The Last Dowry
The Last DowryI.The ballroom smelled of beeswax and desperation. Eleanor Ashworth stood beside her mother at the edge of the assembled ton, her fan opened to exactly four-fifths—proper, but not eager—and tried not to watch Lord Blackwood survey the room like a man inspecting cattle.He was younger than she expected. Early thirties, perhaps. Tall in a way that made the other men at the ball look...
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