“How about this one?” I ask, pushing a form across the desk. “He might—” But Mrs. Pimms is already shaking her head. “No, he won’t do. He specifically requested a young bride. Eighteen, nineteen at the oldest.” My cheeks flame at the implication that I’m nowhere near young enough. I check the man’s age on the form and grimace. He’s forty-three. One would think that my twenty-seven years of age would be young enough for him, but apparently not.
