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I opened it expecting…well, I don’t know. Agnes’s face was pale as a sheet, and she was so very perplexed I expected something Shakespearean, like a man with the head of an ass.
“A good deal more.” She smiled, then let the curtain drop and looked at me. “I approve. I could be happy staring at such a husband. You should marry him. We can spend our shooting weekends staring at your husband while mine pays the bill.”
“Sometimes Emma Lion, strange one that she is.” “Strange!” “It’s a compliment.” “Is it?” “Yes,” he insisted evenly. “How?” I challenged. “Strange is nice.” “Is it?” I repeated. Pierce gave his head a single shake. “Strange is that unexpected moment that stays with you, that makes you think about it again. Strange is memorable, and compelling.” I lifted an eyebrow. “Strange means odd, or bizarre.” “Perhaps we have different internal dictionaries.”
“This really is the most ridiculous episode,” I stated. And it was. “It should be the scene of some desperate novel.”
“You are wise in this thing. However, if the right man should come along, and money looks more like love than one would initially suppose, don’t turn your back on a chance for happiness merely because he has the means to save you.” It was the most fiscally romantic thing I had ever heard.
My heart thinks Saffronia March has made a tremendously successful run at being a spinster (she is, after all, thirty-six years of age) for all her dashing around Europe painting Italian counts.
To compose oneself—such a strange phrase. As if one were a musical score. If I were, what would I be? Emma M. Lion in D Minor?
“My mother has told him he can marry you once I’ve settled. That gives you at least a year to do something reckless enough to end any notion of a union between the two of you. As for what that something reckless may be, I suggest eloping with your Tenant. You’re practically in a common law marriage as it is.”
I love coming home.
I ran my fingers along the euphoric texture of the paper and sighed with contentment. Felicity is the gift of a book.
Perhaps I should marry Roland. He would buy me an entire library. It couldn’t be more than a year before he gifted me a book I hadn’t read. Later Is it immoral to marry a man solely to gain a library? And if that man happens to be tremendously good looking, is it more or less of a sin? Later Mercenary marriages happen all the time. In churches, no less.
Marry Roland Sutherland: Looking more acceptable by the day. We both deserve better than a marriage of inconvenience. However, books!
Novel writers, bless them, are such strange birds.
“Of course I’m coming with you. Don’t be daft. My friends do not go to war alone.”
The moment I became a diehard Pierce fangirl.
Bless a man who knows how to keep his own counsel when you can’t bear to speak.
It was then I thought that life—my life, in particular—wasn’t wholly worth giving up on yet.
