A London Season

His speed proved his undoing, for he slipped on the marble and fell on his backside.

Her erstwhile suitor appeared resigned rather than angry

calling him out.

And what about us? Are you going to ruin our lives, out of some misguided sense of gratitude?

What kind of wanton was she, to be thinking such things when she was engaged to anothe

“And will you let me requite my wrongs?”

“How, pray tell, was I not supposed to be hurt by this?”

So that’s it. She pricked your pride, and you retaliated.”

Even to his own ears, his words sounded churlish.

Had she really been the belle of the ball?