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Nicola chuckled. “Me, married. Now that is a laugh.” “No, it isn’t,” Penny protested. “It’s entirely likely that a dashing gentleman will fall in love with you and propose.” “But would I want to accept? That’s the question.”
Precisely.
“The aristocrats are positively mad for comets, but most don’t have the time or interest in doing the work. I’ll search the skies and chart observations, and then I’ll find a patron willing to pay me for the effort.” “So you’ll find the comet, and this patron claims it as his discovery? That sounds highly unjust.” “I’m not interested in it for the glory. A woman of my station has to be more practical than that.” “So you intend to be an astronomical mercenary. I’m impressed.”
Ooof. That so key and painful practicality.
Perhaps that was his intent. To hide behind intimacy. Draw her close as a way of holding her at a distance.
Rosamund and Daisy needed encouragement, not etiquette. Confidence, rather than comportment. And whether Chase Reynaud wished it or not, Alexandra would make certain they received it. She would not participate in transforming them into well-mannered, empty-headed, docile young ladies who wouldn’t cause him any trouble.
Yes!
The primers had needed a bit of editing. As originally written by a certain Mr. Browne—who suffered an appalling lack of imagination—the boys did everything interesting and the girls never left home. Nothing that a few snips of the shears and a couple dabs of paste couldn’t manage. Daisy turned the page. “The boy wa-shes the dish.”
“I shan’t be frightened of those,” Daisy said. “The intestine is only twenty-six feet long, and the Philippine Islands are much farther away than that. No mana-thinggum could possibly reach us.”
I <3 Daisy
By the fourth day, he’d had enough. If he had to listen to Daisy read that book about girls climbing towers and boys picking flowers one more time, he would go mad.
Sufferrrr, take itttttt
