure you, even in our short acquaintance, I’ve noticed you tend to use a lot of words, many of which are unnecessary, and thus you’ll need some tea to keep your voice working if we’re to dive deeply into the information you’re seeking,” she answered.
“Well.” Collin shrugged. “If my flaw is waxing poetic on answers, yours is in avoiding them entirely.”
She blinked. The problem was, she was no longer certain what the actual question was. She forced her thoughts into neat ranks as she reviewed the conversation and desperately searched for whatever morsel of a question they were circling about. Her frustration had made her an utter ninny.
She had to master it, the anger. She took a slow breath and stalled as she considered their conversation by taking another sip from her nearly empty teacup.
“Miss Essex, I’ll remind you of the question you seem to have forgotten.” He addressed her once more.
She opened her mouth to reply but inhaled tea instead. She held up her napkin just in time to prevent herself from coughing the tea onto the table in front of her. Her throat itched with the need tocough, but thankfully the urge subsided as quickly as it had come on.
“Are you well?”
She nodded, then turned toward the voice, realizing it was much closer than she remembered. Lord Penderdale had moved closer and was watching her with what appeared to be concern.
As if he cared.
Which he didn’t. She knew that.
But part of her wished he did.
Silencing that small voice in her head, she nodded again. “I’m well.” She swallowed. “Truth and opinion are different, yes. However it’s not as simple as black and white. Only a fool will base his life on opinion, but it’s also foolish to base your life on truth without context.”
“Well said,” Lord Penderdale conceded and took a step back.
Elizabeth watched his movements, an odd curiosity swirling about her belly as he held her gaze. His eyes were green and difficult to read. She suspected he wished to be that way, finding it safer to keep distance from people. Odd they could have that character flaw in common. Actually, having anything in common was miraculous. However, suspecting that commonality was just a hunch. Nonetheless she wanted to know, not just assume, but ask him, dive deeper,knowhim.
