His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. Mother had met with him two years before to begin the process of finding a match. “Beats me. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye.
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