“My dear Fotherby,” he laughed. “Has Chilvers not found you a drink yet?”
Fotherby turned and smiled across at him but shook his head.
“Poor Chilvers,” Portland muttered. “He has worked here for almost five decades. He forgets so many things, but I cannot find it in my heart to dismiss him. Ah,” Portland added as he turned back to the parlour and then to Fotherby once more. “Fotherby, allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Barrington. Rosanna, this is Lieutenant Henry Fotherby.”
To his shame, Fotherby had decided in his head what Portland’s wife should look like. He had imagined her to be beautiful beyond any other living soul and to be perhaps his own age and of a del...
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