And the Bride Wore Plaid
Chapter One
I pity people who think to fool their fellow man.
Take poor Mary Gillenwather. She stuffed the front
of her gown with paper in an effort to appear better
endowed. We all knew she'd done it, but no one said
a word; you simply cannot work that sort of thing
into a genteel conversation. But it wasn't necessary
after all. Last night, at the Pooles' dinner party, she
sneezed and dropped an entire issue of the Morning
Post into her soup.
Lady Mountjoy to her friend
Miss Clarissa Fullerton,
while sipping chocolate at Betty's Tea House
It was raining. Not a soft, whispering rain, the
kind that mists the world into a greener, lusher
place, but a harsh, heavy deluge that sopped the
earth and saturated the very air with unending
grayness. Water pooled, collected, swirled, swelled,
and then burst into fields, raged through ditches,
and rampaged across roads.
It was in this heavy, unending torrent that the lumbering carriage finally reached its destination
late at night. The driver and footmen were exhausted,
the horses straining heavily as they pulled
the mud-coated ornate wheels through the muck
and mire that had once been a road.
Ten minutes later, around th ... read full excerpt from: And the Bride Wore Plaid ebook
