To Call That Writing, Madam,

In Every Life There Is A Turning Point. A Moment So Tremendous, So Sharp And Clear That One Feels As If One's Been Hit In The Chest, All The Breath Knocked Out, And One Knows, Absolutely Knows Without The Merest Hint Of A Shadow Of A Doubt That One's Life Will Never Be The Same.

He Gave Her A Sly, Sideways Look. "did You Bring It?" "my List? Heavens, No. What Can You Be Thinking?" His Smile Widened. "i Brought Mine." Daphne Gasped. "you Didn't!" "i Did. Just To Torture Mother. I'm Going Peruse It Right In Front Of Her, Pull Out My Quizzing Glass—" "you Don't Have A Quizzing Glass." He Grinned—the Slow, Devastatingly Wicked Smile That All Bridgerton Males Seemed To Possess. "i Bought One Just For This Occasion." "anthony, You Absolutely Cannot. She Will Kill You. And Then, Somehow, She'll Find A Way To Blame Me." "i'm Counting On It.

He Sucked His Lips In An Attempt Not To Laugh. "aren't You Spanish?" She Raised One Arm In A Salute. "viva La Queen Isabella!" "i See. Then Why Are You Speaking With A French Accent?

Darling," He Said Distractedly,"about The Moon..." "yes?" "i Don't Think It Matters Whether You Want It Or Not." "what Are You Talking About?" "the Moon. I Think It's Yours." Victoria Yawned, Not Bothering To Open Her Eyes. "fine. I'm Glad To Have It." "but--" Robert Shook His Head. He Was Growing Fanciful. The Moon Didn't Belong To His Wife. It Didn't Follow Her, Protect Her. It Certainly Didn't Wink At Anybody. But He Stared Out The Window The Rest Of The Way Home, Just In Case

Do I Look Like A Mess?” She Asked. He Nodded. “but You’re My Mess,” He Whispered.