seemed to pop out wherever she looked.
Not that she looked.
Sheâd had the mirror taken out of her bedchamber months ago and felt life was better without it. No diaphanous gowns for her. Imogenâs modiste âthe very best in Londonâhad pointed out that seams were needed to construct an agreeable shape . The words were emblazoned in Josieâs memory.
Well, thanks to that modiste, she had an agreeable shape, presumably. She certainly had a lot of seams. The dress she chose to wear to Imogenâs wedding was designed to hold her in and cover her up in as many ways as possible.
Josie wrenched her attention back to the altar. Finally the bishop seemed to be droning to a halt. Not that Imogen showed any sign of listening to him. She was just looking at Rafe, looking at him in such a way that Josie actually got a lump in her throat. Beside her, Tess was blotting away tears with a handkerchief her husband must have given her, since it was twice the size of her hand. Josie gritted her teeth. If she cried, there was no one to give her a handkerchief.
Her eyes would turn red.
They would swell and her skin would turn blotchy.
They wouldâ
Rafe leaned down, cupped his new wifeâs face in his hands, and said quietly, but so that Josie could clearly hear him from where they stood in the first row, âAll my life, Imogen.â
In the end, Lucius Felton had two handkerchiefs, which was just like him.
3
From The Earl of Hellgate, Chapter the First
â¦She removed her stockings with the greatest delicacy imaginable, Dear Reader. I was transfixed at the sight of her ankle, slender, exquisite. In one rash moment I laid my heartâand my lipsâat her feet and worshipped that dear part of her body as it so clearly deservedâ¦
The Duke of Holbrookâs wedding fete
15 Grosvenor Square
L ord Charles Darlington was feeling rather morose. There was no doubt that life was difficult when cravats were so expensive, and the ton so tiresome. Of course, there were pleasures in life, although small.
The pleasure of a well-turned retort was one. One might think that Darlington was something of a monster, but he was not. He knew perfectly well that he was a trivial person, and he never failed to promptly acknowledge the fact, as did his friends.
âYou are excessively tedious tonight,â Berwick remarked. âAt this rate it would be almost more interesting to prance around the dance floor, listening to some chit giggle at me.â Young girls had a tendency to fall into nervous laughter facedwith Berwickâs sulky good looks, although his lack of a fortune kept him (in Darlingtonâs opinion) from becoming fatheaded.
âIf I sparked wit for you it would be a misuse of precious resources,â Darlington retorted. âDo you suppose that anyone realizes we are here?â
Berwick looked around the crowded dance floor. âNot a chance of it. The butler of Holbrookâs practically whispered our namesâthat is, the names we gave him.â
Wisley and Thurman trotted up to them like eager little spaniels. âBy Jove, you did get in, Darlington!â Thurman bellowed. âI bet Wisley here five guineas that you couldnât get yourself invited to Holbrookâs wedding fete.â
Darlington preferred not to mention that he had received no invitation. It was the first time that he had been cut from an important event. Hang it, he was the son of a duke, albeit the third son. Why his mother had to keep turning out males when there wasnât an estate to keep them in handkerchiefs, he didnât know. But now he carelessly adjusted the line of his coat (a blush-colored superfine wool that he found immensely soothing to the eye) and said, âOf course I had an invitation, you idiot.â
He did too. He had an invitation addressed to one of his brothers.
âWell, sheâs here,â Thurman said cheerfully. âThe Scottish Sausage. Except Iâm
Arnold Nelson, Jouko Kokkonen