These fictional people, from a free novella, came to my house, insulted all my favourite couples and told me to kill myself now for I'm never going to find something like this in my lifetime, let alone a day.
(The girl on the cover is so pretty!)
“There’s nothing more attractive than a capable woman.”
“I still can’t believe I agreed to this,” Travers groused. “When I woke, at dawn, mind you, I could never have guessed—”
“You know, it’s actually possible to have started that sentence without referencing how early you rise—”
“—That instead of finishing a single task on my docket, I’d be performing magic tricks in a vegetable patch—”
Raymond, Lord Travers—austere eldest son, beleaguered heir to a wastrel’s earldom, functional guardian to two boisterous siblings—was standing in his shirtsleeves in the middle of a rowdy inn yard about to make a fool of himself for the girl next door.
And he was glad for it.
“Raymond!” Rosalie cried, her hand over her mouth. Raymond had never thought much about his name one way or the other, but hearing her say it made him grateful to Fordham for possibly the first time in his life.
“Rosalie!” He grabbed her wrist, lifting her hand. “You little menace! What did you do?”
“So you burned yourself? Come here, you fiend. We need to get a look at your hand—”
“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “If you want a space, it’s yours.”
“Look at you behaving…” he murmured