“In me?”

“Yes.”

“Simply because I did not agree with you? If so, that disappoints me.”

Feeling somehow chastised, she considered his words for several seconds, then shook her head. “No, not because we didn’t agree, but because you made some very strong statements without benefit of firsthand knowledge. That, to me, is unfair, which I find to be a disappointing, not to mention irksome, quality in a person.”

“I see. Tell me, had I ever in any of our past meetings impressed you as being unfair?”

“Not at all, which is why I found last evening’s discussion so-”

“Disappointing?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Not to mention irksome.”

“Indeed. We wouldn’t want not to mention that.”

Again silence swelled between them, uncomfortable in an inexplicable way that unsettled her. Before last evening, she’d always felt at ease in Mr. Stanton’s company. Indeed, she’d found her brother’s closest friend intelligent, witty, and charming, and had enjoyed the easy friendship and camaraderie that had developed between them during the half dozen or so times they’d met. His comments last evening about the Guide, however, had proved most disillusioning. Scandalous, appalling, trash-filled balderdash indeed. Humph. And his opinion of Charles Brightmore as a renegade who possesses little, if any, literary talent had quite set her teeth on edge. It had required all her strength not to jab her finger at his nose and inquire exactly how many books he’d written.

Of course, the part of her that demanded fairness had to admit that the Guide could be described as scandalous. While she firmly believed that the information provided in the Guide was necessary and valuable to women, part of her had been delighted at the brow-raising aspect of the book and had been the deciding element for her to embark on the endeavor.