Being a bastard is not a bad thing; it is merely a fact. Like having red hair or blue eyes. It does not tell you the character of the person in question.

You are accustomed to going your own way without restraint. You no doubt fear losing some of your precious independence.” “I do not intend to lose any of my independence,” she muttered. “You will adjust to marriage in time.” “Now, see here, Gideon, what is all this talk of adjusting?

For heaven’s sake, Virginia, why did you not simply wear a large sign on the back of your gown tonight announcing that you were involved in a romantic liaison with Mr. Sweetwater?” “I didn’t think the sign would complement my dress,” Virginia said.

The high-waisted bodice had been cut quite low, much lower than anything she had ever worn before, and she had to resist the temptation to keep yanking it upward. Unfortunately, no one had been able to do much with her hair. It formed a very unfashionable, slightly frizzy halo around her head.

I meant no offense.” “Yet you offend so well.

My sweet Harriet,” he murmured. “I am delighted to see that you are still unpolished.” She scowled up at him. “I assure you I am working very hard on that project, too, sir.

Idly he toyed with the notion of ripping Leybrook’s head off his shoulders. It would be a very pleasant, extremely satisfying project, but Virginia would probably not approve.

I have no particular desire for a man’s guidance. And if you think it will be your duty to guide me after we are wed, then you had better reconsider your role as a husband.

Clearly no one knew the socially correct way to deal with a brawl in a ballroom that had been started by a lady.

I saw no reason I could not live out my days in Upper Biddleton as a ruined woman. After all, that sort of reputation would hardly get in the way of my fossil collecting. But St. Justin was most insistent.