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“Amelia and Poppy both glanced at their younger sister quizzically. “Do you know what we’re talking about, Bea?” Amelia asked. “Yes, of course. Merripen’s in love with her. I knew it a long time ago, from the way he washed her window.” “Washed her window?” both older sisters asked at the same time. “Yes, when we lived in the cottage at Primrose Place. Win’s room had a casement window that looked out onto the big maple tree— do you remember? After the scarlet fever, when Win couldn’t get out of bed for the longest time and she was too weak to hold a book, she would just lie there and watch a birds’ nest on one of the tree limbs. She saw the baby swallows hatch and learn to fly. One day she complained that the window was so dirty, she could barely see through it, and it made the sky look grayish. So from then on Merripen always kept the glass spotless. Sometimes he climbed a ladder to wash the outside, and you know how afraid of heights he is. You never saw him do that?” “No,” Amelia said with difficulty, her eyes stinging. “I didn’t know he did that.” “Merripen said the sky should always be blue for her,” Beatrix said. “And that was when I knew he … are you crying, Poppy?” Poppy used a napkin to dab at the corners of her eyes. “No. I just inh-haled some pepper.” “So did I,” Amelia said, blowing her nose.”

LoveAwePoppyAmeliaBeatrixInhaled Some Pepper
Book:Mine Till Midnight
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“Mr. Rohan,” she heard Beatrix ask, “are you going to marry my sister?” Amelia choked on her tea and set the cup down. She sputtered and coughed into her napkin. “Hush, Beatrix,” Win murmured. “But she’s wearing his ring—” Poppy clamped her hand over Beatrix’s mouth. “Hush!” “I might,” Cam replied. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued. “I find your sister a bit lacking in humor. And she doesn’t seem particularly obedient. On the other hand—” One set of French doors flew open, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Everyone on the back terrace looked up in startlement, the men rising from their chairs. “No,” came Win’s soft cry. Merripen stood there, having dragged himself from his sickbed. He was bandaged and disheveled, but he looked far from helpless. He looked like a maddened bull, his dark head lowered, his hands clenched into massive fists. And his stare, promising death, was firmly fixed on Cam. There was no mistaking the bloodlust of a Roma whose kinswoman had been dishonored. “Oh, God,” Amelia muttered. Cam, who stood beside her chair, glanced down at her questioningly. “Did you say something to him?” Amelia turned red as she recalled her blood-spotted nightgown and the maid’s expression. “It must have been servants’ talk.” Cam stared at the enraged giant with resignation. “You may be in luck,” he said to Amelia. “It looks as if our betrothal is going to end prematurely.” She made to stand beside him, but he pressed her back into the chair. “Stay out of this. I don’t want you hurt in the fray.” “He won’t hurt me,” Amelia said curtly. “It’s you he wants to slaughter.” Holding Merripen’s gaze, Cam moved slowly away from the table. “Is there something you’d like to discuss, chal?” he asked with admirable self-possession. Merripen replied in Romany. Although no one save Cam understood what he said, it was clearly not encouraging. “I’m going to marry her,” Cam said, as if to pacify him. “That’s even worse!” Merripen moved forward, murder in his eyes. Lord St. Vincent swiftly interceded, stepping between the pair. Like Cam, he’d had his share of putting down fights at the gambling club. He lifted his hands in a staying gesture and spoke smoothly. “Easy, large fellow. I’m sure you can find a way to resolve your differences in a reasonable fashion.” “Get out of my way,” Merripen growled, putting an end to the notion of civilized discourse. St. Vincent’s pleasant expression didn’t change. “You have a point. There’s nothing so tiresome as being reasonable. I myself avoid it whenever possible. Still, I’m afraid you can’t brawl when there are ladies present. It might give them ideas.”

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Book:Mine Till Midnight
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“Poppy was busy with needlework, stitching a pair of men’s slippers with bright wool threads, while Beatrix played solitaire on the floor near the hearth. Noticing the way her youngest sister was riffling through the cards, Amelia laughed. “Beatrix,” she said after Win had finished a chapter, “why in heaven’s name would you cheat at solitaire? You’re playing against yourself.” “Then there’s no one to object when I cheat.” “It’s not whether you win but how you win that’s important,” Amelia said. “I’ve heard that before, and I don’t agree at all. It’s much nicer to win.” Poppy shook her head over her embroidery. “Beatrix, you are positively shameless.” “And a winner,” Beatrix said with satisfaction, laying down the exact card she wanted.”

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Book:Mine Till Midnight
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“Faith, hope, and charity complement each other, and as one increases, the others grow as well. Hope comes of faith (see Ether 12:4), for without faith, there is no hope (see Moroni 7:42). In like manner, faith comes of hope, for faith is “the substance of things hoped for” (Hebrews 11:1). Hope is critical to both faith and charity. When disobedience, disappointment, and procrastination erode faith, hope is there to uphold our faith. When frustration and impatience challenge charity, hope braces our resolve and urges us to care for our neighbors even without expectation of reward. The brighter our hope, the greater our faith. The stronger our hope, the purer our charity. The things we hope for lead us to faith, while the things we hope in lead us to charity.”

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Author:Dieter F. Uchtdorf
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“Poppy wiped his sweating face with a dry cloth. “Poor Merripen.” She brought a cup of water to his lips. When he tried to refuse, she slid an arm beneath his head and raised it insistently. “Yes, you must. I should have known you’d be a terrible patient. Drink, dear, or I’ll be forced to sing something.” Amelia stifled a grin as Merripen complied. “Your singing isn’t that terrible, Poppy. Father always said you sang like a bird.” “He meant a parrot,” Merripen said hoarsely, leaning his head on Poppy’s arm. “Just for that,” Poppy informed him, “I’m going to send Beatrix in here to look after you today. She’ll probably put one of her pets in bed with you, and spread her jacks all over the floor. And if you’re very lucky, she’ll bring in her glue pots, and you can help make paper-doll clothes.” Merripen gave Amelia a glance rife with muted suffering, and she laughed. “If that doesn’t inspire you to get well quickly, dear, nothing will.”

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Book:Mine Till Midnight
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“Walking around the ragged exterior of Ramsay House, Amelia talked animatedly with John Dashiell, asking about his past projects, his ambitions, and whether there were difficulties in working with one’s brother. “We knock heads quite often, I’m afraid,” Dashiell replied, squinting against the afternoon sun. A quick grin illuminated his face. “We both hate to compromise. I accuse him of being set in his ways, and he accuses me of arrogance. The pity of it is, we’re both right.”

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Book:Mine Till Midnight
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“I don’t want to go back,” Beatrix moaned. “It’s so dreadfully dull, and I don’t like all that rich food, and I’ve been sitting beside the vicar who only wants to talk about his own religious writings. It’s so redundant to quote oneself, don’t you think?” “It does bear a certain odor of immodesty,” Amelia agreed with a grin, smoothing her sister’s dark hair. “Poor Bea. You don’t have to go back, if you don’t wish it. I’m sure one of the servants can recommend a nice place for you to wait until supper is done. The library, perhaps.” “Oh, thank you.” Beatrix heaved a sigh of relief. “But who will create another distraction if Leo starts being disagreeable again?” “I will,” Cam assured her gravely. “I can be shocking at a moment’s notice.” “I’m not surprised,” Amelia said. “In fact, I’m fairly certain you would enjoy it.”

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Book:Mine Till Midnight
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