By Mary Balogh
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Extra resources for A Matter of Class
Mason,” she said, “I am delighted you have come too. ” “Exactly what I always say,” Reggie’s mother said, beaming happily as she set her hands in those of the countess and visibly relaxed. “It is even worse when the child is a son, Lady Havercroft. A man always thinks a son is his, just as if he appeared from nowhere one day and a woman just happened to be hovering in the next room waiting to provide milk and be called Ma and otherwise be ignored. I insisted on coming today. ’” She sounded breathless by the time she had finished.
Defiant? Compliant? Supercilious? Good Lord, his mind was babbling, and he was missing what the Countess of Havercroft was saying. She had risen to her feet to say it, and Reggie scrambled to his again. “Mr. Mason, William,” she said, looking from Reggie’s father to Havercroft, “how can you possibly expect the young people to come to any sort of amicable agreement unless they are given the chance to speak privately with each other? We will leave them alone. Mrs. Mason, do come into the music room.
Reggie’s father did not wither. He rubbed his hands and beamed. “Get to it, then, lad,” he said. Right! A public offer it was to be, then, both sets of parents watching and listening and judging. How utterly delightful! Should he stand? Sit? Kneel? Move closer? Farther away? All the way out onto the landing? Should he smile? Frown? Look contrite? Amorous? Grateful? Humble? Dignified? Triumphant? Defeated? Defiant? Compliant? Supercilious? Good Lord, his mind was babbling, and he was missing what the Countess of Havercroft was saying.
A Matter of Class by Mary Balogh