THE CONSENT OF THE HEART
THE CONSENT OF THE HEART The ink was still wet upon the parchment when the first peal of the church bell sounded across Mayfair, and Clara Ashworth stood in her father drawing room with her hands shaking so violently the quill had nearly slipped from her grip. Before her, seated behind the mahogany desk of her father solicitor Mr Whitcombe, sat the man she would marry at half past three that...
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