Regency Quotes

He kissed her. Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it, but simply because he couldn't have done anything else. He needed that breath she was holding. It belonged to him, and he wanted it back.

You may be a bit presumptuous, Miss Woodhart, and may lack certain habits of good etiquette. But in dancing, you exceed many—and in loveliness, I have known no equal.

Sometimes Hen...I think I would give my life just for one of your smiles.

Perhaps tomorrow had never been meant for them at all. Perhaps tomorrow belonged to God.

Love will find a way against time itself.

To my unsuspecting love. When I look into your eyes, I lose all sense of time and place. Reason robbed, clear thought erased, I am lost in the paradise I find within your gaze. I long to touch your blushing cheek, to whisper in your ear how I adore you, how I have lost my heart to you, how I cannot bear the thought of living without you. To be so near to you without touching you is agony. Your blindness to my feelings is a daily torment, and I feel driven to the edge of madness by my love for you. Where is your compassion when I need it most? Open your eyes , Love, and see what is right before you: that I am not merely a friend, but a man deeply, desperately , in love with you. Longing for you.

I have known many human beings with a full soul to their name who do not have half so much compassion or practicality as you.

She had little effort to spare for making unpleasant men more comfortable.

I did not come here only to dance. I came here only to dance with you. It is quite a different thing.

I swore I'd never become some lord's brainless arm ornament and political host, but I've become far worse. I'm a glorified housekeeper and sperm donor. -from the journal of Payton Marcus Townsend.

A man is not what he possesses but what he does with himself.

Oh, yes, she's unusual!" he said bitterly. "She blurts out whatever may come into her head; she tumbles from one outrageous escapade into another; she's happier grooming horses and hobnobbing with stable-hands than going to parties; she's impertinent; you daren't catch her eye for fear she should start to giggle; she hasn't any accomplishments; I never saw anyone with less dignity; she's abominable, and damnably hot at hand, frank to a fault, and – a darling!

There is such a thing as evil in this world,” Elias told her quietly. “It does not help to look away from it. It does not even help, necessarily, to look at it.” His fingers brushed through her hair, and she shivered. “But sometimes, when you cannot force the world to come to its senses, you must settle only for wiping away some of the small evils in front of you.

Not only did I manage to accidentally meet the man I’m investigating, I managed to accidentally have sex with him.

You are brave and loyal and true. You have such a good heart." He held my hand close to his chest and covered it with his other hand. "It is only afraid. But I would take such good care of it, love, if you would give it to me.

You don't feel you could marry me instead? Got no brains, of course, and I ain't a handsome fellow, like Jack, but I love you. Don't think I could ever love anyone else.

Dear Philip, I don't imagine you will ever read this. If you do, it is bacause something dreadful has happened to me. I find myself in the hands of a dangerous man. I am determined to fight him but before I do, my heart demands that I write this note to tell you that I love you. I am sending my heart to you in this letter so it will be kept safe from whatever may happen to me tonight. I don't know if you want it or not, but it has always been yours. With all my love, Marianne

...we'll have a duel in the morning on the moors. Plenty of fog. It will be quite dramatic, I daresay.

It may be true that you have only half a soul, Dora,” he whispered, with a surprising abundance of empathy in his voice. “But that does not make you half a person.

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.

If I could,” he went on, “I would remain like this indefinitely—clasped by you, held inside you, a part of you—without moving at all. When we make love, I fight climax with everything I have. I don’t want to come; I do not want it to end. No matter how long I make it last, it isn’t nearly long enough. I am furious when I cannot hold back any longer. Why, Jess? If all I seek is the physical relief of natural lust, just as I would seek sleep or food, why would I deny myself?” She turned her head and caught his mouth with hers, kissing him desperately. “Tell me you understand,” he demanded, his lips moving beneath hers. “Tell me you feel it, too.” “I feel you,” she breathed, as intoxicated by his ardency as she was by the finest claret. “You have become everything to me.

You are my one and only, for all eternity.

Please, I do not wish to be rescued by a gentleman. Could you find a farmer or a shopkeep - anyone not of the gentry - and then do me a great favor of forgetting you saw me?

But why, she thought wryly, did a man seem more attractive as he became less available? How humbling to think one had so much in common with a cow stretching its neck through a gate for better grass.

But gratitude would not have me love you as I do. Love was inspired by what you are - the good, the bad, and even the foolish, which is what you're being right now.

All romantic novels end the same way, but it's the process of getting there that provides all the enjoyment.

sometimes, when you cannot force the world to come to its senses, you must settle only for wiping away some of the small evils in front of you.

Every fish you throw back into the ocean is a triumph of the idea that human beings can be better. I do my best, every day, to throw at least one fish back into the ocean. I hope that you will join me.

Winning her would be like coaxing a butterfly to land on his hand. Patience, gentleness, and perhaps a prayer or two would be required.

A faerie told me that true love's kiss could wake Miss Buckley," Effie told him. "I cannot think of any truer or more unconditional love than that of a dog.

Nell did not imagine that Constable Moore wanted to get into a detailed discussion of recent events, so she changed the subject. "I think I have finally worked out what you were trying to tell me, years ago, about being intelligent," she said. The Constable brightened all at once. "Pleased to hear it." The Vickys have an elaborate code of morals and conduct. It grew out of the moral squalor of an earlier generation, just as the original Victorians were preceded by the Georgians and the Regency. The old guard believe in that code because they came to it the hard way. They raise their children to believe in that code– but their children believe it for entirely different reasons." They believe it," the Constable said, "because they have been indoctrinated to believe it." Yes. Some of them never challenge it– they grow up to be smallminded people, who can tell you what they believe but not why they believe it. Others become disillusioned by the hypocrisy of the society and rebel– as did Elizabeth Finkle-McGraw." Which path do you intend to take, Nell?" said the Constable, sounding very interested. "Conformity or rebellion?" Neither one. Both ways are simple-minded– they are only for people who cannot cope with contradiction and ambiguity.

I love your wit and cleverness. I love that you are kind but almost never nice. I love your eyes and your hair and your freckles, and the fact that you smell like some monstrous floral perfume all of the time.” He paused, now looking somewhat offended at himself. “And I love to dance with you. That is the worst of it by far.

Your fate is writ clear; you will be murdered. I cannot conceive how it comes about that you were not murdered long since!" "How odd! Charles himself once said that to me, or something like it!" "There is nothing odd in it; any sensible man must say it!

Life is a good deal more comfortable if one doesn't expect it to be fair.

How the deuce would you know the right way to go on if you was never taught anything but the wrong way?

He has asked me before how the world can be so heartless. It is this dastardly need to remain calm and composed and polite that has left us all feeling so alone.

He cupped my face in his hands. "Then listen to me, my blind, stubborn, darling friend. You stole my heart the night we met, when you sang that ridicuos song and dared me not to laugh. And every moment I have spent with you since then, you have stolen more and more of me until when you're not with me....." He drew in a breath. "When you are not with me, I am left with nothing but longing for you.

When anyone but God tells me I can or cannot, should or should not do something, I get a distinct desire to rebel.

Red. Red, the colour of the Regency, scrawled over with the iconography of the border forts, growing, fluttering. These were the banners of Ravenel. Not only the banners, but men and riders, flowing over the hilltop like wine from an over-full cup, staining and darkening its slopes, and spreading.

What is your name?" "Again sir, that is no concern of yours." "A mystery," he said. "I shall have to call you Clorinda." ..... "Judith! What the devil? exclaimed Peregrine. "Has there been an accident?" "Judith," repeated the gentleman of the curricle pensively. "I prefer Clorinda.

The Regency,' said Laurent, addressing the troop, 'thought to take us outnumbered. It expected us to roll over without a fight.' Damen said: 'We will not let them cow us, subdue us or force us down. Ride hard. Don't stop to fight the front line. We are going to smash them open. We are here to fight for our Prince!' The cry rang out, For the Prince! The men gripped their swords, slammed their visors down, and the sound they made was a roar.

I do not believe in such a thing as love,' Elias scoffed. 'Perhaps attraction, or companionship, or friendship. But so many men act as though love is a special sort of magic. I feel that I am qualified to say it isn't so.' 'Well, but you have just described love, I think,' Albert replied in bemusement. 'Attraction and companionship and friendship. Is there nothing special about those things, especially if they are all together at once?

Quit trying to marry me off like I’m some Regency spinster in one of your favorite Austen novels.” “Your name is Darcy.” “And I might be a single woman in possession of a good fortune, but I’m not in want of a wife.

If you allow an experienced man of the world to introduce you to passion when you want him more than he wants you, he will own your soul, but you will not own his.

Except I was hoping someday to see you standing on a ship's deck in your shirtsleeves with a cutlass between your teeth." "Maybe it can be arranged

He wasted his disapproval on her, for she cared not a whit.

He'd missed matching wits with her. "Shall we duel with our lips?" "You may find yourself eating grass for breakfast.

By some miracle, Charlotte's polite smile never wavered. It was a proud moment for her. After all, it wasn't every day that a little old lady told you right to your face that your bosom was as flat as a flounder.

Oh, my dear, love isn't always the coup de foudre--the lightning strike. Sometimes it happens quietly, so quietly you may not even notice.

A thing of beauty, like an approaching storm. It was hard not to respect, even though you knew it was likely to erupt any moment.

I am in love with you. You deserve to hear that.

You have already grown, in fact. You simply haven't noticed it because you are constantly looking at the sky and not back at your roots.

Yes, love," responded his sister cheerfully, "but it wasn't of the least consequence, and in any event I answered for you. You would be astonished, I daresay, if you knew what interesting conversations I enjoy with myself.

‎Odd how a man who never smiled could make her feel things she didn't know existed. He held her heart in his hands. From the moment she saw him, some thread had linked them together.

If I were a man I would kill you!" "If you were a man we wouldn't be having this conversation!

Lord Worth: 'I think you may be quite useful to me. The heiress has a brother.' Captain Audley: 'I am not the least interested in her brother,' objected the Captain.

...if you are going to insist on losing faith in someone the moment you see the slightest possibility that they have wronged you, you are going to have a very frustrating life.

He thought about alone in Constantinople that time, having quarreled in Paris before he had gone out. He had whored the whole time and then, when that was over, and he had failed to kill his loneliness, but only made it worse, he had written her, the first one, the one who left him, a letter telling her how he had never been able to kill it . . . . How when he thought he saw her outside the Regence one time it made him go all faint and sick inside, and that he would follow a woman that looked like her in some way, along the Boulevard, afraid to see it was not she, afraid to lose the feeling it gave him. How every one he had slept with had only made him miss her more. How what she had done could never matter since he could never cure himself of loving her.

He'd made a complete ninny of himself. Wentworth probably thought he'd never been kissed before. Which couldn't be farther from the truth. Colton had been kissed at least three times just last season.

I do, love. I want you more than you could ever know. More than I could have ever dreamed. I want you enough for two men. For ten.

I came up stairs into the world, for I was born in a cellar.

If you have always suspected your sister of an inclination to madness, it will be my pleasure to confirm your worst fears.

Lord, if we were all to marry our first loves what a plague of ill-assorted marriages there would be!

There aren’t any facts when it comes to opinions,” she said. “There’s only people who like things an’ people who don’t.

How could you receive a member of the Male Sex in your bedroom, and in your dressing gown? Sir, I must request you to leave immediately!" "You don't mean to tell me that's a dressing gown?" interrupted Mr Carlton, a dangerous gleam in his eyes." Well, it's by far the most elegant one I've ever been privileged to see, and I suppose I must have seen scores of 'em in my time- paid for them too!

Had he not been the keeper of the flame, of anguish, trapped under the brilliance of what she had been to him? He had been a man of permanence, how could he have swayed to emotion like this?

Lord Hollowvale stared up at her with trembling, blood-flecked lips. "I have... only ever... been charitable to you," he whispered. Dora blinked back hideous tears. "I am sure that every evil man believes himself to be charitable," she told him.

There are plenty of fish upon the beach who would be grateful for a bit of kindness – and if you take the time to rescue even one, then perhaps you may even convince a bystander to join you and rescue another.

It is one thing to read scandalous verse, quite another to disguise it behind lofty pretension.

My Angel, goddess of my heart, you are beautiful.

He didn't choose between me and you, Julia: it was between me and ruin.

I am learning, and I believe I shall do quite well.

This time, when his heat departed, Dora thought she must have felt the cold – because the absence of him made her feel as though something crucial was missing.

Listen here, Miss Ettings! I am in love with you. You deserve to hear that. I love your wit and cleverness. I love that you are kind but almost never nice. I love your eyes and your hair and your freckles, and the fact that you smell like some monstrous floral perfume all of the time.” He paused, now looking somewhat offended at himself. “And I love to dance with you. That is the worst of it by far.

I choose to believe that my father is still alive, that he has survived death, outlived us all, and possesses the soul that goes on and lives forever; We just cannot see him yet, for we have not caught up with him. our time will come just as his did. and no matter how woeful and lost I was when he passed away, I know I will be glad to go to a place where I can see him, and know he is okay and happy. It’s just not my time yet and there is no way of knowing if any of it is true." - Jane Adams

He was silent. Well! Now she knew how right she had been. He was not in the least in love with her, and very happy she was to know it. All she wanted was a suitable retreat, such as a lumber-room, or a coal-cellar, in which to enjoy her happiness to the full.

Dim-witted people offend me even further.' 'Oh dear,' Dora said mildly. 'That must be very difficult indeed.' Already, the fair-haired man had begun to turn away from her - but he glanced back at that. 'Pardon?' he asked. 'What must be difficult, exactly?' Dora smiled at him politely. 'Being offended at yourself so very often,' she said. 'That seems a sad way to live, my lord.

Miss Grantham ordered me to my room and told me no man would ever wish to marry me if I did not learn to behave like a lady. But Miss Grantham always behaves like a lady, and no man has ever wished to marry her, either, so if it really makes no difference in the end, I don’t see why I shouldn’t at least have fun!

I'll open no gates for you, my girl! You'll take any fence I take, and we'll clear it neck and neck!

Nothing said family more than shared soap.

The only way to see everything, my dear, is to see it absolutely.

He had accessorized his life with everything but paternal instinct.

There is always a thought of marriage between a single female and a personable gentleman, if not in his mind, quite certainly in hers.

People do understand the language of the heart, you know, even if the head does not always comprehend it.

A Christian’s good works are the expression of gratitude for salvation; not efforts to earn it.

I saw your intelligence, and I was intrigued. I saw your humor, and I was charmed. I saw your soul, and it was beautiful. I'm in love with you, Mary Bennet.

No one promises us a perfect life, my dear. You must do the best you can with what you've been given.

was a shame, she thought, that so many beautiful things were also so ugly on the inside.

the magician who does three impossible things before breakfast,

The soft atmosphere made her feel even more than usual that she was dreaming. But it was the sort of lovely dream that one dwelled purposely upon, unwilling to wake too soon.

Her whole world was in the depth of his eyes.

Ravenwood ran a hand through his wavy chestnut hair, upsetting the careful work of his valet. Or not. Given the popularity of the “frightened owl” hairstyle today, Amelia couldn’t fathom much effort being involved at all.

With a hand on the back of his neck, Raleigh pulled him down until their foreheads touched. “I love you. I want to suffocate you in your sleep with your pillow sometimes, but I love you.” Steven chuckled and nipped Raleigh’s full bottom lip. “I love you too, Cony.” Running his fingers through the back of the thick black hair, Steven urged Raleigh forward. “Please don’t murder me in my sleep.” Their lips met.

She hadn't seen him since yesterday, and Charlotte did not understand the sensation that gripped her at the sight of him. As if she were a lightning rod, waiting for the storm above to strike. As if she had lost all control over her life and was thrown into chaos.

She was energetic and didn’t always conform to polite society’s idea of how a young lady should conduct herself, but perhaps those things had nothing to do with achieving God’s approval. Didn’t God see inside a person’s heart and judge them for their thoughts and motives? God’s ways were not man’s ways.

I followed the curious intensity behind those dark blue eyes and the moment his eyes changed. Suddenly, my world felt terribly small, like I’d experienced merely a handful of what it had to offer.

He wore camel-colored breeches and dark brown Hessian riding boots, a snow-white shirt held together at the throat with a gold pin and a dark brown vest with little gold fleurs-de-lis embroidered on it. Kingsley looked magnificent, like a Regency-era fever dream. If Jane Austen had set eyes on Kingsley, she would never have written her genteel comedies of manner. She would have written porn.

The end of the idyll was implicit in the beginning: I at least knew that, though you might not. And also that the more enchanted the idyll the greater must be the pain of its ending. That won’t endure. Hearts don’t really break, you know.

Yet, after all, Jenny thought she had been granted more than she hoped for when she married him. He did love her: differently, but perhaps more enduringly; and he had grown to depend on her. She thought that they would have many years of quiet content: never reaching the heights, but living together in comfort and deepening friendship.

He was all but shouting, stalking toward her. He grabbed her arms and gave her a little shake. "This time, the bastards don't win. I win." "What do you win?" she whispered. He bent his head and crushed his lips to hers.

Of course I want to bed her. A man would have to be dead and buried not to. No, I want to talk to her. I like talking to her. Dammit, the bedding part is natural. Wanting to spend time with her outside the bedchamber is not.

The night was bright. He was seen. And she was everything.

In the meantime, do at least try to keep all of your clothing on, Miss Ettings. My specialties lie within the sorcerous arts and not in extracting young ladies from scandal.

It did not occur to him that anything would go wrong until it positively had gone wrong.

Dear God, I must be dead and in hell since you're here.

Good night, my lord.” The words were pronounced in her most withering tone. By contrast, he remained quite alarmingly unwithered long after she left.

Te amo, Querida," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Tu eres mi luz en la oscuridad." I love you. You are my light in the darkness.

But perhaps peace was not in a place but within one's self.

Dora thought, Oh dear. Because she was now quite sure that she was in love.

Dora shook her head clearly. “What good would it do to have all of my feelings again, if I must use them only to look on all this misery?

Even without the Grand Reclaimer bond, Helen, you are my heartbeat. My pulse. You are the fire in my blood and the laughter in my soul.

Albert is her favourite because he is broken. She feels she must make up for that with extra love, the same way that Vanessa feels for me.

I think he is virtuous because he is kind to the powerless and cruel to the powerful.

But looking at Jane, and looking at you, I find I am simply tired of being angry. It is exhausting work, hating you, Mr Darcy.

But nothing has a point!” Lord Blackthorn protested incredulously. “All of life is absurd to some extent or other!

He didn’t have the imagination to orchestrate illicit liaisons, nor the cunning to do anything sly. He had all the subtlety of a puppy, all the capacity for guile of a newborn baby.

He clutched her to him with a desperate strength that almost hurt. "I will love you for your light, if you can love me through the dark times. And that love will be like the clear night sky when the moon is full. Not like the sun....but beautiful and bright enough to find our way.

Elias stared at her. As Dora considered his face, she became convinced that there were tears there. "Oh, bother," Dora sighed. "I am about to flout propriety, Lady Carroway. Do be kind to me, please." She wrapped her arms around the magician tightly—and felt him crumble away against her.

News of the death of James V on 14 December gave even further cause for rejoicing, because his heir was a week-old girl, the infant Mary, Queen of Scots. Scotland would be subject to yet another weakening regency—it had endured six during the past 150 years—and should give no further trouble.

With the aid of the baluster-rail and Mr Goring's stalwart arm she arrived, panting but triumphant, on the first floor, and paused to take breath. Observing that Lybster was about to throw open the door into the drawing room she stopped him by the simple expedient of grasping his sleeve. Affronted, he gazed at her with much hauteur, and said in freezing accents: "Madam?" "Looby!" enunciated Mrs Floore, between gasps. "You wait! Trying to push me in - like a landed salmon!

I don't ask you - fribble!' snapped his lordship, rounding on him, with the speed of a whiplash. 'You may keep your tongue between your teeth!' "Yes, sir - happy to!' uttered Claud, dismayed. 'No wish to offend you! Thought you might like to be set right!' 'Thought I might like to be set right?' 'No, no! Spoke without thinking!' said Claud hastily. ' I know you don't!

She added on an explanatory note: 'He has eyes like a pig and his name is Joseph.' 'How shocking! One scarcely knows whether to feel pity or disgust.' Miss Trent knew no such uncertainty. 'He is a hateful wretch!' she declared.

Would you - would you like to marry me, Kitty?' Lord Radcliffe - James - asked, voice like gravel. She gave a helpless little laugh at the absurdity of the question - as if he did not know. 'I would,' she said. 'But first, I feel I must inform you that I come with four sisters, a badly leaking roof, and a veritable ocean of debt.' He had started to smile now, and once begun it did not seem to stop, overtaking his whole face. “I thank you for your honesty,’ he said cordially, and she laughed. ‘May I reassure you that I am desperate to meet your other sisters, the roof sounds charmingly rustic, and the debt does not faze me.’ He paused. ‘Of course, I understand that you will need to see my accounts before committing yourself,’ he went on, and she laughed again, loud and bright. ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ she said. ‘As long as you can promise you’re absurdly rich and you’ll pay off all my family’s debts.’ ‘I am absurdly rich,’ he repeated. ‘And I will pay off all your family’s debts.’ ‘Why then by all means,’ she said, grinning up at him, ‘I would indeed like to marry you.

She contrived, without precisely making so vulgar a boast, to convey the impression that she was escaping from courtships so persistent as to amount to persecution; and Mr Beaumaris, listening with intense pleasure , said that London was the very place for anyone desirous of escaping attention.

And if the worst happened, Guion’s testimony had the potential to bring down the Regency. Laurent had said all of this succinctly, and told Guion, in a pleasant voice, ‘Your wife can chaperone Jokaste on the journey.’ Guion had understood more quickly than Damen. ‘I see. My wife is the leverage for my good behaviour?’ ‘That’s right,’ said Laurent. Damen

Of course I am coming for you!” Elias told her hotly. His gold eyes burned at her. “I have tried everything, Dora. Everything. When I had no ideas left, I even prayed, for God’s sake. You have slept for a full day and a half since your cousin found you, and I have counted every awful second of it!

After only a few moments in her presence, he found himself wondering what dragon he might slay for her.

Oh, how glorious it must be, to care nothing for society’s censure, but how terrible it must be, to care for nothing at all.

Now he knew there was so much more to her story and damn if he didn't want to read the whole book.

I don’t know what you hope for in a husband, but if it is to be loved … well, I think it would be very easy to fall in love with you.

Forgiveness was such a tricky business. One could forgive with all sincerity one moment and then be overcome by feelings of anger and ill-use the next.

Julia stood for his youth, and the high hopes he had cherished; and although he might no longer yearn to possess her she would remain nostalgically dear to him while life endured.

I've never met anyone as kind as you are, except me Mum, o' course." --Benjamin Trimmel to Lady Alexandra.

He wanted her. He wanted her body in his bed and her defiant spirit in his estates.

But it did matter. Because as much as he tried to deny it, the truth was simple. He had fallen in love with her. Idiot.

Dash knew it was selfish of him. But he wanted badly to kiss Miss Elena Barnes at that very moment. Not because he needed her gone. But because he wanted her to stay.

Entertaining females with accounts of jug-bitten maunderings is one of my favourite pastimes.

Imagine Sir Walter Scott, but if every woman in English history dabbled in witchcraft or murder.

Gossip never has to be true. It only has to be interesting.

But to love is a choice, and it will always be a choice—a choice that must be made every day.

because the absence of him made her feel as though something crucial was missing.

You can tell that I am important, for I am wearing many expensive jackets.

Two days in the capitol city and Elena had been reduced to wandering the halls at night, thinking on a man, of all things. A man most assuredly her intellectual inferior. And yet, a man whose heart mysteriously spoke to hers. This was madness.

… on the shores of darkness there is light, And precipices show untrodden green, There is a budding morrow in midnight, There is a triple sight in blindness keen. John Keats, “To Homer

One’s belief cannot be allowed to suffocate under the tyranny of small minds, for hope itself does not hinge on the faith of the masses, rather the singular soul. And I hope most ardently.

There’s no use gettin’ angry,” Effie’s mother used to chide her. “It’ll just get you into trouble. You can think all of the angry thoughts you want, but they’ve got to stay inside your head!

No, I'm not smart," he whispered against her ear, "but I was wise enough to fall in love with you and clever enough to convince you to marry me. I hope I'm not so stupid that I would ever let you go.

A good book is like a good friend, do you know, Lacey? One you can turn to when the night is cold and you are lonely. And there is old Herodotus, standing ready to regale me with tales of his travels.

No one gives what they could, Albert!” Elias hissed. “Everyone gives what they please – and certainly not without plenty of self-congratulations for their miserly gestures. With one hand, they raise grain tariffs, muster soldiers and create the workhouses. With the other, they deign to save a few poor souls from the very hell they made.

Those piercingly beautiful blue eyes were looking down at him, stupefying him as they met his own, evoking images of sapphire jewels and a starry sky and… Good Lord, was her hair truly the shade of moonbeams?

One minute he stood transfixed, the next he uttered a crushing oath, and took a hasty stride forward. Mr Ringwood, recovering from his own stupefaction, closed with him, just as George, flushing vividly, sprang to his feet. "Sherry!" Mr Ringwood said warningly. "For God's sake, dear boy, remember where you are! You can't choke George to death here!

Bouncer, recognizing a well-wisher, got up, and thrust his cold, wet nose under her hand, assuming as he did so the soulful expression of a dog who takes but a benevolent interest in cats, livestock, and stray visitors.

I think he's quite aware , as is everyone here, that you don't need to worm your way into my bed, Miss Raven." He stepped away from her. "You need only crook your finger and I would be ripping your clothes off your body.

One bright dusk, four, five, no, my God, six summers ago, I strolled along a Greenwich avenue of mature chestnuts and mock oranges in a state of grace. Those Regency residences number amount London's Costliest properties, but should you ever inherit one, dear Reader, sell it, don't live in it. Houses like these secrete some dark sorcery that transforms their owners into fruitcakes. One such victim, an ex-chief of Rhodesian polices, had, on the evening in question, written me a check as rotund as himself to edit and print his autobiography. My state of grace was thanks in part to this check, and in part to a 1983 Chablis from the Duruzoi vineyard, a magic potion that dissolves our myriad tragedies into mere misunderstandings.

The ladies, I daresay, will have already selected silk gowns and appropriate jewels," the countess droned on, "and are quite capable of comporting themselves in line with both propriety and fashion.” “I don’t care about fashion,” Lord Sheffield murmured into Amelia’s ear, “but I’m sorely disappointed whenever a lady I escort decides to comport herself with propriety.

She sighed and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "How comfortable this is! she said. "And so delightfully vulgar! Does plain Mr Dash put his arm round ladies in hackney coaches?" "When not in gaol he does," the Duke responded.

There’s a Lady Amelia Pembroke here to see you, my lord. She was most insistent.” Benedict glanced up from his desk. “I trust you informed her that I was not receiving, and refused to let her in?” “Of course.” The butler hesitated before continuing, “She said she would simply wait until you are receiving.” Benedict put down his pen. “Wait where, pray?” “Upon the front step, my lord. I’m afraid the lady brought... the lady brought... a book. She cannot be budged.

But above all, above respect and esteem, there was a motive within her of good will which could not be overlooked. It was gratitude. -- Gratitude, not merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still well enough, to forgive all the petulance and acrimony of her manner in rejecting him, and all the unjust accusations accompanying her rejection. He who, she had been persuaded, would avoid her as his greatest enemy, seemed, on this accidental meeting, most eager to preserve the acquaintance, and without any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of manner, where their two selves only were concerned, was soliciting the good opinion of her friends, and bent on making her known to his sister.

A man who would contract the mumps,’ declared Cecilia, ‘would do anything!’ Lady Ombersley saw nothing unreasonable in this pronouncement, nor was she surprised that his lordship’s unromantic behaviour had given Cecilia a distaste for him.

He took her face between his hands, turning it up, and looking down at her for a moment before he kissed her. "I do love you, Jenny," he said gently. "Very much indeed-- you are part of my life. Julia was never that-only a boy's impractical dream.

It is unforgivable that men and women who have worked the land and served us for generations should be so bewildered and fearful, because of laws made to accommodate the greed of others," Darcy said, "Laws are meant to make the lives of citizens better, not worse.

Miss Taverner took the whip and reins in her hands, and mounted into the driving-seat, scorning assistance. "Take your orders from Miss Taverner, Henry," said the Earl, getting up beside his ward. "Me Lord, you are never going to let a female drive us?" said Henry almost tearfully. "What about my pride?" "Swallow it, Henry," replied the Earl amicably.

Ferdy choked. It took a great deal of back-slapping to restore him, and when he was at last able to catch his breath again, his eyes were watering and his countenance was alarmingly flushed. 'Well, what the deuce!' exclaimed Sherry, eyeing him in surprise. 'Crumb' gasped Ferdy. 'Crumb? You weren't eating anything!' 'Must have been,' said Ferdy feebly.

when villains mistreat us, they shall almost always continue to mistreat us until someone forcibly stops them. If you are powerless, then it is almost impossible to stand up to your villains – but when you and other powerless people finally become angry on each other’s behalf and stand up together, it is far more difficult for villains to get their way.

It was, of course, a great failure in a woman's life - to never have achieved even a doomed and unsuccessful love. But she was not quite sure whether she had failed or not. When she was young there had been moments, of course. But those moments had never amounted to much more than a little fever of admiration - a little flutter and agitation in a ballroom - so slight a feeling that the cautious Dido had never considered it a secure foundation for a lifetime of living together. And then, sooner or later, she had always made and odd remark, or laughed at the wrong moment, and the young men became alarmed or angry - and the flutter and the agitation all turned to irritation. Dido could laugh and gossip about love as well as any woman but, deep down, she suspected that she had not the knack of falling into it.

For years, Dora had not bothered to wonder why it was she had been singled out – why she had been cursed instead of anyone else in the world. It had always seemed irrelevant, insubstantial, irreversible. But today, she felt the unfairness of it all like a corset laced too tightly.

It is a peculiar monthly Affliction inducing them [the men of Regency England] to take on various unnatural shapes—neither quite demon, nor proper beast—and in those shapes to roam the land; to hunt, murder, dismember, gorge on blood, consume haggis and kidney pie, gamble away their familial fortune, marry below their station (and below their statue, when the lady is an Amazon), vote Whig, perform sudden and voluntary manual labor, cultivate orchids, collect butterflies and Limoges snuff boxes, and perpetrate other such odious evil—unless properly contained.

In all of this she was only partially successful, for although Nurse knew that once Miss Venetia had made up her mind she was powerless to prevent her doing whatever she liked, and was obliged to admit some faint resemblance in Damerel to the Good Samaritan, she persisted in referring to him as The Ungodly, and in ascribing his charitable behaviour to some obscure but evil motive.

When he was pleased he looked what nature had intended him to be: a placid man with a kindly, easy-going disposition; but when harassed his expression changed to one of peevishness, a frown dragging his brows together, and a pronounced pout giving him very much the look of a thwarted baby.

Yes, and that puts me in mind of another thing I have to say to you! Why the devil don't you take better care of Nell? Did you get her out of a silly scrape? No, you didn't! I did! All you did was put it into her head you thought she had only married you for your fortune, when anyone but a gudgeon must have known she's too big a pea-goose to have enough sense to do anything of the kind!

he had failed to kill his loneliness, but only made it worse, he had written her, the first one, the one who left him, a letter telling her how he had never been able to kill it. … How when he thought he saw her outside the Regence one time it made him go all faint and sick inside, and that he would follow a woman who looked like her in some way, along the Boulevard, afraid to see it was not she, afraid to lose the feeling it gave him. How every one he had slept with had only made him miss her more. How what she had done could never matter since he knew he could not cure himself of loving her.

But he has been telling me about his scheme to furbish up the Dower House if you should not dislike it - and I can't think why you should, dearest, for he says the ghost is nothing more than Spurstow, trying to keep everyone away, which wouldn't surprise me in the least, for I always disliked that man, and even if there is a ghost, it cannot possibly be more disagreeable to live with than your grandfather!

He then, with great presence of mind, put a stop to any further recriminations by kissing her; and his indignant betrothed, apparently feeling that he was too deeply sunk in depravity to be reclaimable, abandoned (for the time being, at all events) any further attempt to bring him to a sense of his iniquity.

I can't help wanting. I want you to burn as I burn. I want you to lie awake at night thinking of me. If you sleep, I want you to dream of me. I want you to tell me that you can't stand the sight of me dancing with another woman. I want to know this last week has been as miserable for you as it has been for me.

I plead your cause? What the devil gave you the notion that I plead any causes but my own? Believe me, it's wide of the mark!" "You can't be such a - such a care-for-nobody as to refuse to lift as much as a finger to assist me!" said Stacy indignantly. "Oh you're quite mistaken! I am precisely such a care-for-nobody.

That’s not a catalog!” Amelia's brother set aside his empty glass and plate to peer across the maplewood table. “Why the devil are you reading Debrett’s Peerage?” “It most certainly is a catalog," she replied, "and the most expedient one at my disposal. I’ve decided to take a husband. His name must be within these pages.

Who said the soirée needs to take place in the same old ballroom?" Amelia arched a brow. "All we need is a new venue.” “We?” Ravenwood reared back, horrified. “Not you, dear brother. Viscount Sheffield and I.” “Does the poor flat even know who you are?” Ravenwood burst out. Her smile turned calculating. “He’s about to.

Dora knitted her brow. "You cannot have thought of Lady Cushing's ball," she said sceptically. "I did not," Elias said. "I thought of you, Dora. But you are here, and so here I am." Those golden eyes held hers, and a flustered heat pooled against the surface of Dora's skin. "I did not come here only to dance. I came here only to dance with you. It is quite a different thing." The dancing began, and it was a good thing that it did—Dora was suddenly certain that she could not manage to stay still beneath those eyes for even a moment longer.

Papa had always told Justine that guns had a remarkable capacity to focus the mind. She couldn’t say with any confidence that her actions had cleared the minds of the drunken louts before her, but she’d sharpened their attention. They gaped at her, slack-mouth and stupefied, trying to make sense of what their bleary eyes told them.

There is such a thing as evil in this world,” Elias told her quietly. “It does not help to look away from it. It does not even help necessarily to look at it.” His fingers brushed through her hair, and she shivered. “But sometimes, when you cannot force the world to come to its senses, you must settle only for wiping away some of the small evils in front of you.

The story of a family where three generations drifted between Christianity and Islam and back again, between suits and salvars, Mughal Hyderabad and Regency London, seemed to raise huge questions: about Britishness and the nature of Empire, about faith, and about personal identity; indeed, about how far all of these mattered, and were fixed and immutable – or how far they were in fact flexible, tractable, negotiable. For once it seemed that the normal steely dualism of Empire – between rulers and ruled, imperialists and subalterns, colonisers and the colonised – had broken down. The easy labels of religion and ethnicity and nationalism, slapped on by generations of historians, turned out, at the very least, to be surprisingly unstable.

I don't know what you want from me then,' she cried, casting out her arms. 'For I cannot make my situation any different. I must marry. And so far, I have no promises.' He would not look at her. 'Ask me then,' she said, voice raw, 'ask me if I should like, if I should want to marry Pemberton, were the choice only about me?' He looked up. 'Would you?' 'No,' she said, voice cracking. 'Now ask me, whether I should still love you, were the choice only mine to make?' He took a step forward. 'Would you?' he said again. 'Yes,' she confessed. 'I will always choose my sisters. I will choose their need more than my want every day. But I want you just as much as I need money. You see me, in my entirety - the worst and the best of me - as no one else ever has.

The bizarre quality of the moment was not lost on Marcus. Here he stood, clothing torn and mauled by what was clearly the result of a misguided romantic encounter between a canine and large bear. The female standing in front of him was in absolute and, not to put too fine a point on it, scandalous disarray. And a devilish sprite was performing polite introductions in the middle of the wood. It was of Shakespearean proportions. A farce, to be sure. He should be appalled. Any man of his standing would be. But he was delighted.

I must own, too, that I can't be astonished at his being vexed to death over this business. It is excessively awkward! However, he doesn't lay the blame for that at my door: you mustn't think that!" "I should think not indeed!" exclaimed Anthea between amusement and indignation. "How could he possibly do so?" "No, very true, my love!" agreed Mrs Darracott. "I thought that myself, but it did put me on the fidgets when Richmond said he wanted to see me, because in general, you know, things I never even heard about turn out to be my fault.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Anthony turned to look at her. It was difficult for him to discern her expression with the mask she was wearing, but he could see her eyes, and there was something so honest, yet desperate, hidden there that he found it impossible to look away. She was mesmerizing, and whatever reason she had for being there, he knew that it was vitally important to her, that attending the ball was not without risk.

How to explain the sheer tingling joy one experiences when two interesting, complex, and occasionally aggravating characters have at last settled their misunderstandings and will live happily ever after, no matter what travails life might throw in their path, because Jane Austen said they will, and that's that? How to describe the exhilaration of being caught up in an unknown but glamorous world of balls and gowns and rides in open carriages with handsome young men? How to explain that the best part of Jane Austen's world is that sudden recognition that the characters are just like you?

Have you ever seen Russian nesting dolls?” Thrown by the questions, she opened her eyes. Why would he suddenly speak about a child’s toy? “I own a few of them.” “Then you must understand that undressing you is like playing with one of those dolls. I open one to find another beneath it. I took away your gown to find you are still as clothed as you were a moment ago and I wonder how many more layers I will have to work through to get down to you—the doll I’m searching for.

We should go,” he said gruffly, his face inscrutable. “Why?” Her heartbeat thundered. She gripped his arms tight to keep herself from twining her own about his neck. He lowered his mouth to her ear, brushing it with a feather-soft kiss. “It isn’t safe.” Her answering shiver had nothing to do with the cold. She had never stood so close to any man, had never fought the urge to press herself even closer. “What could happen?” she whispered. He cupped her face in his hands. “Anything.

You look very well – at least, you would if you didn’t make such a figure of yourself in that rig! When I was a girl, no gentleman would have dreamed of paying a social call without powder, let me tell you! Enough to make your grandfather turn in his grave to see what you’ve all come to, with your skimpy coats, and your starched collars, and not a bit of lace to your neckcloth, or your wristbands! If you can sit down in those skin-tight breeches, or pantaloons, or whatever you call ’em, do so!

I think I love Jeremy,” she said quietly, forcing herself to state the words simply, without hesitation. “I’ve no idea why,” she added, unable to help herself, “considering he’s vain and maddening and I can barely converse with him without wanting to stab him with a fork, but apparently that is what love looks like for me. And,” she added, her mind lingering on the look in his eye when he gazed at her sometimes, as though marveling at her very existence, “I think he might love me, too—though, being a man, I expect he’s too dense to realize it.

Dora smiled wanly at him. "You spent so long trying to save all of those children, only to feel like you were killing them yourself. Neither of us could bear that thought. Just this once, you must let me help you, since it was in my power to do so." She met his eyes again. "This is my small evil to vanquish, Elias." Dora became aware of the feeling of warm sunlight and cotton against her skin. Elias held her close, and she caught the brief scent of sweet myrrh—before her eyes opened once more, and she found herself in a bed at Mrs Dun's orphanage.

Linnet’s thudding heart raced blood through her veins, sending a flush of embarrassing heat to her face. She had been avoiding him, but she could never tell him why. It took all her discipline not to quail under Sir Anthony’s penetrating gaze. Blast the man. She’d lost count of the times he’d made her feel like a blushing maiden. Strictly speaking, she was still a maiden, but she’d given up blushing years ago—along with simpering, flirting, and so many other talents deemed useful to unmarried women. Except, of course, in Sir Anthony’s august presence.

How happily we explored our shiny new world! We lived like characters from the great books I curled up with in the big Draylon armchair. Like Jack Kerouak, like Gatsby, we created ourselves as we went along, a raggle-taggle of gypsies in old army overcoats and bell-bottoms, straggling through the fields that surrounded our granite farmhouse in search of firewood, which we dragged home and stacked in the living room. Ignorant and innocent, we acted as if the world belonged to us, as though we would ever have taken the time to hang the regency wallpaper we damaged so casually with half-rotten firewood, or would have known how to hang it straight, or smooth the seams. We broke logs against the massive tiled hearth and piled them against the sooty fire back, like the logs were tradition and we were burning it, like chimney fires could never happen, like the house didn't really belong to the poor divorcee who paid the rates and mortgage even as we sat around the flames like hunter gatherers, smoking Lebanese gold, chanting and playing the drums, dancing to the tortured music of Luke's guitar. Impelled by the rhythm, fortified by poorly digested scraps of Lao Tzu, we got up to dance, regardless of the coffee we knocked over onto the shag carpet. We sopped it up carelessly, or let it sit there as it would; later was time enough. We were committed to the moment. Everything was easy and beautiful if you looked at it right. If someone was angry, we walked down the other side of the street, sorry and amused at their loss of cool. We avoided newspapers and television. They were full of lies, and we knew all the stuff we needed. We spent our government grants on books, dope, acid, jug wine, and cheap food from the supermarket--variegated cheese scraps bundled roughly together, white cabbage and bacon ends, dented tins of tomatoes from the bargain bin. Everything was beautiful, the stars and the sunsets, the mold that someone discovered at the back of the fridge, the cows in the fields that kicked their giddy heels up in the air and fled as we ranged through the Yorkshire woods decked in daisy chains, necklaces made of melon seeds and tie-dye T-shirts whose colors stained the bath tub forever--an eternal reminder of the rainbow generation. [81-82]

Maddie squirmed out from under him. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I know this is supposed to be physical. Impersonal. It’s only that I keep thinking of lobsters.” He flipped onto his back and lay there, blinking up at the ceiling. “Until just now, I would have said there was nothing remaining that could surprise me in bed. I was wrong.” She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. “I am the girl who made up a Scottish lover, wrote him scores of letters, and kept up an elaborate ruse for years. Does it really surprise you that I’m odd?” “Maybe not.” “Lobsters court for months before mating. Before the male can mate with her, the female has to feel secure enough to molt out of her shell. If a spiny sea creature is worth months of effort, can’t I have just a bit more time? I don’t understand the urgency.

[Dora] 'I have often though that I am capable of emotions with a long tail. I am not sure if that makes sense. I do not feel the shock of fear, but I can feel dread--I was scared of the image in the mirror after thinking on it for a while. And while you do not enrage me, per se, I am vexed when I think of the way you treat others.' Elias smiled sharply at that...'Have you ever felt happiness at all, Miss Ettings? Even the sort with a long tail?' Dora settled her chin into her hand. 'I don't know what happiness ought to feel like any more,' she said. 'It is the most elusive feeling of all, I think. But...I feel at peace when I am near Vanessa. She is like a warm lantern to me. I think it must be because she loves me so obviously. When I am around her, I do not need to pretend to be something I am not.

Aden St. George managed to avoid having to kill the guard stationed outside his quarry’s crypt-like cell, although the thug outside the caves hadn’t been so lucky. Still, that bastard had tried to knife him in the gut so Aden could hardly be faulted for returning the favor. And knowing what he did about the men who’d kidnapped Lady Vivien Shaw, he wouldn’t waste his fitful conscience on that brutal but necessary act. Killing was not a favorite pastime, but only rarely did it disturb his sleep. Tonight’s rescue mission carried no inconvenient opportunities for remorse since a woman’s life and innocence hung in the balance. True, the gossips whispered that Lady Vivien’s innocence was an open question, but what would happen to her if Aden failed wasn’t. Without his intervention she would disappear into a nightmarish life, forever beyond the protection of her family and friends.

He shut the door, and stood looking across the room at her. 'Cressy, what did you mean when you told that harridan that your affections were engaged?' The colour deepened a little in her cheeks, but she replied lightly: 'Well, she talked so much like someone in a bad play that I became carried away myself! Besides, I had to say something to convince her! I could see she didn't quite believe me when I said I wasn't going to marry your brother.' He let his breath go in a long sigh, and walked forward, setting his hands on her shoulders, and saying: 'You don't know how much I have wanted to tell you the truth! Cressy, my dear one, forgive me! I've treated you abominably, and I love you so much!' Miss Stavely, who had developed an interest in the top button of his coat, looked shyly up at this. 'Do you, Kit?' she asked. 'Truly?' Mr Fancot, preferring actions to words, said nothing whatsoever in answer to this, but took her in his arms and kissed her. Miss Stavely, who had previously thought him unfailingly gentle and courteous, perceived, in the light of this novel experience, that she had been mistaken: there was nothing gentle about Mr Fancot's crushing embrace; and his behaviour in paying no heed at all to her faint protest could only be described as extremely uncivil. She was wholly unused to such treatment, and she had a strong suspicion that her grandmother would condemn her conduct in submitting to it, but as Mr Fancot seemed to be dead to all sense and propriety it was clearly useless to argue with him.

he disclosed that he had been set upon by two Bedlamites, both of whom had jumped out from behind a bush, roaring at him like a couple of ferocious wild beasts ... The Sergeant cast a doubtful glance at Lieutenant Ottershaw, for, in his opinion, this had a false ring. His men, as he frequently informed them, put him forcibly in mind of many things, ranging from gape-seeds, hedge-birds, slush-buckets, and sheep-biters, to beetles, tailless dogs, and dead herrings, but none of them, least of all the two raw dragoons in question, had ever reminded him of a ferocious wild beast. Field-mice, yes, he thought, remembering the sad loss of steel in those posted to watch the Dower House; but if the young gentleman had detected any resemblance to ferocious wild beasts in his assailants, the Sergeant was prepared to take his Bible oath they had not been the baconbrained knock-in-the-cradles he had posted (much against his will) within the ground of Darracott place. But Sergeant Hoole had never, until this disastrous evening, set eyes on Mr. Claud Darracott. Lieutenant Ottershaw had beheld that Pink of the Ton picking his delicate way across the cobbles in Rye, clad in astonishing but unquestionably modish raiment, and holding a quizzing-glass up to his eye with one fragile white hand, and it did not strike him as remarkable that this Bartholomew baby should liken two overzealous dragoons to wild beasts.

Having never had dealings with Bow Street, Lady Fieldhurst was not quite certain what to expect: perhaps a stout fellow past his prime, befuddled with sleep or spirits, with a bulbous red nose—the same sort as might be found in any number of watchmen’s boxes across the metropolis. The individual who entered the room in [the footman's] wake, however, was very nearly her own age. To be sure, his nose was somewhat crooked, as if it had been broken at some point, but it was far from bulbous, and it was certainly not red. He was quite tall, almost gangly, with curling brown hair tied at the nape of his neck in an outmoded queue. He wore an unfashionably shallow-crowned hat and a black swallow-tailed coat of good cloth but indifferent cut; indeed, his only claim to fashion lay in the quizzing glass which hung round his neck from a black ribbon, and which he now raised, the resulting magnification revealing his eyes to be a warm brown. Julia might have been much reassured as to his competence, had it not been for the fact that his mouth hung open as from a rusty hinge.

Rhys cleared his throat and tugged on his cravat. “I wanted to ask you something.” “Yes?” St. Clare livened up immediately as he took a sip of whisky. “Do you treat your wife like your mistress?” St. Clare raised a brow. Any other man would be sputtering his drink out of his mouth in surprise at the question. Not St. Clare. “No, I treat my wife a lot better than I have ever treated any of my mistresses.” “That’s not exactly what I mean….” Rhys cleared his throat again. “Then what do you mean?” Rhys scratched his temple. “I mean in bed.” “Oh…” Gabriel scowled. “I do not think I follow.” “Well, I mean… All the depraved things you did with your mistresses, do you do them to your wife?” Gabriel raised his brow. “If by depraved, you mean whether I pleasure my wife in every way I have learned how then yes. And she does the same for me.” “You let her—” “I let her do anything she wants to do to me and then teach her to do even more,” he added with a wink. Rhys tugged on his cravat again in agitation. “What I mean is… I’ve heard time and time again that ladies are delicate creatures who cannot withstand arduous pursuits… There are things that are indecent—” “Let me stop you right there, my dear, virtuous friend. What you think is indecent, I do to my wife every morning before breakfast. And what you call degrading or embarrassing, I call Tuesday.” He finished his drink and slammed the glass onto the desk. “There is no such thing as indecent between a husband and a wife. The only thing indecent is a cold marriage bed. Take it from a former rake.