To say that men can be bullheaded would be insulting to the bull.

Children,” Lady Bridgerton said with a sigh as she retook her seat. “I am never quite certain if I’m glad I had them.

Besides," he said breezily, "were it not for misunderstandings, we would be sadly lacking in great literature." She looked at him questioningly. "Where would Romeo and Juliet be?" "Alive.

Turn right up ahead," he directed. "It'll take us directly to my cottage." She did as he asked. "Does your cottage have a name?" "My Cottage." "I might have known," she muttered. He smirked. Quite a feat, in her opinion, since he looked sick as a dog. "I'm not kidding," he said. Sure enough, in another minute they pulled up in front of an elegant country house, complete with a small, unobtrusive sign in front reading, MY COTTAGE

And if you say that's because you lot barged into her home like a herd of mentally deficient sheep, I'm disowning all three of you.

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.

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.