“You’re glowering again,” Abigail whispered, stepping to his side and giving him a sharp rap with the fan she was clutching.
“Can you blame me?”
Abigail shot a look to Harriet who was having her hand accosted by an earnest young gentleman by the name of Mr. Richmond Sprout. “Not int he least, dear, but you really should try to control that temper of yours. The last thing we need this evening is for you to punch someone.”
“That thought never entered my head.”
“Of course it did, but I find it rather sweet.”
After a Fashion