“I have too much of my father in me. His dark eyes, his common features. And I’ve his head for business. I’m smart, and I speak my mind. I’m not demure or biddable. I want passion and fire, not the coldness of silence and sighs as we wait for the minutes to pass until we’re no longer in each other’s company. Do you have any idea how often I have sat in this very parlor with a gentleman who did little more than hold a teacup on his lap and comment on the biscuits and cakes as though they are the sum of my life? I’m intimidating. I know that. I consider holding my tongue, but I don’t want to
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