To Sir Phillip, With Love (Bridgertons, #5)

by Julia Quinn

Sometimes she wondered if he’d married her just to gain a housekeeper. And, of course, a warm body in his bed.

He could go into his greenhouse in the morning and not worry.

And if sometimes his wife looked at him as if she wanted him to say something different or do something different—well, he chalked that up to the simple fact that he was a man and she was a woman, and his sort would never understand her sort,

What a bloody muck, and the really ironic bit of it was—he’d thought they were happy. He’d thought his marriage perfect, and all this time—oh, very well, it had only been a week, but it had been a week of, in his opinion, perfection. And she’d been miserable.

he’s so annoying

He groaned. She was probably going to ask him about his feelings. Was there no woman alive who understood that men did not talk about feelings? Hell, half of them didn’t even have feelings.

This sense of comfort, of easy companionship, of sitting next to someone in a carriage and knowing with every fiber of your being that it was where you belonged.

Welcome to the world, little one. We are all so delighted to make your acquaintance. —from Eloise, Lady Crane, to her daughter Penelope, upon the occasion of her birth