By Mary Balogh
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Extra resources for A Matter of Class
No," she frowned. "I will never do that. " He raised his eyebrows. "But you will owe me obedience after we are married," he reminded her—just to be provocative. He was not disappointed. "If you ever try to hold me to that ridiculous marriage vow," she said, bristling visibly and raising her voice, "I will fight you to the death with every weapon in my arsenal. " Someone—Reggie did not turn his head to see who—had stopped strolling a short distance away on the balcony and was giving them unabashed attention.
All she had noticed was that he had acquired an upper-class accent. He cupped his hands when she had hold of the horse, and she set one small boot in them so that he could hoist her upward. She was as light as a feather. She looked down at him when she was settled in her sidesaddle, the reins gathered in one hand. "Reggie," she said, "I will come again. " And she reached down with her free hand and cupped his cheek with it. He felt, foolishly, as if he had been scalded. He held his hand to his cheek as he watched her ride away—a stick of a girl with proud bearing and—no hat.
What if he should use his dessert spoon for the fish course or the butter knife to hack at his beef? Instead they were to attend only the ball, and Havercroft was to propose a toast to his daughter and her betrothed during supper. They were to stand in the receiving line too, something Havercroft must deplore but could hardly avoid without raising eyebrows throughout the ton. Reggie had been to a few ton balls, though to none given by any of the most fashionable hostesses, it was true. He had been educated as a gentleman, after all, and most of his friends were of the upper classes.
A Matter of Class by Mary Balogh