Miss Fairfax Quotes

heir eyes met. They both smiled, aware that they were in public, where anyone could see them on the street and in the window. But the rest of the world did not matter. For that moment, everything else vanished. He was there, she was there, no trouble could touch them.

JACK You're quite perfect, Miss Fairfax. GWENDOLEN Oh! I hope I am not that. It would leave no room for developments, and I intend to develop in many directions.

Jane hid her trembling hands inside her muff. She wished there was a way to hide the fact that she was trembling all over. “I understood you from the first moment I saw you,” she admitted, her voice little more than a whisper. Mr Churchill looked up from her ribbons, and she was bowled over by his beautiful, soul-piercing, intelligent eyes. “And I knew from the moment you looked at me, that you understood me like no one has ever understood me before.” 

Mr Churchill caught the end of one of the long ribbons from her bonnet, which were flying madly in the strong breeze. He toyed with it for a long while, then looked up into her eyes. “Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked. “No, I don’t suppose I do,” Jane answered. Her heart started beating harder. That was a lie. Maybe her breath was catching in her throat because she was lying: she fell in love with him the moment she saw him, rescuing the poor store clerk. Or maybe it was because he was standing so close to her, just on the other end of her bonnet ribbon. She felt her cheeks growing warm, and tried to talk herself out of blushing. He was not standing any closer to her than when they danced together, or sat on the same bench at the pianoforte. Why should it fluster her that he was wrapping the end of her bonnet ribbon around his fingers like that?

Frank Churchill was waiting for her when she arrived. He had now been a convenient sixth with their party on multiple occasions, escorting Jane following the Campbells and Dixons, and it seemed so natural as he greeted them and slipped into place as they entered the hall. “Have a care, you are sparkling tonight,” he murmured under his breath. “Almost as if you had recently become engaged to the love of your life.” Jane did not dare look at him as she smiled. If she did, the entire world would know their secret.

It is a most repulsive quality, indeed,’ said he. ‘Oftentimes very convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing. There is safety in reserve, but no attraction. One cannot love a reserved person.’ ‘Not till the reserve ceases towards oneself; and then the attraction may be the greater.

For a moment, I was perfectly relaxed, and I began enjoying the sight of this beautifully candlelit room full of well-dressed people. Then Mr. Merchant made a grab for my décolletage from behind, and I almost spilled the punch. “One of those dear, pretty little roses slipped out of place,” he claimed, with an insinuating grin. I stared at him, baffled. Giordano hadn’t prepared me for a situation like this, so I didn’t know the proper etiquette for dealing with Rococo gropers. I looked at Gideon for help, but he was so deep in conversation with the young widow that he didn’t even notice. If we’d been in my own century, I’d have told Mr. Merchant to keep his dirty paws to himself or I’d hit back, whether or not any little roses had really slipped. But in the circumstances, I felt that his reaction was rather—discourteous. So I smiled at him and said, “Oh, thank you, how kind. I never noticed.” Mr. Merchant bowed. “Always glad to be of service, ma’am.” The barefaced cheek of it! But in times when woman had no vote, I suppose it wasn’t surprising if they didn’t get any other kind of respect either. The talking and laughter gradually died away as Miss Fairfax, a thin-nosed lady wearing a reed-green dress, went over to the pianoforte, arranged her skirts, and placed her hands on the keys. In fact, she didn’t play badly. It was her singing that was rather disturbing. It was incredibly . . . well, high-pitched. A tiny bit higher, and you’d have thought she was a dog whistle.

I can say nothing less, for I suppose Miss Woodhouse and Mr Frank Churchill are hearing every thing that passes. And (raising his voice still more) I do not see why Miss Fairfax should not be mentioned too . . . Now if your friends have any gratitude, they will say something pretty loud about you and me in return, but I cannot stay to hear it. -Mr. Knightely

Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you I have admired you more than any girl . . . I have ever met since . . . I met you.

JACK. [Nervously.] Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you I have admired you more than any girl ... I have ever met since ... I met you. GWENDOLEN. Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact. And I often wish that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative.

We must consider what Miss. Fairfax quits, before we condemn her taste for what she goes to.

Dear Mr. Raynod, Sam says evry time you kiss Miss Montbadin we have an outing. Pleas get well and kiss her soon. Yours truley, Daisy Fairfax and Milisent Fairfax P.S. I made a draring of a tyger, but it is not much good.

Are you aware, ma’am, that it is my intention to marry Lucilla myself?’ There was a slight pause. Miss Fairfax said rather carefully, ‘I was aware of it, sir, but I have always been at a loss to know why. [...]' ‘If you mean that I am not in love with her, no, certainly I am not!’ responded the Earl stiffly. ‘The match was the wish of both our fathers.’ ‘How elevating it is to encounter such filial piety in these days!’ observed Miss Fairfax soulfully.

JACK. We must get married at once. There is no time to be lost. GWENDOLEN. Married, Mr. Worthing? JACK. Well... surely. You know that I love you, and you let me to believe, Miss Fairfax, that you were not absolutely indifferent to me. GWENDOLEN. I adore you. But you haven't proposed to me yet. Nothing has been said at all about marriage. The subject has not even been touched on. JACK. Well... may I propose to you now? GWENDOLEN. I think it would be an admirable opportunity. And to spare you any possible disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think it only fair to tell you quite frankly beforehand that I am fully determined to accept you.

Where we are born is the worst kind of crapshoot. Sabine was not entitled to her birth in Israel, to the loving nest of Fairfax. This could have been her house. She could have picked up the bat, felt the coolness of the wood in her hands. And if she had, she would have cut off the past as well, clipped it like an article from the newspaper so that people might see that something was missing but no one would know what it was.

Adele took her place in front of the audience and began to sing. "Miss Eyre, perhaps you can tell me what he's saying?" Mrs. Fairfax said. "The only other person in the house who speaks French is the master, and he hates to translate anymore." Jane glanced at Mr. Rochester, but he stared straight ahead. Jane listened to the song. "The first few lines are about a famous dancer ... in a club ... She wore flowers in her hair and a dress that ... oh." Adele sang in detail about how much the dress covered. Or didn't cover. Jane blushed and glanced at Mr. Rochester, searching for a reaction to the scandalous lyrics. But he just listened. Not scandalized. "So, yes, the dancer wore a dress," Jane continued, with slightly less detail. "And she was in love with a ... dealer. Of cards. And at night, they ... oh my." Adele sang of a very special hug. Jane's cheeks flamed. "Perhaps Mr. Rochester should translate." She turned to Mr. Rochester, who coughed. He waved his hand. "Please continue, Miss Eyre. You're doing such a fine job." Now Adele sang of the woman's roving eye, and another man visiting while her lover was away. "They continued to love each other," Jane said quickly, maybe a bit desperately. In the last verse, the boyfriend found out about her infidelity, and stabbed the dancer and her other lover. "That escalated quickly," said Helen. She also spoke French, but no one had asked her to translate. "And they both lived happily ever after," Jane blurted. She was going to have to teach Adele some new songs.

Please? If we left at once, we would at least have a chance of escaping his hateful machinations.” “You can’t leave now. It’s a dark and stormy night.” Miss Fairfax paused, her head tilting slightly. “‘A dark and stormy night.’ I wonder . . . is that something?

Miss Fairfax frowned. “I’m already uncomfortable with the possibility I may have kidnapped him. Do you not think murder would be worse?” “It would be quicker,” explained Miss Tarleton. “If you kidnap someone, then you’re stuck with them. But if you murder them, you’re done.” Once again, Valentine was not enjoying the direction of the discourse. “You will not like it, Miss Tarleton, if you murder me.

You’re forgetting,” her father pointed out reluctantly, “that Steven Fairfax is spoken for. He’s got his eye on Miss Emma Chalmers.” Joellen was horrified. “That dowdy little snippet who runs the library? He’s just toying with her, that’s all.” Big John shrugged his powerful shoulders. “Miss Emma tries to conduct herself proper-like, and dress the way a lady should, but she’s not dowdy, Joellen, not by a far sight.” Miss Lenahan was in no mood to hear a recital of that dreadful woman’s virtues. She steered the conversation in a slightly different direction. “If Steven’s taken up with her, it’s only because he knows she’s loose, and he’s out for what he can get. When it comes time for marrying, he’ll want another sort of woman entirely.” Two patches of color appeared on Big John’s leathery cheeks, and his eyes snapped. In that instant, Joellen knew she’d gone too far. “I won’t hear another word against Emma,” he said tightly. “Now, you just run along and forget chasing after Fairfax—do you hear me?” Even Joellen didn’t dare cross Big John when he had that look in his eyes. She nodded glumly.

Steven grinned as though he could see right through her. He was finely dressed, but she could see the bulge of his .45 beneath his suitcoat. “Hello, Miss Emma,” he said, taking off his new beaver hat. “Mr. Fairfax,” Emma replied, stepping back to admit him. There in the shadowed light of the entryway, he brought a very small box from the pocket of his vest and held it out. “This is for you.” Emma fairly lunged for the package, before remembering it wasn’t polite to go grasping at things in other people’s hands. “You shouldn’t have,” she said. Steven’s eyes glittered with silent laughter. “But I did,” he reasoned. “That’s true,” Emma replied, snatching it from his fingers and ripping off the paper. The package contained a tiny bottle of real French perfume, and Emma’s eyes went round at the sight of it. Uncorking the little crystal lid, she held the splendid stuff to her nose and sniffed. Surely heaven didn’t smell any better. “Thank you,” she breathed, amazed that a cowboy could give such an elegant, costly gift. Even Fulton, with all his money, had never presented her with anything so dazzlingly extravagant. Steven smiled. “You’re welcome, Miss Emma. Now, are we going on that picnic or not?” Emma led the way back through the house. “Daisy’s fixed us a grand basket.” “We’ll have plenty to eat then, darlin’, because I just picked up a full meal from the hotel.” Emma turned and looked at him in surprise. “But the lady always provides the food,” she said. “That doesn’t seem quite fair, since it was the gentleman who did the asking,” Steven replied in a mischievous whisper. Daisy

Good night, Mr. Fairfax,” she said in a shaky voice. Steven laughed and tossed his hat onto a settee to pull her against him. Her heart raced and heat climbed from her stomach to her chest at the intimacy of their contact—Emma could feel his rocklike masculinity pressing against the soft flesh of her thigh. “Mr. Fairfax,” she protested. “I must insist—” Her words were smothered by the warm, moist conquest of his mouth. His tongue teased the corners of her lips, and when they opened for him, he consumed her. Emma whimpered and sagged slightly in surrender, as he plundered her sweetness. By the time the kiss ended, the room was spinning so that she could barely stand, and Steven deposited her in a nearby chair. “See you Saturday, Miss Emma,” he said with a low chuckle. “Go to perdition, Mr. Fairfax,” Emma replied breathlessly, not daring to meet his eyes. But she knew she’d go on the picnic with him, and so did he. Chloe

Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Emma made herself meet his eyes. “No,” she said. “I do not.” He chuckled, unmoved, as always, by her discourtesy. “We’re going on a picnic Saturday,” he announced. Emma had had all she could take of Steven Fairfax’s audacity. She glared at him, her cheeks throbbing. “I hardly think that will be possible. You see, I’ve agreed to attend a party with Fulton on Saturday evening.” Steven sighed. “So you’re still seeing the banker, huh?” “Honestly,” Emma snapped, amazed, “you are insufferable. And I’m not going on any picnic with you, now or ever!” The silk crumpled between her clenched fingers, and she nearly stuck herself with the needle. “Perhaps I have finally made myself clear?” He smiled. “I do comprehend what you’re trying to say, Miss Emma. I just disagree with you, that’s all.” Emma hurled down the bodice of the dress she’d been sewing and bolted out of her chair. “What on earth gives you the idea that it matters, whether you and I agree or not?” His eyes glittered with firelight and humor as he watched her. “You are indeed a beauty, Miss Emma—the kind of prize a man dreams of winning. Win you I will, and when I do, I intend to have you well and often.” A tremor of mingled fury and desire coursed through Emma’s slender frame. “What will it take to make you go away and leave me alone?” she whispered, clasping her hands together as though she were praying. Steven drew her to him without moving, without extending a hand. Before she knew what was happening, Emma was standing on the hearth, looking up into his face. He touched her lips, very lightly, with his finger, sending a storm of fire all through her. “Go on the picnic with me,” he said quietly. “Then if you still want me to leave, I will.” Emma’s eyes widened. She felt hope, but also a raw sort of dismay. “You mean you’ll actually saddle your horse and leave Whitneyville entirely? You won’t even work on Big John’s ranch anymore?” “That’s right,” Steven answered hoarsely, winding an escaped tendril of Emma’s blaze-colored hair around the same finger that had caressed her lips. “If you can tell me you never want to see me again after our picnic, I’ll ride out.” Emma bit her lip and laid one hand to her heart, as though to slow its rapid beat so Steven wouldn’t hear it. “But the dance…” “You’ll be back in plenty of time for that.” Within Emma’s breast, reason and whimsy did battle. And as so often happened where this man was concerned, whimsy won. “All right,” she sighed with resolution. “But I expect you to keep your word.” She waggled a finger at him. “There’ll be no backing out after I say I never want to see you again.” He bent his head and kissed her lightly, tantalizingly, on the lips. “You have my word of honor,” he told her between soft samplings of her mouth that sent sweet shocks jolting to her nerve endings. Emma

How are you feeling?” she asked in the same tone she used on summer afternoons, when some of the town’s children came to sit beside the lake with her and listen while she read stories. He ruined everything by saying, “I don’t like your hair that way. It makes you look like a spinster.” Emma couldn’t help bristling. “Did it ever occur to you that I might want to look like a proper lady?” “Why?” grumbled Steven, reaching for his book. “I don’t have to stand here and be insulted!” Emma flared, wounded because a lady was what she most wanted to be. “Honestly, Mr. Fairfax—you are the most arrogant, impossible man!” He smiled mischievously. “I’d like you to call me that from now on—in public, at least. Mr. Fairfax.” He paused to relish the name. “Yes, I’d like that very much.” If there had been anything in Emma’s hand, she would have thrown it at him. “You can’t possibly think I mean to speak to you at all after this!” He laughed. “You’ll do a whole lot more than speak, Miss Emma.” Emma gave a strangled scream of fury and once again fled the room, striding along the hallway and down the rear stairs.

Look at me,” he said hoarsely. Emma brought her eyes to his face and swallowed hard. It was so good to be close to him again, in spite of everything, that she wanted to weep. “What are you doing here?” “I told you,” she said with some effort, gently knotting the bandage to make it stay. “I wanted to warn you about your brother.” He stood and led her around behind a stand of trees and brush, where he took a seat on a birch stump. Then he pulled her downward, so that she was sitting astraddle of his lap. “You took some big chances, Miss Emma. I want to know why.” Emma lowered her eyes. “Because I love you, Mr. Fairfax,” she replied in a soft, broken voice. Steven was silent for such a long time that Emma feared he was going to send her away. When she finally brought herself to meet his gaze, she was amazed to see that he was smiling. “You love me?” “Yes, God help me,” Emma sighed. Her arms went around his neck. “I love you so much, it hurts.” “Even though you’re not sure whether I’m a killer or not?” Emma nodded sadly. He laughed, and it was a joyful, raucous sound. His hands interlocked at the small of Emma’s back, he planted a noisy kiss on her mouth. “If I didn’t know those cowboys up there would tell the story around the campfire for years to come, I’d take you right now.” She would have responded wholeheartedly, but she fancied she could hide the knowledge from Steven. He put his hand under her chin and lifted. “I love you,” he said firmly. Emma had feared never to hear those words from him, and relief made her sigh and rest her forehead against his.

Emma set the tray across his lap, he made no move to pick up his spoon or fork. “It’s been a long day,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure I want to make the effort to eat.” She sank into the chair beside the bed. “But you must eat,” she replied. “You’ll never get your strength back if you don’t.” Steven lifted one shoulder in a dispirited shrug and looked away. After drawing a deep breath and letting it out again, Emma reached for his fork, stabbed a piece of Daisy’s meat pie, with its thick, flaky crust, and raised it to Steven’s lips. He smiled wanly and allowed her to feed him. In fact, it seemed to Emma that he was enjoying this particular moment of incapacity. The experience was oddly sensual for Emma; she found herself getting lost in the graceful mechanics of it. When Steven grasped her hand, very gently, and lightly kissed her palm, the fork slipped from her fingers and clattered to the tray. Her breasts swelled as she drew in a quick, fevered breath. Steven trailed his lips over the delicate flesh on the inner side of her forearm until he reached her elbow. When his tongue touched her at the crux, the pleasure was so swift and so keen that she flinched and gave a soft moan. His eyes locked with hers and he told her, without speaking aloud, that there were other places on her body he wanted to kiss. Places he fully intended to explore and master. Emma took hold of the tray with a hasty, awkward movement and bolted to her feet, feeling hot and achy all over. “Well,” she said with a brightness that was entirely false, “if you’re not hungry any longer…” “I didn’t say that, Miss Emma,” he interrupted, his voice as rough as gravel. “It’s just that it isn’t food I’m hungry for.” Only her fierce grasp on the sides of the tray kept Emma from dropping it to the floor—plate, cup, leftover food, and all. “What a scandalous remark!” Steven smiled and stretched, wincing a little at the resultant pain. “I can think of plenty of ‘scandalous’ remarks,” he said, “if you’d like to hear more.” Emma was painfully conscious of the pulse at the inside of her elbow, where Steven had kissed her. A number of other fragile points, such as the backs of her knees and the arches of her feet, tingled in belated response. “Good night, Mr. Fairfax,” she said, with feigned dignity. And then she turned and walked out of the room.

You’d like some soothin’, wouldn’t you, Mr. Fairfax?” she asked in a sympathetic voice. A raw chuckle left his throat as he thought of Emma forcing this poor little minx into a calico dress and an old lady’s snood. “I sure would, Callie,” he answered honestly, “but I’m afraid there’s only one woman I want.” A mischievous grin curved Callie’s mouth. “Miss Emma?” “The same,” Steven admitted with a sigh, “but don’t you tell her. I want this to be our little secret.” Callie sat down in the chair Emma always occupied when she read to him. He found himself missing that redheaded hellcat with a fierce keenness, as though they’d been parted a month instead of a few hours. “She got real upset, Miss Emma did,” Callie confided in a happy whisper, “when I came over here and told her Miss Chloe’d sent me to look after you.” Steven laughed. “Good,” he replied, staring out the window at the sun. It seemed to be immersing itself in the far side of the lake. “I’m making progress.” Callie

She stormed into the room and stood at his bedside, her hands on her hips, her blue eyes shooting sparks. There was a silly grin on his face and he had the audacity to add insult to injury by following that with a yawn. “Deviant!” Emma hissed. “Jealous, Miss Emma?” “Hardly, Mr. Fairfax.” “I think you are,” he countered matter-of-factly. “You’re breathing fire, and Callie’s got to be the reason.” Emma

She stiffened in relief and shock when the door opened and Steven walked in. He actually had the audacity to grin at her as he swept off his hat. “Hello, Miss Emma,” he said. Emma felt heat surge from her breasts to her cheeks. A full sixty minutes had passed since she’d seen him go up Chloe’s stairs, and it was plain enough what he’d been doing. When she didn’t speak, Steven walked over to the counter she was standing behind and laid his hat down on it. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” She glared at him. “I think ‘good-bye’ would be more suitable to the situation, don’t you?” He reached out, bold as could be, and grasped her braid lightly in one hand. “It’s like spun fire,” he mused. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Miss Emma.” “Am I?” Emma countered sweetly. “Tell me, Mr. Fairfax—how do I measure up against the girls over at the Stardust?” His grin was maddening. “If what we did a week ago was any indication, you can definitely hold your own.” Emma flushed at the reminder and turned her head away, but Steven caught her chin in one hand and forced her to look at him again. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me, Emma? Because of what happened?” All her life Emma had wanted to be decent and respectable. And what had she done? She’d let the first gunslinger who rode into town make her act like a strumpet within a matter of days. “Yes, damn you!” she blurted out, her eyes filling with angry tears. Still holding her chin in his hand, Steven rounded the counter. “You’d better get used to seeing me,” he said huskily. “Because I’m going to be around a while.” Emma swallowed hard. “You said someone was after you—” “Maybe it’s time I let him find me,” Steven said, his lips only a fraction of an inch from hers. His kiss jolted Emma through and through, and she wasn’t able to push him away, no matter how badly she wanted to.

You wanted to thank me for nursing you,” she said abruptly and her face went crimson the moment the words left her tongue. She cleared her throat sharply and squared her shoulders. “You’ve done that, Mr. Fairfax. You’re welcome, and good-bye.” Chloe was watching the tableau with interest from beside the liquor cabinet, a snifter of brandy in one hand, and she offered no contribution. “Not good-bye, Miss Emma,” Steven drawled, and his brazen gaze rested on her breasts for a moment, to remind her, she was sure, that he’d bared and enjoyed them with practically no protest from her. “Like I said, I’ll be around.

Am I to believe that in your spirit of matchmaking, you have been settling that I should marry Miss Fairfax?' 'No!' Emma blurted out, before checking herself. 'Certainly not. You could not come and sit with us in this comfortable way if you were married.' 'Good, then.' he replied. 'She is too reserved. I like an open temper.' 'I quite agree'.

It would be fitting for them. Gran said the Fairfax funeral buildings were about halfway along the road. She added that we wouldn’t miss them.

The eldest daughter of a family is always addressed as ‘Miss’ followed by her surname, e.g. Jane, the eldest Bennet girl, is ‘Miss Bennet’. The younger daughters are addressed as ‘Miss’ followed by their first name and surname, e.g. ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet’. It is most impolite to address a lady or gentleman by their Christian name unless you are a close relative. In Emma, Miss Woodhouse is appalled by Mrs Elton’s overfamiliarity – she calls Mr Knightley ‘Knightley’ and Jane Fairfax by her full name, instead of ‘Miss Fairfax’: ‘Heavens! Let me not suppose that she dares go about Emma Woodhouse-ing me! But, upon my honour, there seem no limits to the licentiousness of that woman’s tongue!’ Frank Churchill, too, Jane’s secret fiancé, is upset when he hears ‘“Jane”… bandied between the Eltons, with all the vulgarity of needless repetition, and all the insolence of imaginary superiority.

Frank married Jane Fairfax, niece of the poor Miss Bates who eked out an existence in Highbury.