" Perhaps we can discuss this further during the dancing portion of the evening. You'll enjoy waltzing with me later this evening, Miss Eversea. I dance very well, despite the height.:
"Your modesty is as appealing as your sensitivity, Lord Moncrieffe. But perhaps a reel other than the waltz? We differ so in height I shall be speaking to your third buttom throughout the dance. Else you will need to look a great distance down and I will need to look a great distance up. I shouldn't like you to end the evening with an aching neck."
Inevitable at your creaky, advanced age, she left eloquently, palpably unspoken.
He looked down at her for a moment, head slightly cocked, as if he could hear that unworthy thought echoing in her mind.
“My third button is so often a wallflower during balls I doubt it will mind your conversation overmuch.”
She blinked. This was so delightfully ... silly... she forgot herself absolutely for a moment. She stole a glance at his third button. It was nacre, of course, as were the rest of them, and looked like an expensive and luminous tiny moon brought down from the sky specifically to button up the duke. A row of snobs, those buttons, all of them.
Lovely gown, it might say to her. But can you trace your ancestry back to the Conqueror? "

― Julie Anne Long , What I Did for a Duke (Pennyroyal Green, #5)