Love Was The Best Present Of All.

Felicity," Mrs. Featherington Interurupted, "why Don't You Tell Mr. Brdgerton About Your Watercolors?" For The Life Of Him, Colin Couldn't Imagine A Less Interesting Topic (except Maybe For Phillipa's Watercolors), But He Nonetheless Turned To The Youngest Featherington With A Friendly Smile And Asked, "and How Are Your Watercolors?" But Felicity, Bless Her Heart, Gave Him A Rather Friendly Smile Herself And Said Nothing But, "i Imagine They're Fine, Thank You.

She Smelled Like England, Of Soft Rain And Sun-kissed Meadows. And She Felt Like The Best Kind Of Heaven. He Wanted To Wrap Himself Around, Bury Himself Within Her, And Stay There For All Of His Days. He Hadn’t Had A Drop To Drink In Three Years, But He Was Intoxicated Now, Bubbling With A Lightness He’d Never Thought To Feel Again.

Blake Took A Small Roll From The Tray On The Table, Then Put It Back In Favor Of A Larger One. And Maybe A Little Butter. It Certainly Couldn't Hurt. And Jam...no, He Drew The Line At Jam. She Was A Spy, After All.

He Didn’t Know Where The Thought Had Come From, Or What Strange Corner Of His Brain Had Come To That Conclusion, Because He Was Quite Certain It Would Be Nearly Impossible To Live With Her, But Somehow He Knew That It Wouldn’t Be At All Difficult To Love Her.

Nonetheless, I Can't Help But Be Flattered That You Noticed The Latest Addition To My Collection," He Said. She Rolled Her Eyes. "because Personal Injuries Are Such A Dignified Thing To Collect." "are All Governesses So Sarcastic?