Reading in the Park
“And some part of that made think, ‘Ah yes, let’s approach a woman sitting on her own, clearly enjoying solitude and nature.’” She looked back up at her new company. “Is that accurate?”
"So I should have just carried on should I? Just act like I don't owe you my thanks, and completely disregard the fact that I hadn't yet had to chance to do so?"
Matilda’s brow creased as he spoke—it was an awful trait, in some ways, that her face should be so evident with her emotions and opinions. Even seven centuries couldn’t quite quell the behavior, not that she had particularly tried to quell it. But still, his words had perplexed her somewhat, to the point of allowing her book to fall shut as she turned to face Torben.
“Thank me?” She questioned, searching his face for a moment before the all too obvious answer struck her. “Oh. Surely you can’t mean for last night? Lavinia is the one deserving of your thanks—truthfully, we even ought to be thanking you or, better still, showering you with gifts for your remarkable tolerance of our eldest brother’s outbursts in the wake of everything.” She sighed in a rather tired fashion, relaxing her back against the tree all the more so. “But thanking me is simply the most ludicrous notion I’ve heard in decades.”
