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1 " If Brinna is your daughter, they really were three French hens after all.” She opened her mouth to explain about the day she had found Sabrina, Brinna, and Joan in a huddle, and the comment she had made about “three French hens… "
― Lynsay Sands , Three French Hens
2 " She hurt her hand.” Sabrina managed a frown. “Terrible, really. Awful accident. Sad. Horribly painful. She almost lost full use of her hand.” “Whatever happened?” he asked. “Happened?” Sabrina blinked at the question, her face going blank briefly, then filling with desperation. “She… er… she… er… pricked her finger doing embroidery!” she finished triumphantly, and Brinna nearly groaned aloud as what sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter burst from Lord Thurleah. "
3 " Were you hurt? Is anything broken?” “Nay.” She signed wryly. “But the snow went up me skirts so far me arse is a block of ice. "
4 " Is everything all right, ladies?” Sabrina whirled to face both men as they dismounted. “Oh, my, yes. Everything is fine. Why ever would you think otherwise?” Brinna could just see Lord Thurleah’s face as he arched one eyebrow, his lips appearing to struggle to hold back an amused smile. “Mayhap because Lady Joan has fallen in the snow?” “Fallen?” Lady Sabrina’s genuine horror seemed to suggest ladies simply did not do anything as embarrassing as fall off the back of the wagon into the snow. She gasped, “Oh, nay. You must be mistaken, my lord. Why Lady Joan would never have fallen. She is the epitome of grace and beauty. She is as nimble as a fawn, as graceful as a swan. She is ---“ “Presently lying in the snow,” Lord Thurleah pointed out dryly. "
