“So the answer is to restrict everyone on the basis of the worst possible situation rather than to address the worst possible situation directly,” she said. “We apply the exception to the whole.”
“We establish a consistent standard,” he said, “rather than asking people to assess each situation individually.”
“Or,” she said, “we trust people to use their judgment and accept that they will occasionally get it wrong, which is considerably less condescending.”
“You have a great deal of faith in individual judgment,” he said.
“I have a great deal of experience,” she said, “with rules that existed entirely for someone else’s benefit being applied to me as though they were for mine.”
He was quiet for a moment, and she let him be quiet, which was another thing he had noticed about her.
“That’s a fair point,” he said. “But your original point was that the east wing wanted repainting.”
She laughed in deliciously bubbly manner, and he felt something in his chest.
“My original point,” she said, when she had recovered herself, “was that not everything deserves to remain as it is simply because it has always been that way. Some things should be looked at honestly and either kept or changed on their actual merits rather than on the basis of how long they have been sitting there going unquestioned.”
“I agree with that,” he said, surprising himself.
She stopped with her wine glass halfway to her mouth.
“You agree? I expected more resistance,” she admitted.
“The principle is sound,” he said. “My argument is with the application of it, not the principle itself. You encounter a rule that restricts you and your instinct is that the restriction is the problem. But sometimes the restriction is precisely the point, and the fact that it is uncomfortable does not make it wrong.”
“And sometimes,” she said, setting her glass down, “the restriction is the point for everyone except the people being restricted, who had no say in the matter and are simply expected to find it reasonable because the people who wrote it down did.”
“That,” he said finally, “is inconveniently accurate but I’m not conceding the argument.”
“I didn’t think you were but you could simply say I’m right,” she teased.
“I won’t, but the option is there.”
It was at this point that Harrow, the butler, appeared in the dining room doorway. Harper noticed him first and nodded.
Harrow stepped forward.
“A delivery has arrived, Your Grace,” he said. “For Miss Hosmer.”
“A delivery,” she said, surprised.
“Yes, miss. A box, from a shop on Regent Street. The boy says it was ordered earlier this week.”
Oh.It had finally arrived. Harper suddenly found himself feeling full of anticipation.
“Yes, miss.”
“Have it brought up,” Harper said, to Harrow, without looking up from his plate. “She can look at it after dinner.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
“Harper,” Temperance said. “Did you have anything to do with his this?”
“It is nothing significant,” he said, trying to play it down. “I saw something that seemed appropriate for the next occasion we are required to attend. You should be presentable and I had the means to ensure it, so I did.”
Temperance looked at him for a long moment. He met her eyes briefly and then returned to his dinner.
“Did you get her a dress? That is very practical,” Albina said, in the mild, pleasant tone that Harper had learned, over several weeks, to treat with some caution.
