An Impossible Impostor (Veronica Speedwell, #7)

by Deanna Raybourn

It was astonishing, I mused, how often people claimed to be honest when they were simply making a virtue of excessive rudeness.

Too late, I understood the magnitude of a woman’s vulnerability in marriage, how every particle of her happiness depends upon her choosing well. And I had chosen unwisely.

You madden me. You distract me. You enrage me. I cannot think of any person of my acquaintance who has so often and so thoroughly driven me to the brink of endurance. And yet you saved me. Whatever that melancholy state, it has been banished, and I know it is because I wake every day knowing that you are there.”

There are few people on earth more capable of hatred than the female sex when caged.