I will make arrangements for you and Portia to return to London the following day. I will be closing up the house. I am leaving England for a while." "For how long?" I asked him, determined to keep my composure. "Until I am quite recovered from you," he said evenly. "When will you return?" "Never.

I stepped closer still. He closed his eyes again and covered my hand with his own. 'You smell of violets. You always smell of violets,' he said. 'You've no idea how many times I have walked these moors and smelled them and thought you were near. On and on I walked, following the scent of you, and you were never there. When I saw you in the hall tonight, I thought I had finally gone mad.

One is not born English without knowing how to converse easily about the weather.

I hesitated for all the right reasons. And I accepted for all the wrong ones.

Now I was more certain than ever of my decision. I could not love a man who did not love Jane Austen.

To say that I met Nicholas Brisbane over my husband's dead body is not entirely accurate. Edward, it should be noted, was still twitching upon the floor.

Those are facts. Are they the truth? No, for they do not tell you of the heart, and that is where truth lives.