Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. ’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. Seconded by his strength and temper, his skill rendered him invincible and he is reputed never to have lost a battle. You have to marry me. ’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last.
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