Mr. Ross’s lips curved in a proud smile, and he rewarded himself with a sip of tea. “What do ye like to do in yer spare time?”
“I enjoy a promenade.”
“Do ye like birds? Ye must see a lot of birds during yer walks.”
“I cannae say I am fond of the little creatures.”
“I am nae so fond of birds meself and detest those thieving pigeons, but I do adore the majestic peacock. If ye do change yer mind, I could buy ye a pet bird.”
“Peacocks?” She knew he would not forgive another fit of laughter, so she bit her lower lip hard.
He looked aware of a faux pas but could not quite put his finger on it. “Are ye nae a fan of birds?”
“That’s nae it, sir. I would say they are rather…” She eyed him. “… more flamboyant than they are majestic. Birds are pretty, but they are a waste of meat.”
Horror flashed across his face. “They should never be eaten. They are to be admired and cared for!”
“I have never seen one in person or tasted its meat. I am only repeating what I heard.”
“Ah, of course.” Another sip of tea. “What else do ye enjoy doing?”
“I do enjoy reading.”
“I ken ladies dabble in poetry and far-fetched tales of romance.”
“Ye believe romance far-fetched?”
Maybe they had something in common, after all.
“Most.” He twisted his mouth, showing his displeasure. “The pirates and the damsels. The reformed rakes and the innocent debutantes.”
“Ye seem most knowledgeable about those far-fetched tales ye seem to detest.”
Mr. Ross took the initiative and poured her a cup of tea sometime later. The pot was half empty when she went for a second cup; he was an awfully parched man. As she sipped the warm liquid, he poured himself a fourth cup. He hunched over the pot, but he did not look awkward. It seemed the topic of baseless romance broke the ice.
He sat straighter. “Me job is to translate literature from other languages into English. Ye willnae believe how much ladies are willing to pay for a copy of their favorite author’s latest work.”
“Do ye nae have something ye’re passionate about enough to pay a fortune to acquire?”
He thought for a moment. “Nay.”Ah, a frugal man. “I find me work quite enjoyable because I am a fan of languages.”
“A linguist who hates literature. I daenae believe the former can exist without the latter.”
“I concur. Our conversation isnae transcribed on a page, yet it exists. Literature is like the price we pay for communication.”
She laughed, a genuine thing.
Her opinion of Mr. Ross had not changed, and she still did not enjoy his company. But it was less awkward than staring mutely at him.
She had to remember Darragh was listening. If he believed that an ounce of fondness had bloomed between them, he would send her off with him before the chapel bells rang.
She had already laughed, and he had noted it. If she stated superficial reasons as to why Mr. Ross was unbecoming, he would disregard her as a bratty child. She would find something to hate about Mr. Ross before he made his visit a daily occurrence.
“What is yer favorite language to translate?”
Mr. Ross perked up as if he had been waiting for the question. “French.” Simple and curt.
“The language of love and poets, how ironic.”
