Matthew groaned inwardly. He hated games that served no purpose other than to make fools out of the participants.
Rhys tried to imagine what his mother would make of this subtle, incandescent creature with a mind full of books and music in her fingers. “She’ll think you’re too pretty. And too soft. She doesn’t understand your kind of strength.” Helen looked pleased. “You think I’m strong?” “I do,” he said without hesitation. “You have a will like a steel blade.
Hampshire was dressed in scarlet and brilliant orange, the hounds were out four mornings a week, and the last baskets of fruit had been harvested from heavy-laden trees. Now that the hay had been cut, the raucous corn-cakes had left the fields, their clamor replaced by the liquid notes of song-thrushes and the chatter of yellow buntings.
Heaven forbid that we should spend an evening with people who are not exactly the same as ourselves. We might learn something.
As long as there was an ocean between them, everything would be fine.
After a long moment, he heard his mother say ruefully, “Sometimes I miss the days when I could solve any of my children’s problems with a nap and a biscuit.
Keeping his movements relaxed, Devon went to the Arabian’s stall. Asad turned his head sideways to view him, his teacup muzzle tightening in a sign of unease. “No need for concern,” Devon murmured. “Although one can’t blame you for wrinkling your nose at a Ravenel’s approach.
I would never be so bourgeois as to sleep with my own husband.
I’ve learned that while gossip about others is often true, it’s never true when it is about oneself.
Tom stopped in his tracks as he saw Cassandra approaching from the opposite end of the hallway. She was unspeakably pretty in a pink velvet dress with pulled-back skirts that followed the shape of her waist and hips. The front hem kicked up in a froth of of white silk ruffles with every footstep. His mouth went dry with excitement. His heart writhed and struggled like some live thing he’d just trapped inside a dresser drawer.
Pandora made the mistake of looking up. No woman would have been unaffected by the sight of that archangel’s face above hers. So far, the privileged young men she had met during the Season seemed to be striving for a certain ideal, a kind of cool aristocratic confidence. But none of them came remotely close to this dazzling stranger, who had undoubtedly been indulged and admired his entire life.
There are three things that everyone expects of an aristocrat,” the valet replied, tugging firmly at the pig’s collar. “A country house, and a weak chin, and eccentricity.
Severin is infinitely more experienced at business. However, I tried to compensate with pure stubbornness.
Desire,” he said, “is always better motivation than fear. Remember that, Quincy.
About what?” “Being led around by the nose by your wife.” That drew a wry grin from Hunt, and he shook his head. “If my wife does lead me around, Westcliff, it’s by an altogether different body part. And no, I have no regrets whatsoever.
A sad statement of a man’s life, that the world should have been so improved by his absence.
His two-month search for Charlotte had led him to Hampshire, a place of heather-carpeted hills, ancient hunting forests, and treacherous valley bogs. The western country was prosperous, its twenty market towns abundantly filled with wool, timber, dairy products, honey, and bacon. Among the Hampshire’s renowned estates, Stony Cross Park was considered to be the finest. The manor house and private lake were situated in the fertile Itchen River valley.
It was hardly a surprise to find St. Vincent here, since his family owned the club, and his maternal grandfather had been Ivo Jenner himself. In recent years, St. Vincent had taken over the management of the club from his father. By all accounts, he was doing an excellent job of it, with his customary cool and relaxed aplomb.
Lady Helen, who had been accompanied by her husband, Mr. Rhys Winterborne, was far more reserved than the twins. Instead of Pandora’s raw and radiant energy, or Cassandra’s effervescent charm, she possessed a quality of sweet, patient gravity. With her silver-blonde hair and willowy slenderness, Helen seemed as ethereal as a figure form from a painting by Bougereau.
I refuse to believe that we’re going to go through life without something magical happening.