No Man Of Any Intelligence Would Pretend

It Suddenly Made Sense. Only Twice In His Life Had He Felt This Inexplicable, Almost Mystical Attraction To A Woman. He’d Thought It Remarkable, To Have Found Two, When In His Heart He’d Always Believed There Was Only One Perfect Woman Out There For Him. His Heart Had Been Right. There Was Only One.

And I Hope You Will Not Think Me Foolish When I Also Extend My Thanks. Thank You, Michael, For Letting My Son Love Her First. —from Janet Stirling, Dowager Countess Of Kilmartin, To Michael Stirling, Earl Of Kilmartin

I Don't Like Your Tone," Was Violet's Standard Answer When One Of Her Children Was Winning An Argument.

To Call That Writing, Madam, Is An Insult To Quills And Ink Across The World.

Stirlings Of Old Had Been So Damned Besotted With Their Newfound Earldom That They Couldn't Think To Put Any Other Name On Anything...it Was A Wonder He Didn't Drink Kilmartin Tea And Sit On A Kilmartin-style Chair. In Fact, He Probably Would Be Doing Just That If His Grandmother Had Found A Way To Manage It Without Actually Taking The Family Into Trade.