Colin paced the drawing room for the fifth time. Where
was his wife? She had to be here before the first guests arrived and he could
hear carriages arriving. He was just about to call for a footman when the
butler announced her.
In Annabelle walked, all beautiful golden skin and
hair the colour of sunshine. She saw him and made her way to him the way a
compass needle points due north. A lump swelled in his throat.
She curtseyed before him and gave him a cheeky grin.
“Your Grace,” she demurred.
This was a small game for them.
“Your Grace,” he bowed back smiling.
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