Page 32 (1/2)

"Actually, they are the color of gooseberries," Quin said "A green such as I have never seen in a pair of eyes before"

"Unusual," his mother said She didn’t mean it as a compliment "But her sister’s eyes are entirely acceptable And her figure is lovely I find it odd that one sister should have such a squabby shape while the other is elegant in every respect I expect it’s a ainst the world’s tribulations Miss Georgiana obviously has excellent self-control"

"Yes," Quin agreed

"She’ll throw you no tantrums," his mother continued A smile curled up the corner of herover a cluster of small children You would like that, wouldn’t you, Tarquin?"

Black ice seized his heart; he didn’t reply, but it didn’t matter

Hisa picture of Quin and Georgiana, s affectionately at their brown-eyed children

Thirteen

What It Means to Lead an Ari little jacket and then down the skirt; there were tiny epaulets on the shoulders Even the fetching little hat was not a bonnet, but a rakish version of a lieutenant’s cap in dark crimson that flattered her hair and skin

The costuure wasn’t too plump, as if she wasn’t too saucy (as her ht in the world, and she was the general of her own personal army

A perfect illustration of the funda slowly along the path to the stables Georgiana felt happiest after she had cooked up soht not--cure the second footman’s baby of red blotches on its bum Whereas Olivia felt happiest when she liked what she saw in the e in recklessly imprudent flirtation with a duke

And not the duke she was , either

Worse yet, the duke her sister was

Obviously she couldn’t flirt with the duke The sooner she got it in her head that Sconce was Georgiana’s future husband, the better She actually gave a little shudder at the idea of flirting with her future brother-in-law Only the most distasteful--not to

She was already feeling guilty enough She had left Georgiana supine on a sofa, a wet cloth over her eyes Olivia’s exchanges with the dowager over the midday iven her sister a ave a little yelp and ran forward, wagging her tail furiously An elderly gardener was planting sos in the shade of an old stone wall that separated Littlebourne Manor’s gardens fro, back to her, the orn soles of his old boots cocked to each side

"Thou art a hash little one, aren’t thou?" the gardener said, scratching Lucy between her ears His voice arm and smoky, and made Olivia think about the qualities of voices: the way the dowager’s voice was bright and cold, so different from her son’s deep, intent voice The duke sounded as if each as chosen carefully, whereas her own tumbled out any which way, and often in an unladylike fashion--you have a lively sense of humor, the duchess had said the day before

She shook off that thought and walked a little closer to the gardener "Good day Are you froled to his feet, his joints creaking loudly, and backed against the wall, doffing his cap "My lady," he said, eyes on the ground "Not Wales" He sounded disgusted "Shropshire" He was bowlegged and bent, like an apple tree on the ridge of a hill, fighting a blustery wind

"I didn’t o back to whatever you’re doing That’syour boots Lucy, behave yourself!"

Lucy was dancing about, trying to lick the gardener’s hand Slowly, he reached down and gently pulled one of the little dog’s ears "She’s a fair one, bain’t she?"

"I don’t think she’s fair, if by that you ot very short fur, and there’s that bite on her eyelid"