By Mary Balogh
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Extra resources for A Matter of Class
Well, there you are wrong,” she said, eyeing it with considerable misgiving. But she had her pride even if she was only five, and she was not going to let this nasty, vulgar boy have the final word. She strode over to the tree, considered removing her shoes and stockings since the leather of the former might get scuffed and the silk of the latter might acquire holes. But she did not like the thought of her bare feet against the rough bark. She did remove her spencer, though, since it might get in the way, and her bonnet, which might impede her vision.
Both were talkative. Both were absolutely appalling in her father’s eyes. Annabelle had been able to see that. The fact that he was beholden to them, that he must marry her, his only daughter, to their son, must be the stuff of nightmares to him. But he was not the one who was going to have to marry Mr. Reginald Mason. Annabelle liked his parents. She always had. Not that she had been allowed to have any dealings whatsoever with them, but she had not been able to help hearing Mr. Mason’s booming voice when he talked with the vicar after church, or his loud laugh when he exchanged pleasantries with fellow parishioners.
He said once more, and he got to his feet and faced his son almost nose to nose across the desk. He was broad of frame and thick of waist—in contrast to Reggie’s slim elegance. But they were of a height with each other. “Ee, lad, now we will see a thing or two. Now we will see who is high and mighty and who is decent enough to condescend to save him. ” Reggie spoke through lips stiff with apprehension. He could feel a prickle of perspiration trickling down his back beneath his shirt. He could actually hear his heartbeat.
A Matter of Class by Mary Balogh