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You promised I could start any charity I wanted. I'm going to find or build low-cost housing for the displaced Charterhouse Lane residents."
Tom regarded his wife for a long moment. The flash of newfound assertiveness interested him. Excited him. He approached her slowly. "I suppose you'll want to take advantage of some of the undeveloped lots I own in Clerkenwell or Smithfield," he said.
She lifted her chin slightly. "I might."
"You'll probably rook some of my own people into working for you... architects, engineers, contractors... all at cut-rate fees."
Her eyes widened. "Could I?"
"I wouldn't even be surprised if you forced Barnaby, who has access to all my connections and resources, to act as your part-time assistant."
As Tom stared into his wife's beautiful face, he heard Barnaby exclaim in a heartfelt voice behind them, "Oh, must I?"
"Do you think I could succeed?" Cassandra whispered.
"Lady Cassandra Severin," Tom said quietly, "that you'll succeed is not even a question." He gave her a wry glance. "The question is, are you going to spend the rest of our marriage trying to make me live up to your standards?
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