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"What do you mean?" He looked a bit confused, and Poppy had a flash of pride For once, she knew so he didn’t!

"Mama says that ladies have different rules for intirave;re does," she explained to hihtest bit of condescension out of her voice

"They don’t kiss? Of course ladies kiss And washerwolish!"

"They may kiss," she said, "but there are different kinds of intimacies practiced by the different classes, of course Just as ear different clothing, and eat different foods And different nations too We are fundaentlewomen have very little in common with the French"

He stared down at her and Poppy nearly blinked Could that look be, just a little, well, disappointed? She hated disappointing people "Do you understand?" she asked, a catch of anxiety in her voice

"I suppose," he said, rather slowly

"You can see it yourself, Fletch, if you colish court is virtuous, whereas the French court is riddled with scandal My lish court is as rife with scandal as is the French The distance of the Channel just makes it look cleaner Their ruht about that "So you mean that last week, when there was all that fuss about Lady Serrard flirting with L’Anou…"

"They never heard about it in En gland, obviously, but it was all we talked of for days Yet it calish tittle-tattle, any more than they will hear of Lady Serrard’s supposed indiscretion" "That’s a fair point," Poppy conceded

He grinned down at her and her breath caught in her throat She couldn’t help thinking that Fletch was far too beautiful for her

The eyes of all the French ladies followed hirave;re He often didn’t appear to notice, but Poppy did Looking up at hi his beautiful eyes (black in the center with a luracefully, even when just walking A lady had once sighed and said that to watch the Duke of Fletcher race How on earth could such a nonpareil have fallen in love with her, Poppy, short for Perdita and just short in general?

She wasn’t the only one with that question in mind French ladies looked at her and tittered behind their fans They drifted past, congratulating her on her cleverness or called her aher an infant

Last night Fletch wore a le velvet eiven by the Duchess of Orleans With his hair in a si air with the garante French ladies dropped their fans to smile at him, with that special pout they kept for delicious men She had watched hientau, dancing with her for the second tiht!" herto be his duchess, not that rag-tale piece of nobility Don’t peer like a lovesick nursling; you lower yourself by noticing her attentions to him"