The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)

by Julia Quinn

Men, she thought with disgust, were interested only in those women who terrified them.

“Actually, believe it or not, I was going to say that while the concept of eternal solitude is, at times, tempting, I think I would be quite lonely without family.” Simon said nothing. “I cannot imagine having only one child myself,” she added. “Sometimes,” Simon said in a dry voice, “one has little choice in the matter.”

Violet rolled her eyes, and said to Daphne, “Any man, you’ll soon learn, has an insurmountable need to blame someone else when he is made to look a fool.”

Which was, of course, hogwash.

And his eyes!

And something else filled him as well. Something hot and terrible, something triumphant and wonderful. It was emotion, pure and undiluted, a bizarre mix of relief and joy and desire and dread.

Her heart found comfort in this; no man who spoke his vows with such intensity could possibly view marriage as a mere convenience.

“I think it’s nice. If they’re laughing now, they’ll probably be laughing forever.” She turned to her mother. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

To say that men can be bullheaded would be insulting to the bull.

Heartache, Daphne eventually learned, never really went away; it just dulled. The sharp, stabbing pain that one felt with each breath eventually gave way to a blunter, lower ache—the kind that one could almost—but never quite—ignore.

He was coming to realize that he needed to hold on to something in life, and maybe she was right—maybe anger wasn’t the solution. Maybe—just maybe he could learn to hold on to love instead.

Now’ doesn’t even compare to tomorrow. And tomorrow couldn’t possibly compete with the next day. As perfect as I feel this very moment, tomorrow is going to be even better.

“I was thinking how marvelous it is to know another person so completely.”