Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. “I have just ordered a carriage for her. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb.
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