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On the negative side of the ledger, he was no Adonis. He was not ugly, exactly, but there was no denying that his fair hair tended to the unruly rather than the picturesquely curled, and his features seemed too large for his narrow face. He had good bones, his mother had always assured him, but he would have preferred if those bones had limited themselves to his strong jaw and high forehead, and not added an overlong and aquiline nose to the mix.

Even his eyes, grey and well-shaped and definitely his best feature, were overshadowed by heavy brows. As for his mouth, it was far too wide. He was not petty enough to envy the good looks of his friend Mr. Winborne, since that young man's undeniable handsomeness had as much to do with his open, candid good nature as any blessings of birth, but a little of Winborne's evenness of feature would have been helpful. Still, Georgie had been looking at his face for the past twenty years, and it had not frightened her away yet.

Book One: Fire and Ice Trilogy

And his figure while again suffering in comparison with Winborne, a noted Corinthian was trim and broad-shouldered, with a good leg that showed to advantage both in the usual country garb of boots and fawn-coloured breeches, and also in the pantaloons and Hessians or the formal breeches and stockings that were de rigueur in town. He was honouring this occasion with a mulberry coat made by Weston, which he knew set him off at his best, and into which Elroyd was now trying to squeeze him.

This task accomplished, Mr. Harding was ready.

Elroyd smoothed a wayward wrinkle on a sleeve and bent to rub away an infinitesimal speck of dust from the shine he had put on his master's boots. Then master and valet looked at each other in a moment of male commiseration. Harding said. Winborne jumped to his feet and offered a hand. Harding on the shoulder.

Star Cat: The First Trilogy

You look as if you are floored already, and you have not so much as given a jab. Harding said dryly. The Pink Bedroom at Rowland Hall, domain of the younger daughter of the house, was in utter chaos. Open bandboxes and trunks were scattered about, in the process of either receiving or disgorging their contents. Gowns of muslin were laid out across any appropriately-shaped piece of furniture, as well as all over the bed, obscuring the pretty rose-embroidered coverlet.

Bonnets, trailing their ribbons, were tossed on top of the gowns. Across the floor, small satin slippers jostled against boots of kid and jean in no particular order. Into this disarray strode Miss Georgiana Rowland, to stop and stare about her, the expression in her dark eyes one of wrathful astonishment. What is the meaning of this? We leave in an hour! The lady thus addressed, Dorothea Puddleforth, winced at being the target of Miss Rowland's wrath. But she was not fearful of being dismissed on the spot, as someone might who had not, like Miss Puddleforth, been with the family for nearly twenty years.

She had originally been brought to Rowland Hall to be nanny to the infant Georgi ana, but she had made herself so useful, in many more ways than just as a nanny, and was so willing to learn new tasks, that by the time Georgiana entered the schoolroom, she was prepared to take on the position of governess, with a corresponding rise in salary. But that had not been the limit of Miss Puddleforth's ambition or skills, and now, with her salary doubled, she was Georgiana and Cecilia's very superior dresser. However, none of this meant that she was always equal to the task of keeping after both girls at all times.

Now, standing upon no ceremony, she threw her hands into the air in defeat and despair. Miss Rowland glanced at the largest trunk and saw a wealth of pink gauze tossed over its open lid. Or was it unearthed? However, Miss Cecilia then bethought herself of several other items she considered of absolute necessity. Laughing, Georgie held up both hands in surrender. So where is she now? Georgie's face registered instant and rueful understanding. Miss Puddleforth's stern face softened at this. Georgie grinned. I am sure she has! Why, then, does she think she will need all these gowns?

Georgie stared all around her. I will send Cecy to the Dower House with a basket of fruit for Great-Aunt Honouria, and while she is there, you will pack exactly what you think needful. When she asks about any particular item, simply say it is packed, and do not tell her that it is packed right back here in her room, where it belongs. Georgie was a girl of mercurial moods and a keen sense of the ridiculous. With this dry comment, her frown cleared and her merry giggle broke out. Miss Puddleforth smiled grimly at this, then set back to work, sweeping up an armload of gowns from the bed to be transferred back to their original places.

A footman at the door bore a summons to attend her mother, so Georgie left Puddles, content that now at least one part of the packing would be done smoothly. Georgie's own packing was already finished.

The Winner's Curse: The Winner's Trilogy, Book 1

A natural inclination toward organization and the experience of three Seasons made her efficient, even when she had surrendered Puddles' services to Cecy for the time being. She knew she could count on Miss Jericord to have her mother's trunks at the door no more than an hour or so later than the planned time of departure. But there was still discord for her to face, because her mother, who would never dream of contradicting her very superior dresser, did not have the same reserve about Rowland Hall's butler.

Riddle, grown old in the deceased Lord Rowland's service, had never completely relinquished control of the household to his master's widow. Lord Rowland had been a bachelor for so long that most matchmaking mamas had given up on him. By the time he had suddenly fallen madly in love with Miss Maria Becknall, some twenty years his junior, married her, and brought her home, Riddle was quite set in his ways. Lady Rowland's and Riddle's conflicting ideas about what was absolutely necessary for a few months' stay in London always provided much entertainment for the girls and their elder brother Charles, who had succeeded to his father's title on Lord Rowland's death some years ago and was now living in town.

Georgie herself tended to side--tactfully--with Riddle on most issues, and never more than in their annual removal to London. Still, she could not help but wish, when she came downstairs to find the entrance hall as chaotic as her sister's bedroom, that the butler could find some other way of protesting his mistress' folly. Riddle's method was crude, but effective. He would set out every single thing Lady Rowland considered essential, then stand back with a lugubrious expression, letting her see the sheer impossible volume of it and allowing her to make her usual half-hearted and disorganized attempt to sort through it all.


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Then he would gracefully, if somewhat smugly, accept the charge she would lay on him to do the best he could with it. Georgie knew that Riddle would eventually whittle the enormous mess down to something manageable, but, with a sigh, she acknowledged to herself that she would have wounded feelings to soothe yet again. There was no chance they would arrive at the Red Lion any earlier than seven in the evening.

She had bespoken rooms, and the inn was long accustomed to Lady Rowland's fits and starts, but that did not make Georgie any more comfortable with forcing the inn's servants to wait up late and be put to such additional trouble. Writers Exchange is a Christian publishing house, although we do publish many, many other genres and not all our authors are Christian: We have been publishing and selling books since , but in we decided to sell MOST of our books exclusively from Amazon. A number of our books are also available from other retailers. If you have a ring that is worn on the same finger as the one you would like to buy, then we will happily measure it for you.

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