My father prided himself on maintaining traditions that were hundreds of years old. You'll feel as if you've stepped back into the eighteenth century."	Her brows lifted in surprise. He could see the wheels turning in her clever brain, but she chose merely to nod, and perversely, though he knew he would not like it, he wanted to know what she was thinking. "Go on. Say it."	"It is nothing. Only - you are very much a man of the nineteenth century."	"You mean you're not surprised I left such a backward place."	"Such a backward place must be crying out for a man like you." Ainsley pushed her windswept hair out of her eyes.
Marguerite Kaye, Strangers at the Altar
historical-romance