Don’t look so upset,” Hyacinth said, once it was just the two of them again. “You’re quite a catch.” He looked at her assessingly. “Is one meant to say such things quite so directly?” She shrugged. “Not to men one is trying to impress.” “Touché, Miss Bridgerton.” She sighed happily. “My three favorite words.” Of that, he had no doubt.

She could not bear the thought. She simply could not bear the thought that she might somehow prove to her grandfather that her mother had indeed been a fool and her father had been a damned fool and that she was the damnedest fool of them all.

He shook his head in wonder. "You are magnificent." "I keep telling everyone that," she said with a nonchalant shrug, "but you seem to be the only one to believe me.

But looking beautiful isn't, I think, as important as feeling beautiful.

In three days," he continued, "I will be your husband. I will take a solemn vow to protect you until death do us part. Do you understand what that means?" "You'll save me from marauding minotaurs?

She hated that she was still so desperate for a glimpse of him, but it had been this way for years.

Men are sheep. Where one goes, the rest will soon follow. -Lady Whistledown