Word: viscountesses
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...Felicity looked up at him, impressed by his insight. “Such wisdom, Prince!” she cooed. “Could you perhaps advise me what I ought to have for luncheon?”Ollie raised an aristocratic eyebrow and looked at the Viscountess with an evaluating eye.“Signiora, my impression of your character informsa me that you cannot enjoy spaghetti.”“Of course not!” Felicity said. “It’s always so...limp...
...Piazza del Duomo. An overturned box of lettuce had delayed her morning’s errands—it had taken nearly fifteen minutes of apologies to soothe the withered old grocer—but Roxanna’s step was light. Surely the Viscount and Viscountess would not mind. Look how the dome of the Santa Maria del Fiore caught the mid-morning sunshine. Look at those clouds bounding through the blue. Oh, how she loved Florence!As she left the city, passing through its old Roman gate, Roxanna mused again over the improbability of her happiness...
...When the Viscountess Felicity Fabreigh opened her eyes the following morning, she was still in deshabille. She lay there awhile on the floor, watching the specks of dust floating in the sunlight that streamed through the casement. The morning caressed her stomach and thighs, which, as they usually did, looked perfect. Her head ached. She could not form a coherent thought.But with consciousness came recollection, and the images of the night just past swarmed to confront her: the empty decanter of brandy, her dead turtle Orlando, and, looming above all else, he who had wronged her once again. She could...
...candlelight flickered dimly on Viscountess Felicity Fabreigh’s bare shoulders as she sat at her dressing table. The lacy rufflage of her peignoir did little to conceal her ample and forsaken bosom. (Did a heart still beat inside those temples of flesh? she wondered, as another glass of brandy seared her throat...
...terrace, the late afternoon’s warm summer air, straining to contain its own fragrant richness, had drawn tiny beads of condensation from the Viscountess Felicity Fabreigh’s glass of water. In the silence that had opened up between exchanged insults, she chewed elegantly on her lower lip. Her glass threw off thin beams of iridescence, which played tricks of light and color on Viscount Frederick Fabreigh’s monocle.“It will be pointless to plant it along the north wall,” the Viscount said. “That side...