#//asdiojioasd this really is the bitchiestTM

[honorhearted]

"No, not poor."

Benjamin arched a brow, discreetly observing her from the corner of his eye. He knew a backhanded compliment when he heard one. "And have you received many accolades for your dancing, Miss Woodhouse?" he asked. "I'm just curious who deemed you the expert on such matters."

Emma's eyes gleamed and she turned toward him, almost as if she finally deemed him a subject of interest. "Reformed?" she echoed, intrigued. "You speak as if you're an expert on the subject, Mr. Tallmadge. What reformation do you require?"

Benjamin snorted. "As if I would tell you," he deflected, lifting his shoulders. "You should know better than most, Miss Woodhouse: the gossips of this town are ruthless. And being an American, I trust I already have their barbed arrows at the ready. There's no need to tempt them." Turning toward her, he added, "But for the sake of argument? Let's just say I have a penchant for verbal combat."

Emma hummed. "No matter. My former governess Miss Taylor, now Mrs. Weston, would very much digress if asked her good opinion on the subject. She's in need of no reformation at all, especially not now that she's become wed to a most gentile acquaintance."

For the second time that evening, Benjamin snorted. "And just who is Mrs. Weston to make her the head authority on what does and does not work?" he asked. "I'm sure she's a lovely woman, but you'll have to forgive me since my opinion remains unchanged." He swirled the glass of wine in his hand. "I'm glad of her happiness, naturally, but something tells me your support is a bit more self-serving. Far be it for me to listen to whispers, but it's been said that you are responsible for her match."

Unruffled as ever, Emma divulged, "It's to my understanding that those in the vicarage are more often in need of reform than us sinners cast aside after Sunday morning."

Benjamin was taking a sip of claret when she spoke. Nearly choking into his glass, he grimaced once the acidic beverage shot up his nose, leaving behind a tart, unpleasant burning sensation. Bringing a gloved hand over his mouth, he scowled at her before revealing, "My father is a man of God. I don't know who's twisted your opinions to such a...a heinously colorful degree, but I must ask: what authority on sin do you possess, Miss Woodhouse, that you can so readily judge?"

"Is my method so poor?"

"No, not poor." Not good either, but she was uncertain she could locate a more fitting adjective in the recesses of her memory.

"Do I seem like I only converse with students, Miss Woodhouse? ... if you feel that students and teachers are the only ones who can learn from one another, then I must unabashedly disagree. Sometimes, it is the educated who are the most in need of reform."

"Reformed?" She turned to face her companion fully, a brow raised in curiosity. "You speak as if you're an expert on the subject, Mr. Tallmadge. What reformation do you require?" her tone one of playful challenge; she was fond of a bit of verbal sparring, something she'd become practiced in as a child, "No matter. My former governess Miss Taylor, now Mrs. Weston, would very much digress if asked her good opinion on the subject. She's in need of no reformation at all, especially not now that she's become wed to a most gentile acquaintance."

A wicked thought came to her, one involving the poor character of a vicar she knew all too well, one perhaps better left unsaid in mixed company but subtly was a virtue Emma did not herself possess. "It's to my understanding that those in the vicarage are more often in need of reform than us sinners cast aside after Sunday morning."