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Quote by Liz Braswell

“A shop had opened and folded out one of its horizontally shuttered windows, locking it so it formed a shelf. On top of this, a baker set out pies to cool- caramel black thistle and ginger worm- along with tiny square seedcakes that smelled amazing. Not that Alice had ever smelled a seedcake before or known beforehand what a good-smelling one smelled like; perhaps time in the bird town was changing her. EAT ME was spelled out in pine nuts upon the top of each cake. "Let me just try one of these. Perhaps I shall shut up like a telescope," she said, taking one and nibbling at it. The baker's wingy hand slapped ineffectually at her, but there were no other ramifications. The cake was nutty and buttery with a distinct taste of grasshopper.”

Quote by Liz Braswell

Book:Unbirthday
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Unbirthday

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Liz Braswell

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“Last summer they came to visit us in West Virginia, and Julie and I spent a week perfecting the peach pie. We made ordinary peach pie, and deep-dish peach pie, and blueberry and peach pie, but here is the best peach pie we made: Put 1 1/4 cups flour, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/2 cup butter and 2 tablespoons sour cream into a Cuisinart and blend until they form a ball. Pat out into a buttered pie tin, and bake 10 minutes at 425*. Beat 3 egg yolks slightly and combine with 1 cup sugar, 2 tablespoons flour and 1/3 cup sour cream. Pour over 3 peeled, sliced peaches arranged in the crust. Cover with foil. Reduce the oven to 350* and bake 35 minutes. Remove the foil and bake 10 minutes more, or until the filling is set. I keep thinking about that week in West Virginia. It was a perfect week. We swam in the river and barbecued ribs and made Bellinis with crushed peaches and cheap champagne.”

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Book:Heartburn
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“The infant, Isabelle, had been born to Annabelle and Simon Hunt approximately ten months earlier. Surely no baby had ever been doted on more, by every one in the household including her father. Contrary to all expectations the virile and masculine Mr. Hunt had not been at all disappointed that his firstborn was a girl. He adored the child, showing no compunction about holding her in public, cooing to her in a way that fathers seldom dared. Hunt had even instructed Annabelle to produce more daughters in the future, claiming roguishly that it had always been his ambition to be loved by many women. As might have been expected, the baby was exceptionally beautiful- it would be a physical impossibility for Annabelle to produce a less than spectacular offspring.”

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Book:Scandal in Spring
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“She closed her eyes and listened to the drone of bees as they moved lazily among the flowering bursts of deep pink hydrangea and delicate tendrils of sweet pea that wound through the basket-bed borders. Although she was still very weak, it was pleasant to sit in warm lethargy, half-drowsing like a cat. She was slow to respond when she heard a sound from the doorway... a single light rap, as if the visitor was reluctant to disrupt her reverie with a loud knock. Blinking her sun-dazzled eyes, Annabelle remained sitting with her legs tucked beneath her. The mass of light speckles gradually faded from her vision, and she found herself staring at Simon Hunt's dark, lean form. He had leaned part of his weight on the doorjamb, bracing a shoulder against it in an unselfconsciously rakish pose. His head was slightly tilted as he considered her with an unfathomable expression. Annabelle's pulse escalated to a mad clatter. As usual, Hunt was dressed impeccably, but the gentlemanly attire did nothing to disguise the virile energy that seemed to emanate from him. She recalled the hardness of his arms and chest as he had carried her, the touch of his hands on her body... oh, she would never be able to look at him again without remembering! "You look like a butterfly that's just flown in from the garden," Hunt said softly.”

FlowersNature S BeautyAnnabelle And SimonAnnabelle PeytonSimon Hunt
Book:Secrets of a Summer Night
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“What an extraordinary creature," Win heard Dr. Harrow murmur nearby. She followed his gaze to the lady of the house, Mrs. Annabelle Hunt, who was greeting guests. Although Win had never met Mrs. Hunt, she recognized her from descriptions she had heard. Mrs. Hunt was said to be one of the greatest beauties of England, with her beautifully turned figure and heavily lashed blue eyes, and hair that gleamed with rich shades of honey and gold. But it was her luminous, lively expressiveness that made her truly engaging. "That's her husband, standing next to her," Poppy murmured. "He's intimidating, but very nice." "I beg to differ," Leo said. "You don't think he's intimidating?" Win asked. "I don't think he's nice. Whenever I happen to be in the same room as his wife, he looks at me as if he'd like to dismember me." "Well," Poppy said prosaically, "one can't fault his judgment." She leaned toward Win and said, "Mr. Hunt is besotted with his wife. Their marriage is a love match, you see." "How unfashionable," Dr. Harrow commented with a grin. "He even dances with her," Beatrix told Win, "which husbands and wives are never supposed to do. But considering Mr. Hunt's fortune, people find reasons to excuse him for such behavior." "See how small her waist is," Poppy murmured to Win. "And that's after three children- two of them very large boys.”

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“Yes, I think-" Lillian paused only briefly as she saw someone come into the room. A very tall and piratical-looking someone who could only be Simon Hunt, Annabelle's husband. Although Hunt had begun his career working in his father's butcher shop, he had eventually become one of the wealthiest men in England, owning locomotive foundries and a large portion of the railway business. He was Lord Westcliff's closest friend, a man's man who appreciated good liquor and fine horses and demanding sports. But it was no secret that what Simon Hunt loved most in the world was Annabelle. "I think," Lillian continued as Hunt walked quietly up behind Annabelle, "the tree is perfect. And I think someone had very good timing in arriving so late that he didn't have to decorate even one bloody branch of it." "Who?" Annabelle asked, and started a little as Simon Hunt put his hands lightly over her eyes. Smiling, he bent to murmur something private into her ear. Color swept over the portion of Annabelle's face that was still exposed. Realizing who was behind her, she reached up to pull his hands down to her lips, and she kissed each of his palms in turn. Wordlessly she turned in his arms, laying her head against his chest. Hunt gathered her close. "I'm still covered in travel dust," he said gruffly. "But I couldn't wait another damned second to see you." Annabelle nodded, her arms clutching around his neck. The moment was so spontaneously tender and passionate that it cast a vaguely embarrassed silence through the room.”

Annabelle And SimonSimon Hunt
Book:A Wallflower Christmas
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“Mama,” the child exclaimed, breathless and agitated. Phoebe looked down at him in concern. “Justin, what is it?” “Galoshes brought me a dead mouse. She dropped it on the floor right in front of me!” “Oh, dear.” Tenderly Phoebe smoothed his dark, ruffled hair. “I’m afraid that’s what cats do. She thought it was a fine gift.” “Nanny won’t touch it, and the housemaid screamed, and I had a fight with Ivo.” Although Phoebe’s younger brother Ivo was technically Justin’s uncle, the boys were close enough in age to play together and quarrel. “About the mouse?” Phoebe asked sympathetically. “No, before the mouse. Ivo said there’s going to be a honeymoon and I can’t go because it’s for grownups.” The boy tilted his head back to look up at her, his lower lip quivering. “You wouldn’t go to the honeymoon without me, would you, Mama?” “Darling, we’ve made no plans to travel yet. There’s too much to be done here, and we all need time to settle in. Perhaps in the spring—” “Dad wouldn’t want to leave me behind. I know he wouldn’t!” In the electrified silence that followed, Tom shot a glance at West, who looked blank and startled. Slowly Phoebe lowered to the ground until her face was level with her son’s. “Do you mean Uncle West?” she asked gently. “Is that what you’re calling him now?” Justin nodded. “I don’t want him to be my uncle—I already have too many of those. And if I don’t have a dad, I’ll never learn how to tie my shoes.” Phoebe began to smile. “Why not call him Papa?” she suggested. “If I did, you’d never know which one I was talking about,” Justin said reasonably, “the one in heaven or the one down here.” Phoebe let out a breath of amusement. “You’re right, my clever boy.” Justin looked up at the tall man beside him with a flicker of uncertainty. “I can call you Dad … can’t I? Do you like that name?” A change came over West’s face, his color deepening, small muscles contorting with some powerful emotion. He snatched Justin up, one of his large hands clasping the small head as he kissed his cheek. “I love that name,” West said unsteadily. “I love it.” The boy’s arms went around his neck. “Can we go to Africa for our honeymoon, Dad?” he heard Justin ask. “Yes,” came West’s muffled voice. “Can I have a pet crocodile, Dad?” “Yes.” Phoebe produced a handkerchief from seemingly out of nowhere and tucked it discreetly into one of West’s hands.”

FathersHoneymoonWest RavenelIvo ChallonJustin ClareGaloshesPheobe Clare
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“Justin's small form was very still with excitement, his attention riveted on the black feline. "Look, Mama!" Phoebe glanced at Mr. Ravenel. "Is she feral?" "No, but she's undomesticated. We keep a few barn cats to reduce the rodent and insect population." "Can I pet her?" Justin asked. "You could try," Mr. Ravenel said, "but she won't come close enough. Barn cats prefer to keep their distance from people." His brows lifted as the small black cat made her way to Sebastian and curled around his leg, arching and purring. "With the apparent exception of dukes. My God, she's a snob." Sebastian lowered to his haunches. "Come here, Justin," he murmured, gently kneading the cat along its spine to the base of its tail. The child approached with his small hand outstretched. "Softly," Sebastian cautioned. "Smooth her fur the same way it grows." Justin stroked the cat carefully, his eyes growing round as her purring grew even louder. "How does she make that sound?" "No one has yet found a satisfactory explanation," Sebastian replied. "Personally, I hope they never do." "Why, Gramps?" Sebastian smiled into the small face so close to his. "Sometimes the mystery is more delightful than the answer.”

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