It was heaven. Forget angels, forget St. Peter and glittering harpsichords. Heaven was a dance in the arms of one's true love.

Happy endings are all I can do. I wouldn't know how to write anything else.

Perriwickturned to Penelope as he set the tray down on a table. "If I might be so bold, my lady-" "Perriwick!" Blake roared. "If I hear the phrase 'if I might be so bold' one more time, as God is my witness, I'm going to toss you into the channel!" "Oh dear," Penelope said. "Perhaps he does have the fever, after all.Perriwick , what do you think?" The butler reached for Blake's forehead, only to have his hand nearly bitten off. "Touch me and die," Blake snarled.

The Smythe-Smith musicale. Thankfully, it came around just once per year, because Hyacinth was quite certain it would take a full twelve months for her ears to recover.

His brows rose. “And how is it that you have come to be such an expert on scrapes and bruises?” “I’m a governess,” she said. Because really, that ought to be explanation enough.

Interesting, 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.

Be careful what you wish for,her mind thundered.