" While you see to the hives, I’ll be at the hall, setting the whole miserable place on fire in the name of thwarted, impossible love. Her breath rattled like a tinderbox in her lungs. As though one would offer arson instead of a bouquet, to win a lover’s heart. High crimes were probably better suited to a betrothal than a mere courting gift: you couldn’t just start burning things down in hopes the other person found it romantic. You’d want to be sure. "

― Olivia Waite , The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows (Feminine Pursuits, #2)