Love is blind,” Harriet quipped. “But not illiterate,” Elizabeth retorted.

Gregory,” she said, “you cannot leave me here. What if someone finds you and removes you from the house? Who will know I am here? And what if…and what if…and then what if…” He smiled, enjoying her officiousness too much to actually listen to her words. She was definitely herself again. “When this is all over,” he said, “I shall bring you a sandwich.” That stopped her short. “A sandwich? A sandwich?

My mother is convinced that yellow is a happy color and that a happy girl would get a husband. -Penelope Featherington

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.

I have thoroughly compromised your niece," Alex declared. "Will you plase insist that she marry me?" Caroline didn't bat an eyelash. "This", she announced, "is most peculiar.

It has oft been said that physicians make the worst patients, but it is the opinion of This Author that any man makes a terrible patient. One might say it takes patience to be a patient, and heaven knows, the males of our species lack an abundance of patience.

He stepped toward her, and her heart just ached from it. His face was so handsome, and so dear, and so perfectly wonderfully familiar. She knew the slope of his cheeks, and the exact shade of his eys, brownish near the iris, melting into green at the edge. And his mouth-she knew that mouth, the look of it, the feel of it. She knew his smile, and she knew his frown, and she knew- she knew far to much.