Julia Quinn Quotes

Daisy said boldly. "Nothing
ventured, nothing gained."
"Yes, but it is a wise man who understands his limits."
"Who said that?" Daisy asked.
"I did," Honoria answered impatiently

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I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent
who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter
friend. I do love you, dear Mama.

She was petite, small in that way that made a man want to slay dragons.

Just her and the great outdoors. Gwendolyn Margaret Passmore and a million blades of grass.

I have friends who have children, and they have told me how remarkable it is to have a new life that is a piece of your own flesh anf blood. But I
"
"I realized that I didn't love her because she was a piece of me, I loved her because she was a piece of you.

It wasn‟t even desire. It was far more than that.
It was love.
Love. With a capital L and swirly script and hearts and flowers and whatever else the angels -
and yes, all those annoying little cupids - wished to use for embellishment.

She needed him to be him. Even if he could not be hers.

she could not bear to let someone else perform a task when she could do it better herself.

It's just that I love you so much, and -'
'Belle, please.'
'Please what? Please don't tell you I love you? Please don't love you?'
'I can't accept it, Belle.'
...
'How can I possibly let myself continue to love a man who can never love me back?'
'But Belle,' he whispered. 'I do love you.'
John wasn't certain how he expected her to respond, but it was certainly not in the manner she did. She stepped back as if hit ... 'No,' she finally gasped. 'No. Don't say that. Don't tell me that.' ... 'You can't do that,' she said, each word a hoarse little stab of pain. 'You're not allowed. You can't say that and not let me do the same. It isn't fair.

Suddenly it was too hard to be in his presence, too painful to know that he would belong to someone else.

Something without the cello," she muttered.
"If I have to do it, you have to do it," Sarah said with a smirk.
Iris glared at her with all the fury of a misunderstood artist. "You
don't understand."
"Oh, believe me, I do," Sarah said with great feeling. "I played
last year, if you recall. I've had an entire year to understand.

He closed his eyes. The insides of his eyelids were a brownish black, not at all the same as the thick purple of the night. Darkness had so many colors. It was strange, that, and perhaps a little disquieting. But -

―Oh!‖

A foot slammed into his left calf, and he opened his eyes just in time to see a woman tumbling backward.

Right onto his blanket.

He smiled. The gods still loved him.

He raked his hand through his hair. 'This is more difficult than I'd anticipated.'
Good, she thought. If he was going to break her heart, she didn't want it to be easy for him.
'What I'm trying to say is that I had it all wrong. I don't want a wife who...'
'You don't want a wife?' she choked.
'No!' he practically yelled. Then he continued in a more normal tone, 'I don't want a wife who will look the other way if I stray.'
'You want me to /watch?/
'No, I want you to be furious.'
Ellie was by now on the verge of tears. 'You deliberately want to make me angry? To hurt me?'
'No. Oh, God, you've got it all wrong...I just want you to love me so much that if I did [be unfaithful] - which I'm not going to - you would want to have me drawn and quartered.

She was in love. Lady Sarah Pleinsworth was in love.
And it was grand.

Do you really think anyone saves our programs from one year
to the next?" Sarah asked.
"My mother does," Daisy said.
"So does mine," Sarah answered, "but it's not as if she pulls
them out and compares them side by side."
"My mother does," Daisy said again.
"Dear God," Iris moaned.

In college, I was a researcher/writer for 'Let's Go: Europe,' assigned to Crete and Cyprus. I was supposed to go to England, but at the last minute they transferred me, despite the fact that I spoke not a word of Greek. I learned the very basics, and to this day can say 'oil,' 'vinegar,' and 'boyfriend in America.'

You married into the family. You have to love me. It's a contractual obligation.

amidst the horrors of war, it became apparent that there was no way he could possibly survive the carnage. And if by some stroke of fate he managed to come through the conflict with his body intact, he knew that his soul would not be so lucky.

I believe we were discussing your dissatisfaction with life as the most popular man in London.'
Her voice rose on the last four words, and Colin realized he'd been scolded. Soundly.
Which he found extraordinarily irritating. 'I don't know why I thought you'd understand,' he bit off, hating the childish tinge in his voice but completely unable to edit it out.
'I'm sorry,' she said, 'but it's a little difficult for me to sit here and listen to you complain that your life is nothing.'
'I didn't say that.'
'You most certainly did!'
'I said I *have* nothing,' he corrected, trying not to wince as he realized how stupid that sounded.
'You have more than anyone I know,' she said, jabbing him in the shoulder. 'But if you don't realize that, then maybe you are correct - your life is nothing.

Oranges and unicorns say the bells of St. . . ." She looked to Harriet for inspiration.
"Clunicorns?"
"Somehow I don't think so."
"Moonicorns."
Sarah cocked her head to the side. "Better," she judged.
"Spoonicorns? Zoomicorns."
And . . . that was enough. Sarah turned back to her book. "We're done now, Harriet."
"Parunicorns."
Sarah couldn't even imagine where that one had come from. But still, she found herself humming as she read.
Oranges and lemons say the bells of St. Clements.
Meanwhile, Harriet was muttering to herself at the desk. "Pontoonicorns xyloonicorns . . ."
You owe me five farthings say the bells of St. Martins.
"Oh, oh, oh, I have it! Hughnicorns!"
Sarah froze. This she could not ignore. With great deliberation, she placed her index finger in her book to mark her place and looked up. "What did you just say?"
"Hughnicorns," Harriet replied, as if nothing could have been more ordinary. She gave Sarah a sly look. "Named for Lord Hugh, of course. He does seem to be a frequent topic of conversation.

She thumped her weapon (others might call it a cane, but he
knew better) against the floor. "Fell off your horse?"
"No, I - "
"Tripped down the stairs? Dropped a bottle on your foot?" Her
expression grew sly. "Or does it involve a woman?"
He fought the urge to cross his arms. She was looking up at him
with a bit of a smirk. She liked poking fun at her companions; she'd
once told him that the best part of growing old was that she could
say anything she wanted with impunity.
He leaned down and said with great gravity, "Actually, I was
stabbed by my valet."
It was, perhaps, the only time in his life he'd managed to stun
her into silence.
Her mouth fell open, her eyes grew wide, and he would have
liked to have thought that she even went pale, but her skin had such
an odd tone to begin with that it was hard to say. Then, after a
moment of shock, she let out a bark of laughter and said, "No,
really. What happened?"
"Exactly as I said. I was stabbed." He waited a moment, then
added, "If we weren't in the middle of a ballroom, I'd show you."
"You don't say?" Now she was really interested. She leaned in,
eyes alight with macabre curiosity. "Is it gruesome?"
"It was," he confirmed.
She pressed her lips together, and her eyes narrowed as she
asked, "And where is your valet now?"
"At Chatteris House, likely nicking a glass of my best brandy."
She let out anoth

The dark-haired stranger's head snapped around. "Daphne? Did he say Daphne?"
She drew back, unnerved by his direct question and the rather intense look in his eyes. "Yes."
"Your name is Daphne?"
Now she was beginning to wonder if he was an idiot. "Yes."
He groaned. "Not Daphne Bridgerton."
Her face slid into a puzzled frown. "The very one."
Simon staggered back a step. He suddenly felt physically ill, as his brain finally processed the fact that she had thick, chestnut hair.
The famous Bridgerton hair. Not to mention the Bridgerton nose, and cheekbones, and - Bugger it all, this was Anthony's sister!
Bloody hell.
There were rules among friends, commandments, really, and the most important one was Thou Shalt Not Lust After Thy Friend's Sister.
While he stood there, probably staring at her like a complete idiot, she planted her hands on her hips, and demanded, "And who are you?"
"Simon Basset," he muttered.
"The duke?" she squeaked.
He nodded grimly.
"Oh, dear.

This Author has come to the conclusion that there are rakes, and there are Rakes.
Anthony Bridgerton is a Rake.
A rake (lower-case) is youthful and immature. He flaunts his exploits, behaves with utmost idiocy, and thinks himself dangerous to women.
A Rake (upper-case) knows he is dangerous to women.
He doesn't flaunt his exploits because he doesn't need to. He knows he will be whispered about by men and women alike, and in fact, he'd rather they didn't whisper about him at all. He knows who he is and what he has done; further recountings are, to him, redundant.
He doesn't behave like an idiot for the simple reason that he isn't an idiot

I did what I thought was best.'
And so you kidnapped me,' she said bitterly.
'If you recall I offered you the option of residing with my relatives. You refused.'
'I want to be independent.'
'One doesn't have to be alone to be independent.'
Victoria couldn't think of a suitable rebuttal to that statement, so she remained silent.
'When I marry you,' Robert said softly, 'I want it to be a partnership in every sense of the word. I want to consult you on matters of land management and tenant care. I want us to decide together how to raise our children. I don't know why you are so certain that loving me means losing yourself.

At present, however, with his aching head and queasy stomach, Sebastian was feeling exceedingly resistible. Or if not that, then resistant. Aphrodite herself could descend from the ceiling, floating on a bloody clamshell, naked but for a few well-placed flowers, and he'd likely puke at her feet.

No, no, she ought to be completely naked. If he was going to prove the existence of a goddess, right here in this room, she was damned well going to be naked.

He'd still puke on her feet, though.

Anthony looked down at his evil clutches
hands, he reminded himself, hands
and grinned anew.

She glared at him. "I'm not asking you to apologize."
"Well, that's a relief.I doubt I could find the words.

James started to laugh. His chin hurt where she'd smacked him twice, his foot throbbed where she'd stepped on it, and his entire body felt as if he'd swum through a rosebush, which wasn't as far off the truth as it sounded. Yet still he started to laugh.

But she was already in. Gareth couldn't help but stand back in admiration. Hyacinth Bridgerton was clearly a natural born athlete.
Either that or a cat burglar.

Maybe she was a wallflower. There was no shame in that. Especially not if one enjoyed being a wallflower.

He touched her chin. His eyes never left hers, and she almost felt as if he'd touched those as well. And then, with the softest, most tender caress imaginable, he kissed her. Sophie didn't just feel loved; she felt revered.
"I should wait until Monday," he said, "but I don't want to."
"I don't want you to wait," she whispered.
He kissed her again, this time with a bit more urgency. "You're so beautiful," he murmured. "Everything I ever dreamed of."
His lips found her cheek, her chin, her neck, and every kiss, every nibble robbed her of balance and breath. She was sure her legs would give out, sure her strength would fail her under his tender onslaught, and just when she was convinced she'd crumple to the floor, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
"In my heart," he vowed, settling her against the quilts and pillows, "you are my wife."
Sophie's breath caught.
"After our wedding it will be legal," he said, stretching out alongside her, "blessed by God and country, but right now - " His voice grew hoarse as he propped himself up on one elbow so that he could gaze into her eyes. "Right now it is true."
Sophie reached up and touched his face. "I love you," she whispered. "I have always loved you. I think I loved you before I even knew you."
He leaned down to kiss her anew, but she stopped him with a breathy, "No, wait."
He paused, mere inches from her lips.
"At the masquerade," she said, her voice

He wanted to come along, said the one in the corner, the only one who hadn't yet tried to kill Phillip. Phillip decided he liked this one best, especially when he wrapped his hand around Gregory's forearm to prevent the younger man from launching himself at Eloise. Which,

On the way over, however, it slid off the shovel and onto Henry's shoes.
Pity, that.
She whirled around. He waited for her to burst out with, "You did that on purpose!" but she kept silent, motionless except for a slight narrowing of her eyes. Then, with a flick of her ankle, the slop spattered onto his trousers.
She smirked, waiting for him to say, "You did that on purpose!" but he also remained silent. Then he smiled at her, and she knew she was in trouble.

Consanguinity has never seemed to be one of your
prerequisites for plain speaking."
"Touché," she returned, giving him a single nod of approval. "I
was merely pointing out that you are quite stealthy in your good
humor. This I applaud wholeheartedly."
"I am aquiver with glee.

When Anthony kissed her, she felt as if she were losing her mind. And when he kissed her twice, she wasn't even sure if she wanted it back!
-Kate's thoughts

Be careful what you wish for,her mind thundered.

She inched forward, although she wasn't sure why. If the dowager started spouting off about the highwayman and his resemblance to her favorite son, it wasn't as if she would be able to stop her. But still, the proximity at least gave the illusion that she might be able to prevent disaster.

They marched back to the kitchen in silence, the only sound being Rufus's growl when Dunford tried to pet him.
"Can a rabbit growl?" he asked, unable to believe his ears.
"Obviously he can.

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

That sounded good," Daisy said with surprise.
"It sounded like a fish vomiting," Sarah said into the piano.
"A charming image," Honoria remarked.
"I don't think fish do vomit," Daisy remarked, "and if they did, I
don't think it would sound like -

There us a difference you know, between the male and the female ghost-"
"What is the difference?" Georgina asked.
"Oh, the male ghost is obsessed with venegemce, I find." Lear said, drinking again.
"And what are females obsessed by?" Hugh asked.
"Prick songs," Lear said. "Snogging. Same as when they are alive, really.

Elizabeth, you resemble nothing so much as a hen trying to hatch a book.

He smiled.
Her stomach felt strange.
She tried to smile back. She really should be going.
So naturally, she did not move.

I wanted to skewer her with a stare, flay her with a frown, impale her with a - I say, what are you doing?
Charles would have answered her, but he was laughing so hard he was doubled over.

Say whatever is in your heart," Violet said. Her lips
twisted wryly. "And if that doesn't work, I suggest that
you take a book and knock him over the head with it."
Hyacinth blinked, then blinked again. "I beg your pardon."
"I didn't say that," Violet said quickly.
Hyacinth felt herself smile. "I'm rather certain you
did."
"Do you think?" Violet murmured, concealing her own
smile with her teacup.
"A large book," Hyacinth queried, "or small?"
"Large, I think, don't you?"
Hyacinth nodded. "Have we The Complete Works of
Shakespeare in the library?"
Violet's lips twitched. "I believe that we do."
Something began to bubble in Hyacinth's chest. Something
very close to laughter. And it felt so good to feel it
again.
"I love you, Mother," she said, suddenly consumed by
the need to say it aloud. "I just wanted you to know that."
"I know, darling," Violet said, and her eyes were shining
brightly. "I love you, too.

Charlotte had tried to read his work. It seemed only polite, after all, given that they were neighbors. But after a while, she'd simply had to give up. 'Love' always rhymed with 'dove,' (Where, she wondered, did one locate that many doves in Derbyshire?) and 'you' rhymed so often with 'dew,' that Charlotte had wanted to grab Rupert by the shoulders and yell, 'Few, hue, new, woo, Waterloo!' Good gracious, even 'moo' would have been preferable. Rupert's poetry could surely have been improved by a cow or two.
Saying moo on cue at Waterloo.

It had been a marvelous childhood. Damn near perfect. If he was not leading the life he'd anticipated, if he sometimes lay in bed and wondered what the hell he was doing robbing coaches in the dead of night - at least he knew that the road to this point had been paved with his own choices, his own flaws.

You have asked her to marry you, I hope'
'I might have demanded it', he admitted.
'Even better

The general public doesn't expect romance authors to be Harvard graduates. Which is funny, because there are actually quite a lot of us. But this disconnect means that journalists see me as an interesting story. The tricky part is making sure they understand that there are many, many talented writers who don't have 'fancy' educations.

Well," she finally said, "he's coming back shortly, so you are absolved of your responsibilities."

"No." The word came from him like an oath, emerging from the very core of his being.

She looked at him in impatient confusion. "What do you mean?"

He stepped forward. He wasn't sure what he was doing. He knew only that he couldn't stop. "I mean no. I don't want to be absolved."

Her lips parted. He took another step. His heart was pounding, and something within him had gone hot, and greedy, and if there was anything in the world besides her, besides him - he did not know it.

"I want you," he said, the words blunt, and almost harsh, but absolutely, indelibly true.

"I want you," he said again, and he reached out and took her hand. "I want you."

"Marcus, I - "

"I want to kiss you," he said, and he touched one finger to her lips. "I want to hold you."

And then, because he couldn't have kept it inside for one second longer, he said, "I burn for you."

He took her face in his hands and he kissed her. He kissed her with everything that had been building within him, every last aching, hungry burst of desire. Since the moment he had realized he loved her, this passion had been growing within him. It had probably been there all along, just waiting for him to realize it.

He loved her.

It's still horrible. The whole thing."
"Dreadful," Grace agreed.
Amelia turned and looked at her directly. "Sodding bad."
Grace gasped, "Amelia!"
Amelia's face wrinkled in thought. "Did I use that correctly?"
"I wouldn't know."
"Oh, come now, don't tell me you haven't thought something just as unladylike."
"I wouldn't say it."
The look Amelia gave her was clear as a dare. "But you thought it."
Grace felt her lips twitch. "It's a dammed shame."
"A bloody inconvenience, if you ask me.

Five years with the dowager - Good God, she ought to be given a title in her own right as a penance for such as that. No one had done more for England.

For me, the dialogue is the easiest part of writing. It just always seems so obvious what a character will say. Maybe it's because I talk too much!

Shall we return to the dining room?" Anthony queried. "I imagine you're hungry, and if we tarry much
longer, Colin is sure to
have eaten our host out of house and home."
Eloise nodded. "Either that, or they've all killed him by now."
Anthony paused to consider that. "It would save me the expense of a wedding."
"Anthony!"
"It's a joke, Eloise," he said, giving his head a weary shake. "Come along, now. Let's make sure your Sir
Phillip still resides
among the ranks of the living.

He wondered if she'd mind if he threw her down on the blanket and tore off her clothing. (..) She looked heartbreakingly innocent. Alex sighed. She'd probably mind.

It's very bad form to spy on one's host," he said, planting his hands on his hips and somehow managing to look both authoritative and relaxed at the same time.
"It was an accident," she grumbled.
"Oh, I believe you there," he said. "But even if you didn't intend to spy on me, the fact remains that when the opportunity arose, you took it."
"Do you blame me?"
He grinned. "Not at all. I would have done precisely the same thing."
Her mouth fell open.
"Oh, don't pretend to be offended," he said.
"I'm not pretending."
He leaned a bit closer. "To tell the truth, I'm quite flattered."
"It was academic curiosity," she ground out. "I assure you."
His smile grew sly. "So you're telling me that you would have spied upon any naked man you'd come across?"
"Of course not!"
"As I said," he drawled, leaning back against a tree, "I'm flattered."
"Well, now that we have that settled," Sophie said with a sniff, "I'm going back to Your Cottage.

He blinked a few times, each motion so slow that he was never quite sure if he'd get his eyes open again. He wasn't wearing a shirt. Funny how he was only just realizing it. Funnier still that he couldn't seem to summon any concern for her maidenly sensibilities.
She might be blushing. He couldn't tell. It was too dark to see. But it didn't matter. This was Honoria. She was a good egg. A sensible egg. She wouldn't be scarred forever by the sight of his chest.

James - "Are you paying attention or just trying to make me look like an idoit?"
Elizabeth - "Oh, I'm definately paying attention. If you look like an idiot it has nothing to do with me.

I don't think that writing talent has much to do with where one went to school, or the number of degrees on one's business card, but I do get a bit bristly at the implication that romance authors couldn't possibly be smart enough to get into an Ivy League school.

Michael had to clutch the end of the table to keep from rising. He could have had Shakespeare at his side to translate, and still not have been able to explain why Colin‟s remark infuriated him so.

As she walked slowly down the hall, she could hear them arguing - nothing violent, nothing impassioned. But then, she'd not have expected that. Cavendish tempers ran cold, and they were far more likely to attack with a frozen barb than a heated cry.

It was cold. Really cold. And there was an awful scurrying noise that definitely belong to a small, four-legged creature.Or even worse, a large, four-legged creature. Or to be more precise, a large version of a small, four-legged creature.
Rats.
"Oh,God," Sophie moaned. She didn't often take the Lord's name in vain, but now seemed as good a time as any to start. Maybe He would hear, and maybe He would smite the rats. Yes, that would do very nicely.A big jolt of lightning. Huge. Of biblical proportions. It could hit the earth, spread little electrical tentacles around the globe, and sizzle all the rats dead.
It was a lovely dream. Right up there with the ones in which she found herself living happily ever after as Mrs. Benedict Bridgerton.
Sophie took a quick gasp as a sudden stab of pain pierced her heart. Of the two dreams, she feared that the genocide of the rats might be the more likely to come true.

It was something in the way she moved.
Something in the way she breathed.
Something in the way she merely 'was' .
And he didn't think he was ever going to get over it.

And you, Lord Bridgerton," she replied in a tone that could have frozen champagne, "are almost as handsome as your brother."
Colin snorted again, only this time it sounded as if he were being strangled.
"Are you all right?" Miss Sheffield asked.
"He's fine," Anthony barked.
She ignored him, keeping her attention on Colin. "Are you certain?"
Colin nodded furiously. 'Tickle in my throat."
"Or perhaps a guilty conscience?" Anthony suggested.
Colin turned deliberately from his brother to Kate. "I think I might need another glass of lemonade," he gasped.
"Or maybe," said Anthony, "something stronger. Hemlock, perhaps?

Gareth sucked in a breath. Hyacinth's brother wasn't going to make this easy on him. But that didn't matter. He had vowed to do this right, and he would not be cowed.

He looked up, meeting the viscount's dark eyes with steady purpose. "I would like to marry Hyacinth," he said. And then, because the viscount did not say anything, because he didn't even move, Gareth added, "Er, if she'll have me."

And then about eight things happened at once. Or perhaps there were merely two or three, and it just seemed like eight, because it was all so unexpected.

First, the viscount exhaled, although that did seem to understate the case. It was more of a sigh, actually - a huge, tired, heartfelt sigh that made the man positively deflate in front of Gareth. Which was astonishing. Gareth had seen the viscount on many occasions and was quite familiar with his reputation. This was not a man who sagged or groaned.

His lips seemed to move through the whole thing, too, and if Gareth were a more suspicious man, he would have thought that the viscount had said, "Thank you, Lord."

Combined with the heavenward tilt of the viscount's eyes, it did seem the most likely translation.

And then, just as Gareth was taking all of this in, Lord Bridgerton let the palms of his hands fall against the desk with surprising force, and he looked Gareth squarely in the eye as he said, "Oh, she'll have you. She will definitely have you."

It wasn

She tried to remind herself that beauty was only skin deep, but that didn't offer any helpful excuses when she was berating herself for never knowing what to say to people. There was nothing more depressing than an ugly girl with no personality.

Isn't it nice to discover that we're not exactly what we thought we were?

For the first time in recent memory, he'd handled his daughter *exactly* right. Something about Eloise's presence had calmed him, lent him a clarity of thought he usually lacked when it came to his children. He was able to see the humor in the situation, where he usually saw nothing but his own frustration.

She had been born for this man, and she had spent so many years trying to accept the fact that he had been born for someone else ...

Turn right up ahead," he directed. "It'll take us directly to my cottage."
She did as he asked. "Does your cottage have a name?"
"My Cottage."
"I might have known," she muttered.
He smirked. Quite a feat, in her opinion, since he looked sick as a dog. "I'm not kidding," he said.
Sure enough, in another minute they pulled up in front of an elegant country house, complete with a small, unobtrusive sign in front reading, MY COTTAGE

Eloiseis getting married as well."
"Eloise?" Michael asked with some surprise. "Was she even being courted by anyone?"
"No," Francesca said, quickly flipping to the third sheet of her mother‟s letter. "It‟s someone she‟s never met."
"Well, I imagine she‟s met him now," Michael said in a dry voice.

Certainly not every reader has liked every one of my books, but I think that's a good thing because it means I'm not repeating myself.

He made her miserable!" Benedict protested. "As her brothers, it's our duty to
"
"Respect her intelligence enough to let her solve her own problems," Violet snapped.

Every now and then she'd see a fine lady in a gorgeous gown that fit her to perfection. Such women didn't have feet, Henry decided. They had rollers - virtually gliding along. And wherever they went, a dozen besotted men followed.

Tea?" Daniel asked, signaling to the innkeeper.
"Please. Or anything that is hot." She pulled off her gloves, pausing to frown at a little hole that was growing at the tip of her right forefinger. That wouldn't do. She needed all the dignity she could muster in that finger.
Heaven knew she shook it at the girls often enough.

Amelia, do meet my cousin.
Your cousin?
Indeed. He might be the duke.
Then who are you?
Excellent question.

It's because she doesn't have eyelashes," Daisy said.
Iris turned to her with complete calm and said, "I hate you."
"That's a terrible thing to say, Daisy," Honoria said, turning on
her with a stern expression. It was true that Iris was extraordinarily
pale, with the kind of strawberry blond hair that seemed to render
her lashes and brows almost invisible. But she'd always thought Iris
was absolutely gorgeous, almost ethereal-looking.
"If she didn't have eyelashes, she'd be dead," Sarah said.
Honoria turned to her, unable to believe the direction of the
conversation. Well, no, that was not completely accurate. She
believed it (unfortunately). She just didn't understand it.
"Well, it's true," Sarah said defensively. "Or at the very least,
blind. Lashes keep all the dust from our eyes."
"Why are we having this conversation?" Honoria wondered
aloud.
Daisy immediately answered, "It's because Sarah said she
didn't think Iris could look venomous, and then I said - "
"I know," Honoria cut in, and then, when she realized Daisy still
had her mouth open, looking as if she was only waiting for the right
moment to complete her sentence, she said it again. "I know. It was
a hypothetical question."
"It still had a perfectly valid answer," Daisy said with a sniff.

Hyacinth," he said.
She looked at him expectantly.
"Hyacinth," he said again, this time with a bit more certitude. He smiled, letting his eyes melt into hers. "Hyacinth."
"We know her name," came his grandmother's voice.
Gareth ignored her and pushed a table aside so that he could drop to one knee. "Hyacinth," he said, relishing her gasp as he took her hand in his, "would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?"
Her eyes widened, the misted, and her lips, which he'd been kissing so deliciously mere hours earlier, began to quiver. "I ... I ... "
It was unlike her to be so without words, and he was enjoying it, especially the show of emotion on her face.
"I ... I ... "
"Yes!" his grandmother finally yelled. "Yes! She'll marry you!"
"She can speak for herself," he said.
"No," Lady D said, "she can't. Quite obviously.

She looked at" title="Julia Quinn Quotes: Hyacinth," he said.
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Stop! Stop!"
Sophie shrieked with laughter as she ran down the stone steps that led to the garden behind Bridgerton House. After three children and seven years of marriage, Benedict could still make her smile, still make her laugh . . . and he still chased her around the house any chance he could get.
"Where are the children?" she gasped, once he'd caught her at the base of the steps.
"Francesca is watching them."
"And your mother?"
He grinned. "I daresay Francesca is watching her, too."
"Anyone could stumble upon us out here," she said, looking this way and that.
His smile turned wicked. "Maybe," he said, catching hold of her green-velvet skirt and reeling her in, "we should adjourn to the private terrace."
The words were oh-so-familiar, and it was only a second before she was transported back nine years to the masquerade ball.
"The private terrace, you say?" she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes. "And how, pray tell, would you know of a private terrace?"
His lips brushed against hers. "I have my ways," he murmured.
"And I," she returned, smiling slyly, "have my secrets."
He drew back. "Oh? And will you share?"
"We five," she said with a nod, "are about to be six."
He looked at her face, then looked at her belly. "Are you sure?"
"As sure as I was last time."
He took her hand and raised it to lips. "This one will be a girl."
"That's what you said last time."
"I know,

Sophie shrieked" title="Julia Quinn Quotes: Stop! Stop!"
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I'm trying to embroider." Hyacinth held up her handiwork
as proof.
"You're trying to avoid - " Her mother stopped, blinking.
"I say, why does that flower have an ear?"
"It's not an ear." Hyacinth looked down. "And it's not a
flower."
"Wasn't it a flower yesterday?"
"I have a very creative mind," Hyacinth ground out,
giving the blasted flower another ear.
"That," Violet said, "has never been in any doubt."
Hyacinth looked down at the mess on the fabric. "It's a
tabby cat," she announced. "I just need to give it a tail.

Oakley won't," the duke said.
She turned and blinked. "I beg your pardon."
"Lord Oakley. He won't forget to find us rooms. I've known him for years. The only thing that is making this bearable is that he must be dying inside over all this."
"You don't like him?"
"On the contrary. I've long considered him a friend. It's why I enjoy his misery so much.

She" title="Julia Quinn Quotes: Oakley won't," the duke said.
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Not that I wish to give you any ammunition, but the sad fact of it is-most men are sheep. Where one goes, the rest will follow. And didn't you say you wished to be married?'
'Not to someone who follows you as the lead sheep.

This has been a perfect day," Anne said quietly.
"Almost," Daniel whispered, and then she was in his arms again. He kissed her, but it was different this time. Less urgent. Less fiery. The touch of their lips was achingly soft, and maybe it didn't make her feel crazed, like she wanted to press herself against him and take him within her. Maybe instead he made her feel weightless, as if she could take his hand and float away, just as long as he never stopped kissing her. Her entire body tingled, and she stood on her tiptoes, almost waiting for the moment she left the ground.
And then he broke the kiss, pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead against hers. "There," he said, cradling her face in his hands. "Now it's a perfect day.

I'm mostly a historical romance reader, but I never miss a Susan Elizabeth Phillips book. Her characters are larger than life and heartbreakingly real at the same time. I don't know how she does it.

There were only so many ways a man‟s heart could break, and he had a feeling his couldn‟t survive another puncture.

That man had deliberately set out to charm her. It didn't matter that he'd succeeded, she thought perversely. It only mattered that he had done it deliberately, probably because he wanted something from her.

You'll lose your audience and then where will we be? We have future gray-eyed babies to feed, you know.

It was the one dream he'd never permitted himself to consider.

Oh, dear," he blurted out.
Sophie gave him an odd look.
He didn't blame her. He sounded like a complete idiot. He didn't think he'd uttered the phrase, "Oh, dear," in years. If ever.
Hell, he sounded like his mother.
"Is something wrong?" Sophie asked.
"I just remembered something," he said, rather stupidly, in his opinion.
She raised her brows in question.
"Something that I'd forgotten," Benedict said.
"The things one remembers," she said, looking exceedingly amused, "are most often things one had forgotten."
He scowled at her.
-Benedict & Sophie

I don‟t know what to say," she whispered.
"Normally, I‟d advise „thank you,‟ but as I am the one thanking you, a mere „You are a prince
among men‟ would suffice.

He wasn't sure how he ought to feel about this.
On the other hand ... boiled meat!

Everyone has secrets.
Especially me.

Of course. The team on your carriage was beautiful. They are yours, aren't they?"
He ignored her and walked ahead until his foot connected with soft mushy ground. "Shit," he muttered.
"Exactly."
He glared at her, thinking himself a saint for not going for her throat.

He didn't know if there was a word to describe what he felt in that moment, how he saw the lines of his own heart when her eyes met his.

Sophie shook her head, completely unable to speak. Posy had knocked her breath clear to Scotland.

Your heart is free now."
"No," he whispered. "It's yours.

I had the pleasure of dining with your
brother."
"Gregory? Really? You'd classify it as a pleasure?" But he was
grinning as he said it, and Honoria could instantly picture what life
must be like in the Bridgerton household: a great deal of teasing and
a great deal of love.
"He was most gracious to me," she said with a smile.
"Shall I tell you a secret?" Mr. Bridgerton murmured, and
Honoria decided that in his case, it was right and proper to listen to
gossip - he was an incredible flirt.
"Must I keep the secret?" she asked, leaning forward ever-soslightly.
"Definitely not."
She gave him a sunny smile. "Then yes, please."
Mr. Bridgerton leaned in, just about as far as she had done. "He
has been known to catapult peas across the supper table."
Honoria gave him a very somber nod. "Has he done this
recently?"
"Not too recently, no."
She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. It was lovely
to witness this type of sibling teasing. There used to be so much of it
in her home, although most of the time she'd been but a witness.
She was so much younger than the rest of her siblings; in all
honesty, most of the time they'd probably just forgotten to tease
her.
"I have but one question, Mr. Bridgerton."
He cocked his head.
"How was this catapult constructed?"
He grinned. "Simple spoon, Lady Honoria. But in Gregory's
devious hands, there was

She grimaced. Her mother and father were probably
giggling and whispering and ducking into a darkened
corner. Good heavens. It was downright embarrassing.

A gentleman might have stopped then. She had climaxed, and she was still a virgin, and he was probably a beast for wanting to make love to her fully, but he simply couldn't ... not.
She was his.
But not, he was coming to realize, quite as much as he was hers.

Today I glory in my sixdom."
"Sixdom?"
"Sixitude."
Annabel started to grin.
"Sixulation," Louisa proclaimed.