Sheridan Smith Quotes

I never read a book before reviewing it: it prejudices a man so.

Where the bloody hell is my wife?” Godric yelled into the aether. As if in response, a footman came up the stairs and handed Cedric a slip of paper. Dumbfounded, Cedric opened it and read it aloud. My Dear Gentlemen, We await you in the dining room. Please do not join us until you have decided upon a course of action regarding the threat to Lord Sheridan. We will be more than delighted to offer our opinions on the matter, but in truth, we suspect you do not wish to hear our thoughts. It is a failing of the male species, and we shan’t hold it against you. In the future, however, it would be advisable not to lock us in a room. We simply cannot resist a challenge, something you should have learned by now. Intelligent women are not to be trifled with. Fondest Regards, ~ The Society of Rebellious Ladies ~ “Fondest regards?” Lucien scoffed. A puzzled Jonathan added, “Society of Rebellious Ladies?” “Lord help us!” Ashton groaned as he ran a hand through his hair. “They’ve named themselves.” “I’ll wager a hundred pounds that Emily’s behind this. Having a laugh at our expense,” Charles said in all seriousness. “Let’s go and see how rebellious they are when we’re done with them.” Cedric rolled up the sleeves of his white lawn shirt as he and the others stalked down the stairs to the dining room. They found it empty. The footman reappeared and Cedric wondered if perhaps the man had never left. At the servant’s polite cough he handed Cedric a second note. “Another damn note? What are they playing at?” He practically tore the paper in half while opening it. Again he read it aloud. Did you honestly believe we’d display our cunning in so simple a fashion? Surely you underestimated us. It is quite unfair of you to assume we could not baffle you for at least a few minutes. Perhaps you should look for us in the place where we ought to have been and not the place you put us. Best Wishes, ~ The Society of Rebellious Ladies ~ “I am going to kill her,” Cedric said. It didn’t seem to matter which of the three rebellious ladies he meant. The League of Rogues headed back to the drawing room. Cedric flung the door open. Emily was sitting before the fire, an embroidery frame raised as she pricked the cloth with a fine pointed needle. Audrey was perusing one of her many fashion magazines, eyes fixed on the illustrated plates, oblivious to any disruption. Horatia had positioned herself on the window seat near a candle, so she could read her novel. Even at this distance Lucien could see the title, Lady Eustace and the Merry Marquess, the novel he’d purchased for her last Christmas. For some reason, the idea she would mock him with his own gift was damned funny. He had the sudden urge to laugh, especially when he saw a soft blush work its way up through her. He’d picked that particular book just to shock her, knowing it was quite explicit in parts since he’d read it himself the previous year. “Ahem,” Cedric cleared his throat. Three sets of feminine eyes fixed on him, each reflecting only mild curiosity. Emily smiled. "Oh there you are.

When the men finished their game of whist and downed the last of the brandy, they decided the evening was at last over. “That’s enough for me.” Godric turned towards the ladies. “Come along, Em. Time to depart.” Emily didn’t spare her husband a glance. She had one hand on Horatia’s shoulder and another on Audrey’s while she spoke to the pair of them in a huddle. None of the men really bothered trying to figure out what women whispered about. Lucien guessed it would always remain one of life’s mysteries, like why a woman needed countless bonnets when they were such ugly and useless things. It was a damned nuisance trying to untie yards of unnecessary ribbons in order to touch a woman’s hair while he was kissing her. “That’s an unholy alliance if I ever saw one,” Cedric noted. The Sheridan sisters were trouble enough, but adding Emily was like a lit match near a very large powder keg. “I’d best collect my wife before she causes trouble,” Godric replied. Lucien didn’t miss Godric’s pleased tone as he had said ‘wife.’ Godric stood, then walked quietly over and plucked her away from the group, scooping her up into his arms. “Godric!” Emily kicked her feet in outrage. “Put me down at once!” “I don’t think so, my dear. It’s time I put you to bed.” Godric bent his head low so his face was inches from hers. “Oh if you must.” She tried to sound reluctant, but there was a breathless quality to her voice that fooled no one. For a moment, Lucien was struck with a sharp sense of envy. If Horatia weren’t related to his friend, he would have been carrying her out the door in the same fashion, to find the nearest bed. “Good night, everyone!” Godric called over his shoulder as he and Emily left the drawing room. Cedric shook his head, but his eyes glinted with merriment. “By the way they act I swear you’d never know they were married.” “They are indeed fortunate,” Ashton said. “To be so in love that marriage is a blessing rather than a burden.

She is going to be the death of me. “Lucien! You’re not even listening to me, are you? I’m in desperate need of a new valet and you’ve been woolgathering rather than offering suggestions. I daresay you have enough for a decent coat and a pair of mittens by now.” Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester, looked to his friend Charles. They were walking down Bond Street, Lucien keeping careful watch over one particular lady without her knowledge and Charles simply enjoying the chance for an outing. The street was surprisingly crowded for so early in the day and during such foul wintry weather. “Admit it,” Charles prodded. Lucien fought to focus on his friend. “Sorry?” The Earl of Lonsdale fixed him with a stern glare which, given that his usual manner tended towards jovial, was a little alarming. “Where is your head? You’ve been out of sorts all morning.” Lucien grunted. He had no intention of explaining himself. His thoughts were sinful ones, ones that would lead him straight to a fiery spot in Hell, assuming one wasn’t already reserved for him. All because of one woman: Horatia Sheridan. -Charles & Lucien

I’m not angry. But I am upset to learn you’ve become so determined on the matter. I want the truth now. Are you certain it is Jonathan you want to marry?” Audrey gave a quick excited nod. “Do you even know him? Audrey, you’ve only met him this September. I won’t have you marrying a man for shallow reasons.” “How can I ever know a man when you threaten them all with pistols at dawn?” Cedric huffed. “You exaggerate.” “Do I?” She raised one delicate brow. He squirmed a little at her accusation. “Yes, it was only one time. The others fled before I could get that far in my shouting.” “And you feel this is helping your argument?” “I like Jonathan, kitten, I do. The man cuts a fine figure, but that’s no reason for marriage. You ought to marry for love.” Cedric couldn’t believe what he was saying. Somewhere along the way he’d managed to become his father. The words sounded like his. The late Viscount Sheridan had been a noble man and he’d conducted himself with the highest levels of propriety and decorum. But buried beneath that he’d had a heart of gold that made him wise. It seemed some of his father’s wisdom had developed in him, even if it was a little late. “You’re right, of course. But I know the way I feel around him, Cedric. I feel as though my life before him was merely an intake of breath before the true living begins.” “Oh God, you’ve been reading those dreadful gothic novels again.” “I have not!” -Cedric & Audrey

Neither man spoke, both lost in thought. Lucien was visited by the awful memory of the day when Cedric’s parents died. Lucien knew that Cedric had been watching over Audrey at the Sheridan townhouse on Curzon Street when a footman had come running. Cedric once told him that everything seemed to slow from that moment on. The footman was flushed and sputtered about a carriage accident and finally blurted out, “Dead, sir. Both Lord and Lady Sheridan are dead. Your sister suffered a broken arm, but is alive. Lord Rochester was nearby and helped in rescuing your sister.” Lucien would never forget that moment when he’d brought Horatia home after the accident. Cedric had taken two steps towards the door and his legs gave out, sinking to his knees.

Horatia sucked in a breath at her sister’s brash behavior. Am I the only sane Sheridan in the family? As soon as the question passed her mind she stifled a groan of embarrassment. She was no better than Audrey, really. “And he did it to help you?” Emily sounded dubious. “Oh yes.” Audrey nodded. “But he took some convincing. He was quite angry with me, especially after I accosted him in his own drawing room. The poor man hid behind a couch to escape me.” It was simply too amusing an image, Charles scrambling over furniture to escape the kisses of a pretty debutante. Horatia had to bite down on her fist to still her urge to laugh outright. Emily was not so restrained. “I would have given the world to see that!” she said, gasping for air, laughing. Horatia was wiping tears from her eyes. Audrey was back to her old self, imitating Charles’s fall off the couch when she’d kissed him. She made a theatrical squawk and toppled to the floor with a thud. By now Horatia was laughing so hard she could scarcely breathe. One floor below, Lucien and the other members of the League gazed up at the drawing room’s ceiling. Arms crossed over his chest, he raised a brow as they listened to the strange noises from above. There was a loud shriek, a thud, and hoots of unrestrained laughter. “What the deuce is going on up there?” Charles asked. “Probably jumping on the beds,” Cedric grumbled. “They’re no longer children,” said Lucien. “Someone should tell them.” -Emily, Audrey, Horatia, Charles, Cedric, & Lucien

Scots had become what was called the “low” language and metropolitan English was now the medium of law, administration, education and religion. From the eighteenth century onwards, the gentry of Scotland increasingly tended to receive an English education. So in Mr. Sheridan’s “polite” and Adam Smith’s influential circles, English was the standard: no variety of Scots was codified. It even began to be disparaged and by its own people: books proliferated listing Scotticisms to be avoided in polite society. The Scots were assailed and harangued but in one sense of the phrase, they asked for it. And they made English work for them by turning out some of the finest philosophical prose in the language.