Nicholas: I know you, brother. You've been threatened with matrimonial pursuits before. Why are you really here?William: I received an invitation.Nicholas: Not from me you didn't.William: Of course not from you, brother. Parliament would go up in flames before I receive a social invitation from you.

(Nicholas)"Am I dead?"An odd question, but then she rememberd her mourning attire. "No sir, you are not."He relaxed a moment, then turned his head slightly as if searching for other passengers. His brows dived in a scowl.Am I married?"She wasn't sure how to answer. His kid gloves hid any evidence of his matrimonial state, but his expression of instantaneous alarm and regret suggested he was referring specifically to her. No sir, we are not.

Emma: You can demand that Pettibone retain my services, but you cannot make similar demands of the parents of the students. They will not entrust the education of their daughters to a woman who has removed her clothing for an artist, no matter how exalted that artist may be. Pettibone would become a school without students. No that avenue is closed to me now.Nicholas: Women disrobe for men other than their husbands every day.Emma: But they are not on exhibition in the Royal Academy.Nicholas: what of extenuating circumstances?Emma: You make no sense

William: My brother has an appreciation of art, so I imagine the woman he chooses must be beautiful beyond the pale. Once he outgrows his current predilection with painting and accepts his family responsibilities, he'll need a wife who can move throughout society. She must have proper carriage and be a witty conversationalist. She should have excellent bloodlines as well, in the event of offspring.Emma: With the possible exception of a witty conversationalist, I believe you've described all the attributes of a racehorse.