He wasn't the most scholarly person she knew. "It's enough that I know how to run an estate."
He wasn't the most athletic person she knew. "I don't know why society always assumes this about people from the country."
He wasn't the most religious person she knew. "Will you nudge me if I should fall asleep again this Sunday?"
He wasn't the most attractive person she knew. "My family name will make up for any deficiencies."
Yet, she knew, he was the man she'd loved the most.
She'd fallen in love with him the night he'd asked her if she'd read one of 'those Sherlock Holmes books by Kipling'.
She'd wanted to marry him the day he'd had to walk home from the fox hunt.
She'd decided to fight for him the day he'd made a joke regarding the stability of the church's roof if he and Mary were to marry beneath it.
She'd spent many a day picturing their children; fair-haired and sporting his dominant blue eyes.
And now he was gone.
He'd never be laid to rest near the church he'd talked of so flippantly.
He'd never know how much she would mourn him. Or, thankfully, how little her sister would.
One day, perhaps, she would meet another and her heart would begin to mend.
Her gaze drifted over to her older sister, sitting so dry-eyed and impassive.
From such a display she was forced to make a vow. She knew, passionately, determinedly, she would never again be anyone's second choice.