Gwendolyn’s fingers dug into my arm. “Are you quite certain you want to marry that?” “Never more so,” I breathed, gripping the door frame. “He’s not ‘too Heathcliff’ for you after all, then?” “No. Not a bit.” Gwendolyn’s voice lowered. “Don’t you dare ask me to be godmother to your children, do you hear? I don’t want to be responsible for whatever heredity will do with them.”
