Lady Lucinda, he said, bowing deeply over her hand. May I have this dance?
Sense and Sensibility, author's identity still unknown.This was not to be confused with her entry of 12 November of the same year-
Ate breakfast: Eggs, toast, ham.Made great show of reading Greek tragedy. To no avail.Spent much of the time staring out the window.
Ate lunch: fish, bread, peas.Conjugated Latin verbs.
Composed letter to Grandmother.
Ate supper: roast, potatoes, pudding.Bloody little bugger was probably plotting every last detail of his wedding night that very minute.
He tossed back his drink and poured another.So what did it mean? What did it mean when you met the woman who made you forget how to breathe and she up and married someone else? What was he supposed to do now? Sit and wait until the back of someone else’s neck sent him into raptures?
He took another sip. He’d had it with necks. They were highly overrated.He sat back, plunking his feet on his brother’s desk. Anthony would hate it, of course, but was he in the room? No. Had he just discovered the woman he’d hoped to marry in the arms of another man? No. More to the immediate point, had his face recently served as a punching bag for a surprisingly fit young earl?