And for the rest of the night, he couldnโt quite forget the smell of her perfume. Or maybe it was the soft sound of her chuckle. Or maybe it was neither of those things. Maybe it was just her.
Julia QuinnIโm trying to embroider.โ Hyacinth held up her handiwork as proof. โYouโre trying to avoidโโ Her mother stopped, blinking. โI say, why does that flower have an ear?โ โItโs not an ear.โ Hyacinth looked down. โAnd itโs not a flower.โ โWasnโt it a flower yesterday?โ โI have a very creative mind,โ Hyacinth ground out, giving the blasted flower another ear. โThat,โ Violet said, โhas never been in any doubt.โ Hyacinth looked down at the mess on the fabric. โItโs a tabby cat,โ she announced. โI just need to give it a tail.
Julia QuinnInteresting, he later reflected, was perhaps not the correct word.By the time he and Henry arrived back at the house for their midday meal-a scrumptious bowl of hot, sticky porridge-he had mucked out the stable stalls, milked a cow, been pecked by three separate hens, weeded a vegetable garden, and fallen into a trough.
Julia Quinn