“I have six illegitimate children," Villiers informed her, not kindly. She visibly paled. :My daughter is marrying a duke," the duchess said between clenched teeth. "True, he apparently has the morals of a squirrel, but that's my cross to bear.”

“I am illegitimate," she said distinctly, as if he were a foreigner trying to learn English. "You are a viscount. You can't marry a bastard.""What about the Duke of Clarence? He had ten bastard children by that actress...what was her name...""Mrs. Jordan.""Yes, that one, Their children were all illegitimate, but some of them married peers.""You're not the Duke of Clarence.""That's right. I'm not a blueblood any more than you are. I inherited the title purely by happenstance""That doesn't matter. If your married me, it would be scandalous and inappropriate, and doors would be closed to you.""Good God, woman, I let two of my sisters marry Gypsies. Those doors have already been closed, bolted, and nailed shut.”

“We thought the Duke would have been pleased if the King's Majesty would have married his daughter, but nothing came of that--'Squints, and has freckles,' said Caspian.Oh, poor girl,' said Lucy.”

“Everyone marries the Duke of Westminster. There are a lot of duchesses, but only one Coco Chanel.”

“I will tell you, too, that every fairy tale has a moral. The moral of my story may be that love is a constraint, as strong as any belt. And this is certainly true, which makes it a good moral. Or it may be that we are all constrained in some way, either in our bodies, or in our hearts or minds, an Empress as well as the woman who does her laundry. ... Perhaps it is that a shoemaker's daughter can bear restraint less easily than an aristocrat, that what he can bear for three years she can endure only for three days. ... Or perhaps my moral is that our desire for freedom is stronger than love or pity. That is a wicked moral, or so the Church has taught us. But I do not know which moral is the correct one. And that is also the way of a fairy tale.”

“You'll marry me, my dragon, and you'll bear my children, and you'll drive me mad and live in that ramshackle old house with me and I'll even put up with the occasional visit from your sister ifI must. But you'll marry me. Not because you have to. But because I won't let you go.""Why?" she demanded.And he answered the only way he could, in French. "Je't'aime," he said. "I love you.""Je't'aime aussi," she said. "And I will make your life a living hell," she added in the same language.He smiled down at her. "I'm counting on it.”