The Rambunctious Lady Royston
“Sapphires twinkled at his cuffs and on his fingers; one even winked out from among the folds of his cravat. As he raised his quizzing glass from where it dangled negligently at the bottom of the black riband tied around his neck, he looked every inch an Earl (and every inch a devilishly handsome disciple of his namesake, fair fit to lure unsuspecting maidens to everlasting damnation—or so thought Samantha as she descended the broad staircase). In contrast to St. John's funereal black (which eve...n Samantha could not in clear conscience find the least depressing—unless one could count the unmistakable involuntary leaping of her heart at the sight of him as a reaction to be mourned), his wife was a vision in angelic palest ivory. Her gown was fashioned in an off-the-shoulder style, with a falling tucker of lace extending to a length of six inches over the upper arms, low bodice, and low-scooped back. Her tiny waist was molded, rather than tightly fitted or allowed to hang loose in the French manner, and the slightly belled skirt widened as it neared the back to end in a demure demi-train.MoreLess
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