By Mary Balogh
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Extra info for A Matter of Class
She walked to the oak tree when it came into sight and set her hand against the ancient trunk. She liked the idea that the tree had probably stood in the same place for perhaps a few hundred years, living and enduring. She set her forehead against the bark and inhaled. It was not a perfect day. Although the air was warm enough, there were clouds overhead, and the wind was brisk enough to ruffle the surface of the river. She wandered to the bank and kneeled down to gaze into the water. She could not see any fish today.
And to give his mother and Lady Annabelle's as little pain as he possibly could. And to treat his betrothed with just enough civility to avoid censure as a gentleman but not enough ardor to be accused of hypocrisy. Fortunately, he had been a member of a drama group at university. He was going to need all his acting skills tonight. He was going to be on public display to an alarming degree. He wondered if his betrothed had retained some of the color he had goaded into her complexion by annoying her the afternoon he proposed to her.
Her pert little nose had been stuck in the air as she had pointedly not looked his way. "I did not look," she said. "I heard you, singing the hymns. " Which was a horrible bouncer. He had not opened his mouth. "You did not," he said and scowled at her. "All the other girls were looking at you," she said. " She laughed, and it was a bright, merry sound, not the sort of female giggle that grated on male ears. "As long as you don't," he said. "I would think not," she said tartly. "If you keep looking at people like that, you are going to grow into Mr.
A Matter of Class by Mary Balogh