Grace smiled up at him, her chin wrinkling and her dimples on full display. It dawned on her then why she and Verity had such different expectations in husbands. Verity wanted someone who brought her riches, someone who brought her fame. She wanted to a fancy socialite with extravagant dresses and only the fanciest dinner plates. Grace did... not not want all of those things, in theory, but in her heart she wanted something... deeper. She wanted someone to be her grey dress, who made her feel safe just like her big brother did, even if she hoped that her husband-to-be wasn't into ghosts or read poetry whose authors she couldn't name. Was that deep? Or was she just so unconvinced that happiness was a reachable goal for herself? She didn't want to ask, because Ford always had a good answer, and she suspected it wasn't one she wanted to heart.
"As long as you don't let me trip over you. I did that coming down the stairs in the grey dress—twice. It really was a miracle that I didn't fall," she said, the sadness slowly fading out of her voice until she finally managed a giggle.
"As long as you don't let me trip over you. I did that coming down the stairs in the grey dress—twice. It really was a miracle that I didn't fall," she said, the sadness slowly fading out of her voice until she finally managed a giggle.
