An Unreasonable Match. Sylvia Andrew

Curzon Street he held it out and said, “What is it this time, Miss Perceval? Not muslin or satin—it is too hard for that. Or should I not ask? It feels like a book.”

      Hester swallowed and tried to smile. “It…it is a book. Lowell has lent me a book of…of…poetry. B—ballads.”