Thursday, November 20, 2014

Dorsetshire, England
December 23rd, 1810

“I am heartily sick of your complaining and moaning, you old woman,” Lady Wynwood told her companion lounging on the seat across from her in her travelling coach.

The “old woman” was in actuality a fit man in his fourth decade, a rugged face and easy smile hovering on the edges of his mouth. His jaw might not be as firm as twenty years ago, but he was still the handsome buck Laura had first met when she had her debut in London, and he knew it, too. “Reduced to name-calling, Laura?” Solomon Drydale drawled.

“Would you rather I simply open this coach door and boot you out of it?”

—From The Spinster's Christmas

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