Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight Quotes

“Do we need a Christmas present for her ladyship and Sonnet?” “Oh, they would like that,” Amanda said, kiting around on Louisa’s other hand. “They both eat carrots, and we’ve tons and tons of carrots in the root cellars. Papa doesn’t like carrots.” “However would you know such a thing?” “We don’t know such a thing,” Fleur said. “But we don’t like carrots, and if you think Papa doesn’t either, you won’t put them on our menus.” Amanda turned big blue eyes on Louisa. “That will mean more for Sonnet too.” “You are a pair of minxes. Their Graces will adore you, but nothing will preserve you from having to eat the occasional carrot. You must accept your fate with dignity.” Mention”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“Papa said damn.” Fleur slapped her hand over her mouth as if to hold back her giggles. “Damn is a bad word. We’re not supposed to say damn, or damn it, or God damn it to hell, or—” “Cease.” Joseph wrapped an arm around her to put his much-larger hand over her mouth. He was outnumbered, though, and Amanda started up immediately. “Or bloody damn or damn and blast. If we were boys, you’d teach us how to swear and even belch, and we’d know how to far—” He ended up with two little girls wiggling off his lap, their giggles cascading behind them as they scampered a few feet away. “Enough, the both of you.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“Arise, Knight,” she said, beaming down at her husband, “lest thy riding breeches get soaked and thy wife take thee to task before these good people.” “Can’t have that,” St. Just said, boosting Joseph to his feet. “Happy wife, happy life.” “Esther, I swear I never told the boy such a thing,” the duke began, but he was smiling and so was the duchess. “No, Percy, that advice came from me.” The”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“Before Joseph’s eyes, Louisa’s confidence crumbled. Defending her husband’s decisions in Spain, she’d been magnificent, assured, and unfaltering. One mention of her literary talent, and she wilted like a tender plant in a frost. And that, Sir Joseph would not permit. “A devoted knight offers to his lady the most beautiful verse he can find,” Joseph said. “‘How do I learn the number of kisses needed to satisfy my longing for you?’” Louisa’s head came up. Shock registered in her gorgeous green eyes. “Joseph? You know?” He wanted to declaim the entire poem, the entire volume of poetry, but settled for one more line: “‘So many kisses that no intruding eye could count them, nor any gossiping tongue accurately fix their total, much less their precious worth to me.’” “Joseph, you know? You knew?”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“A door banged open at the front of the house, the wreath on the door pane bouncing with the impact, its harness bells shaking merrily. A thunder of feet, small and not so small, followed along with a chorus of happy shrieks. “It’s Papa! We knew you’d not miss your Christmas visit! Papa has come to see us!” Louisa felt stunned, confused, and not a little off balance. As a dozen children swarmed Joseph where he stood, she raised curious eyes to him. “Papa?” she mouthed over the happy din. He wrapped his arms around as many children as he could gather close but held her gaze almost defiantly. “Papa?” Louisa asked again, quietly, as something odd turned over in her chest. Joseph nodded emphatically, once, then bent to greet the children.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“You would like a large family, Louisa? You want lots of babies of me? They’ll grow up, you know, and turn into shrieking, banister-sliding, pony-grubbing little people, all of whom must have shoes and books and puppies. They’ll eat like a regiment and have no thought for their clothes—which they’ll grow out of before the maids can turn the first hem. They’ll skin their knees, break their collarbones, and lose their dolls. Do you know what a trauma ensues when a six-year-old female loses her doll? I have a spare version of Missus Whatever-Hampton Her Damned Name Is, but Amanda found her and said a spare would never do, because the perishing thing didn’t smell right—you find this amusing?” “I find you endearing.” His brows came down. “I will never understand the female mind.” “I”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“I wonder how my siblings stand to behave themselves in public.” “They very often don’t.” Sir Joseph spoke with his lips against Louisa’s temple, lazy affection suffusing his voice. “Westhaven is the master of the subtle buss, St. Just’s hands are seldom off his countess’s person, and Lord Valentine excels at the visual caress. Your sisters are more discreet but no less affectionate with their spouses.” The”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“Hello, ladies, I’m your uncle Devlin. Has Westhaven scared you witless with his fuming and fretting?” This fellow looked to be great fun, with a nice smile and kind green eyes. “Mama and Papa didn’t say anything about getting uncles for Christmas,” Amanda observed, but she was smiling back at the big uncle. The biggest uncle—they were all as tall as Papa. “Well, that’s because we’re a surprise,” the other dark-haired fellow said. “I’m your uncle Valentine, and we have an entire gaggle of aunties waiting out in the coach to spoil you rotten. Westhaven here is just out of sorts because Father Christmas gave him a headache for being naughty yesterday.” “I was not naughty.” The other two uncles thought this was quite funny, judging by their smiles. “There’s your problem,” said Uncle Devlin. “I’m thinking it’s a fine day for a pair of ladies to join their aunts for a ride in the traveling coach.” Uncle Gayle—it didn’t seem fair to call him by the same name as Fleur’s puppy—appeared to consider this. “For what purpose?” “To keep the peace. Emmie and I never haul out our big guns around the children,” said Uncle Devlin, which made no sense. “Do you like to play soldiers?” Fleur asked. Amanda appeared intrigued by the notion. She was forever galloping up hills and charging down banisters in pursuit of the French. Uncle Devlin’s brows knitted—he had wonderful dark eyebrows, much like Papa’s. “As a matter of fact, on occasion, if I’ve been an exceedingly good fellow, my daughter lets me join her in a game of soldiers.” “I’m not exactly unfamiliar with the business myself,” said Uncle Valentine. “I excel at the lightning charge and have been known to take even the occasional doll prisoner.” “Missus Wolverhampton would not like being a prisoner,” Fleur said, though Uncle Valentine was teasing—wasn’t he?” “Perhaps you gentlemen can arrange an assignation to play soldiers with our nieces on some other day,” Westhaven said. He sounded like his teeth hurt, which Fleur knew might be from the seasonal hazard of eating too much candy. “You can play too,” Fleur allowed, because it was Christmas, and one ought to be kind to uncles who strayed into one’s nursery. “We’ll let you be Wellington,” Amanda added, getting into the spirit of the day. “Which leaves me to be Blucher’s mercenaries,” Uncle Devlin said, “saving the day as usual.” “Oh, that’s brilliant.” Uncle Valentine wasn’t smiling now. “Leave your baby brother to be the infernal French again, will you? See if I write a waltz for your daughter’s come out, St. Just.” Uncle Gayle wasn’t frowning quite so mightily. In fact, he looked like he wanted to smile but was too grown-up to allow it. “Perhaps you ladies will gather up a few soldiers and fetch a doll or two. We’re going on a short journey to find your mama and papa, so we can all share Christmas with them.” Fleur noticed his slip, and clearly, Amanda had too—but it was the same slip Amanda had made earlier, and one Fleur was perfectly happy to let everybody make. Uncle Gayle had referred to their papa’s new wife not as their stepmama, but as their mama. What a fine thing that would be, if for Christmas they got a mama again for really and truly. Amanda fetched their dolls, Fleur grabbed their favorite storybook, and the uncles herded them from the nursery, all three grown men arguing about whose turn it was to be the blasted French. ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“We were going to go see Lady Ophelia’s brand new piglets. There are twelve, and when we went to wish them Happy Christmas, our papa said there isn’t a damned runt in the batch, and our mama didn’t scold him at all because it’s Christmas. You can play with our puppies if you don’t want to go to the barn. This one has the same name as you.” “Lou will pay for that,” said the other fellow. He was as tall as Westhaven, but he had darker hair, and he was smiling a little. “Our felicitations to Lady Ophelia, whose acquaintance we’ll make some other day.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“Rather than elucidate further, Sophie peered into the teapot. “Empty. May you lot all find a lump of coal among your presents today.” Sindal passed her his teacup. “Our sister lives to castigate us,” St. Just said, spreading a liberal portion of butter on his toast. “We mustn’t deprive her of her few pleasures.” “And”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“I thought Louisa was looking splendid. For pity’s sake, St. Just, leave some bacon for the rest of us.” Maggie, the Countess of Hazelton, glared at her brother, who obligingly held up a strip of crispy pork, from which she took a ladylike nibble. “Mags, you missed his fingers,” Valentine said from her other side.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“You call that a mauling, Louisa Carrington? You call those sweet, tender caresses imparted by a blushing new wife a mauling?” He started unbuttoning his waistcoat, and Louisa’s heart began to beat faster. “You have much to learn, Wife.” Joseph’s boots hit the floor in two thumps. “It shall ever be my pleasure to teach you.” “Joseph, it’s not halfway through the morning, I’m fully clothed—” “Which can be remedied posthaste—should the need arise.” His shirt came off over his head, and Louisa saw a button go flying across the room to land on the windowsill. “Sir Joseph Carrington, you cannot seriously be contemplating—ooph!” He scooped her up into his arms and hefted her against his chest. “Not contemplating, my love. Contemplation is for scholars and penitent schoolboys.” He strutted with her into their bedroom and dropped her onto the mattress, then covered her with his semiclad length. They did not leave for Sidling until another hour had passed, in which time both Sir Joseph and his new wife were thoroughly, tenderly, and wonderfully mauled. ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“He was encouraged, though, to think Louisa hadn’t batted an eye to know his daughters had been sired by another. A cuckoo or two in the nest hadn’t daunted his wife in the least. Fourteen cuckoos might be another matter altogether.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“And in the measured, sonorous lines of sentiment he offered her, in the tenderness of his hand caressing her hair, Louisa found hope that even her husband—her dark, limping, occasionally ridiculous husband—might be a little besotted too. ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“I take it you intend to linger in this vicinity, Wife?” He was peering at her in the gloom. Louisa pitched the cloth to the night table and had the sense Joseph was trying to see her without revealing much of himself. “I had planned on sharing this bed with you for the next forty years or so, Joseph Carrington. If the notion does not appeal—” He was over her in an instant. “Sixty,” he growled. “Sixty at least, or seventy. There are people who have lived to be a hundred, though much more of this conjugal bliss, and five-and-thirty might be a stretch. I sustained wounds on the Peninsula, you know.” Louisa wrestled the covers up over him. “I married a ridiculous man.” He sighed and dropped his forehead to hers. “A ridiculous brute. Are you all right, Louisa? We became more impassioned than was perhaps wise for a first encounter.” “No, I am not all right.” He pulled back, real concern—even panic—showing in his gaze. “Wife, I am abjectly sorry. We’ll rouse the servants and order you a hot, soaking bath. I most humbly beg—” She put her hand over his mouth. “You are being ridiculous again, Joseph Carrington. I am not merely all right. I am most pleased. I am most definitely pleased.” And besotted. She was most definitely besotted with her husband too, though that was hardly convenient, dignified, or worth mentioning. He subsided against her on a grand sigh. “I am most pleased, as well.” Some”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“Joseph Carrington… you are tormenting me.” He lowered himself to his forearms. “I am loving you.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“He kept moving, not reclining on his side of the bed but shifting and rocking the mattress as he maneuvered himself to Louisa’s side. “Hello, Husband.” She was on her back. He was plastered against the length of her, a particular part of him prodding her hip. “Greetings, Wife, and as much as I admire the embroidery on your nightgown, I will wish that article of clothing farewell without a pang—at your earliest convenience.” She covered her face with both hands. “Must you sound so merry?” “A merry season is upon us.” He peeled her hands away and kissed her nose. “‘Oh why does that eclipsing hand of thine deny the sunshine of the Sun’s enlivening eye?’” “You have that Wilmot fellow on the brain.” “No, I do not. I have something else entirely—someone else—on my brain.” He spoke gently, but there was happiness for him in what he contemplated. Louisa could hear it in his voice. “Joseph, there are things we must discuss.” He untied the top bow of her nightgown. “We can discuss them naked.” A second bow came free. “We can discuss them tomorrow.” A third, a fourth. “We can discuss them naked tomorrow, but, Louisa, you are my lawfully wedded wife, and the time has come for me to pleasure you to the utmost, which I am enthusiastically willing to do.” Those were not lines penned by any long-dead earl. More of Louisa’s bows came undone, until there were no more bows to undo. Joseph pulled the covers up around her shoulders and slid a hand across her bare belly. “I did not feel the cold in Surrey, Louisa, not as long as I thought of what these moments with you might hold.” God in heaven. “Joseph, what am I supposed to do?” He shifted back to regard her, his dark brows drawing down. “You do whatever you please, with one exception.” He kissed her collarbone, a sweet little tasting that might have involved the tip of his tongue. “You do not think your way through this, Louisa Carrington. A plague on me if you’re able to cling to ratiocination at such a time. You put your prodigious mind with all its thoughts, languages, ciphering, and blasphemy aside, and let the damned thing rest while I love you.” The”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“I did not get her a morning gift. This is remiss of me.” A quarter mile later: “Very remiss. I intend to consummate the marriage thoroughly, and I do apologize for bringing such a matter up to a fellow who’s in want of his ballocks.” Though the lack hardly seemed to bother the beast. “I could not have spent one more night with that woman driving me mad, and nothing to be done about it. I shall have my revenge on her, see if I don’t.” Thoughts of erotic revenge were not comfortably pursued when a man occupied a saddle, much less a cold saddle. “And”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“You will catch your death, Wife.” Joseph opened his cape and enveloped her in its folds, which—happily for her—necessitated that he hug her to his chest. “I will be back as soon as possible.” “We have much to do in your absence.” “I’ve never seen this house so thoroughly decorated for the holidays. I can’t believe there’s another thing to be done.” Louisa felt his chin come to rest on her temple. “We have a great deal of baking to do if we’re to send baskets to the tenants and neighbors. I must write to the agencies to find us another governess, and you’ve set me the task of finding a charity worthy of your coin. Then too, I am behind on my correspondence, and if all else fails, I have your library to explore. I will stay busy.” “While I will freeze my backside off, haring about the realm without you.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“Louisa Carrington, come here.” Her head came up at the imperious note in his voice. “Allow me to rephrase that: Dearest Wife, would you let me hold you?” He held out his arms, willing her to accept his embrace. Her first steps were tentative, but he held her gaze and waited until she was bundled against his chest. “I want to shout at you, Joseph. I am very like my father in this.” “Go ahead and shout. I think better when I’m holding you. Perhaps you think better when you shout.” She”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“What’s a stepmama?” Fleur asked in the too-loud undertones of a curious child. In the next moment, she was plucked from Louisa’s grasp and tucked onto her father’s back. “A stepmother,” Joseph said, “is your father’s new wife. Lady Louisa will be living with us now unless you two drive her off with your wild behavior.” He sounded convincingly serious about the possibility. Fleur’s downy little brows knit, while Amanda remained silently clutching Louisa’s hand. “I like the occasional bit of wild behavior,” Louisa informed the company. “And nothing and no one will drive me off. Depend upon that.” Joseph”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“Louisa turned to comply and felt his hand stroke down over her derriere and finish with a soft pat. There had been affection in that caress, also possessiveness and some male appreciation. “You like my bottom.” He paused in the act of toweling off his stomach, his smile sweet and masculine. “I adore your bottom. I am also more than fond of your derriere.” Bottom—a cavalryman’s term for grit, staying power, or heart. Louisa discarded her night robe and climbed on the bed, watching as her naked husband banked the coals, blew out the candles, and pushed the hearth screen right up next to the fire. “Husband? I like your bottom too.” He prowled over to the bed and climbed onto the mattress. “One suspected this was the case. I rejoice to hear it, though.” “I wouldn’t dissemble about something so important.” She expected him to come back with another dry retort, but instead he spooned his body around her, laced his fingers with hers, and kissed her shoulder. And that was answer enough. ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“If you stay in there any longer, the water will be cold, and so will you, Husband. I am not inclined to share a bed with a block of ice.” He remained leaning back against the rim, eyes closed. “Maybe cold water is a good idea, Louisa. Next week isn’t here yet.” “Next week…?” She paused in the middle of folding his clothes into a tidy pile. “What does next week…? Oh.” He rose from the water, climbed out, and stood dripping on the bricks before the hearth. “Next week, when I swive you until we’re neither of us able to walk.” He faced the fire, so Louisa had a marvelous opportunity to admire the wet musculature of his back, legs, and yes, of his taut male fundament. She would not be able to walk? “Surely, you exaggerate.” Or did he? He glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure he had her attention, then turned to face her. He had not exaggerated. With firelight limning his wet skin in rosy gold, Joseph stood six feet away from Louisa in a condition clearly conducive to procreation. She’d read about this, but nothing in any language could have prepared her for the sudden galloping of her heart at the sight of her unclad, aroused husband. “You need to see what you married, Louisa. The flesh is willing but far from perfect.” He”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“I should be the one swiving the fair Louisa,” Grattingly muttered. “I like a woman who fights back.” Lionel took another sip of inferior wine. “You like a woman who pretends to fight back. Louisa Windham would have gelded you in another moment.” Grattingly’s”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“I am being ridiculous.” She did wave the handkerchief, but then she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I’ll see them all again in just a few days at the Christmas gathering, and the children too. I suppose an excess of sentiment can be forgiven. I hadn’t seen St. Just in months, and Maggie is expecting, but I’ll see a great deal of Sophie—” He hauled her against his side and gently pushed her head to his shoulder. “We’ll visit all you like, all over the realm, even the perishing West Riding if St. Just insists on ruralizing there. I did want to take you to Paris in the spring, however, and you’d like Lisbon too, even if it gets quite hot. I’m not as fond of Rome, though Sicily has all manner of ruins you might find interesting.” Her”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“Louisa dropped her forehead to her husband’s naked chest and, for the dozenth time, silently cursed her female organs for their poor scheduling. “We’ll never get to Kent if we aren’t on our way soon.” Joseph patted her bottom and stepped back. “We will not let your parents serve us breakfast, or your sisters dragoon you into their private lair. I suspect the worst offenders will be your brothers, though. I’ve never met such a lot of mother hens.” He splashed on his cedar-and-spice scent, then started laying out clothing, making trips from the wardrobe to the bed. Joseph continued striding around the bedroom in nothing but riding breeches, as casual as you please. And Louisa did please. Her husband was well endowed with muscle and masculine pulchritude, and he thought her brothers were mother hens. He had listened to her in the dark, and he had held her and rubbed her back when she hadn’t even known she could ask for those considerations. Maybe love was not a matter of ringing declarations and rhyming couplets. Maybe it wasn’t bloodred roses and dramatic sentiments. Maybe love was a pat on the bottom and a tender kiss, a shared good night’s sleep, and a man considerate enough to build a quick stop by the ducal mansion into the start of the wedding journey. ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“Louisa watched her husband shave. He was careful, methodical, and efficient as he scraped dark whiskers from his face. He kept a mug—not a cup—of tea at his elbow throughout this masculine ritual, shaving around his mouth first so he might sip at his tea. “You missed a spot on your jaw, Husband.” Husband. Her very own husband. He turned, flecks of lather dotting his visage, and held his razor out to her. Not quite a challenge, but something more than an invitation. The moment called for a shaving sonnet. Louisa set her tea aside—tea Joseph had prepared for her—and climbed off the bed. She took the razor from him and eyed his jaw. “Were you trying to spare my sensibilities last night?” “You were indisposed.” They both fell silent while Louisa scraped the last of the whiskers from Joseph’s cheek. She appropriated the towel he’d draped over his shoulder and wiped his face clean. “I know I was indisposed, but you blew out all the candles before you undressed. I’ve seen naked men before.” She’d never slept with one wrapped around her, though. Such an arrangement was… cozy, and inclined one toward loquaciousness. “You’ve seen naked men?” There was something too casual in Joseph’s question. Louisa set the razor down and stepped back. “Growing up, there was always a brother or two to spy on, and I think they didn’t mind being spied on so very much, or they wouldn’t have been quite as loud when they went swimming. I attend every exhibition the Royal Society puts on, and the Moreland library is quite well stocked.” He kissed her, and by virtue of his mouth on hers, Louisa understood that her husband was smiling at her pronouncements. He gave her a deucedly businesslike kiss though, over in a moment. As Louisa lingered in her husband’s arms, sneaking a whiff of the lavender soap scent of his skin, she wondered if married kisses were different from the courting kind. “I have married a fearlessly naughty woman,” Joseph said, stroking a hand down her braid. “And to think I was concerned that I was imposing by asking you to share my bed last night.” “You needn’t be gallant. I talked your ears off.” And he’d listened. He hadn’t fallen asleep, hadn’t patted her arm and rolled over, hadn’t let her know in unsubtle ways that the day had been quite long enough, thank you very much.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“I must be honest with you too, Husband.” “I would prefer it.” “I am not in a position to consummate our vows tonight.” He felt surprise and disappointment, and for an instant considered that for all her affection and pragmatism, all her passion on his hearth rug several nights past, Louisa was consigning them to a white marriage. Except… her passion had been honest. Her rejoicing in his coming through the duel unscathed had been honest. The smiles she’d sent him across the hordes of wedding guests in the Moreland ballroom had been blazingly honest. “Why can’t you consummate our vows, Louisa?” Now she withdrew her hands from his leg, his no-longer-throbbing leg. The horses slowed to a walk. “Louisa?” She mashed her face against his throat, and against his skin, her cheek felt unnaturally hot. “…Dratted… Blighted… female… Next week.” Joseph blinked in the darkness. He had been married before. For several long, unhappy years, in fact, but in that odd moment with Louisa tucked close to him in the darkness, those years of marriage enabled him to decipher her meaning and her problem. He gathered her close and kissed her cheek, when what he wanted to do was laugh—at fate, at his worst imaginings, even a little at his wife’s muttered indignation over nature’s timing. “Next week is not so very far away, Louisa Carrington, and I promise to make the wait worth your while.” She lifted her head, a challenge glinting in her green eyes. “And yours too, Sir Joseph. I promise you that.” And then they did laugh—together. ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“This is a disaster.” “Don’t clench your teeth, dearest.” Jenny’s pencil paused in its movement across the page. “What is a disaster?” Louisa stomped into Jenny’s drawing room—it really was a drawing room, not a withdrawing room—and tossed herself onto the sofa beside her sister. “I’m to be married tomorrow. What is the worst, most indelicate, inconvenient thing that could befall a woman as her wedding night approaches?” Maggie, arrived to Town for the wedding, took a pair of reading glasses off her elegant nose. “Somebody put stewed prunes on the menu for the wedding breakfast?” Louisa couldn’t help but smile at her oldest sister’s question. Since childhood, stewed prunes had had a predictable effect on Louisa’s digestion. “Eve made sure that wasn’t the case.” “We’re to have chocolate,” Eve said, “lots and lots of chocolate. I put everybody’s favorites on the menu too, and Her Grace didn’t argue with any of them.” She was on a hassock near the windows, embroidering some piece of white silk. Maggie had the rocking chair near the fireplace, where a cheery blaze was throwing out enough heat to keep the small room cozy. “It’s your monthly, isn’t it?” Sophie leaned forward from the hearth rug and lifted the teapot. “The same thing happened to me after the baby was born. Sindal looked like he wanted to cry when I told him. I was finally healed up after the birth, and the dear man had such plans for the evening.” An admission like that from prim, proper Sophie could not go unremarked. “You told him?” Louisa accepted the cup of tea and studied her sister’s slight smile. “Have the last cake.” Maggie pushed the tray closer to Louisa. “If you don’t tell him, then it becomes a matter of your lady’s maid telling his gentleman’s gentleman that you’re indisposed, and then your husband comes nosing about, making sure you’re not truly ill, and you have to tell him anyway.” Louisa looked from Maggie to Sophie. Maggie was the tallest of the five sisters, and the oldest, with flame-red hair and a dignity that suited the Countess of Hazelton well. Sophie was a curvy brunette who nonetheless carried a certain reserve with her everywhere, as befit the Baroness Sindal. They were married, and they spoke to their husbands about… things. “Why can’t a husband just understand that indisposed is one thing and ill is another?” Louisa thought her question perfectly logical. Sophie”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight

“What on earth would the new Lady Carrington think if she learned her knight in shining armor was father to no fewer than twelve bastard children?”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight