"Beautifully put!" Charles said with a grin. He wasn't exactly sure how to take the slight jibe of Elizabeth's sister. Instead he chose to regard Elizabeth herself, delighted that she enjoyed poetry as well. "My father disapproves of me writing so much poetry, but I cannot seem to help myself. I think that love, in all its forms, is essential to the best poems. Without it there could be nothing truly felt by a heart, and so no one would be able to write what he felt. The 'fruit of love' is very apt, Miss Darling. ...Have you written any poems yourself?"
And for once he thought his mother had been right in urging him to speak with a young woman. He felt somewhat ashamed that he had settled for small talk the few times he'd had cause to speak with Elizabeth Darling at social gatherings. All this time, and he could have had a friend with equal interest in his favourite passion.
There were thoughts of Piper, too, at the mention of love. He had to wonder at himself for the instant association. Had he ever really believed in love at first sight? He wasn't certain anymore. It was a beautiful concept, but didn't seem to have any bearing in reality. Of course that hadn't prevented him from writing numerous poems about love while thinking of Piper and the conversation that they'd shared.