By Mary Balogh
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Extra info for A Matter of Class
It was the most wretched feeling she could possibly imagine. She was not going to be sent back to Oakridge Park, the country home in Wiltshire where she had been brought up, her father’s principal seat. Even there she might contaminate the neighbors, who so respected her father. Instead she was to be sent into the outer darkness of Meadow Hall close to the Scottish border, a minor property of her father’s, which did not in any way live up to its name. Or so she had heard. She had never been there to see for herself.
They did not get more than a dozen miles on their way to the Scottish border, though, before being caught and hauled back to town. At least, she was hauled back. The coachman, coward as he was, made his escape from a window at the inn where they were apprehended, and since his mashed remains were not discovered under it, it was assumed that he made his escape. Unfortunately, the two of them were seen by half the world before they were overtaken, and by now most of the other half of the world knows all about it too—with embellishments, I do not doubt.
All Season he had been single-mindedly courting Illingsworth for his daughter, his one remaining asset if he was to escape from dire financial straits. ” Reggie’s father said softly, and he smiled unseeingly into the middle distance. Reggie became suddenly alert. His hand stilled over his sleeve. “I am not,” he said, standing up abruptly and setting both hands flat on the desk, “going to marry a woman who ran off with a servant, for the love of God. Even if she is a lady. With a title. And even if you are visualizing marvelous revenge on your mortal enemy.
A Matter of Class by Mary Balogh