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Cassandra Ravenel Quotes

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Cassandra Ravenel Quotes

“You're not behaving the way I expected. I've done all the crying and screaming, and you've been so quiet." "I'm sure I'll cry eventually. Right now, though, I only feel rather ill and gray." "Should I be quiet too?" Pandora had asked. Cassandra had shaken her head. "No, not at all. It feels as if you're crying and screaming for me when I can't." Pandora had pressed her cheek against Cassandra's arm. "That's what sisters do.”

“Tom couldn't take his gaze from Cassandra. Her wide, wondering eyes were like soft blue midnight, star-glittered with forgotten tears. The curves of her body looked firm and sweet, no hard angles or straight lines anywhere... nothing but inviting, sensual softness. If she were his... he might finally have the sense of ease other men had. No more spending every minute of the day striving and hungering and never feeling sated. "I'll marry you," Tom told her. "Any time. Any terms.”

“Cassandra gave him a reproachful glance. “I thought you liked Mr. Severin.” “I do, absolutely. He occupies a high place on the list of things I don’t respect myself for liking, right between street food and filthy drinking songs.” Cassandra was aware that it had always been West’s habit—as well as Devon’s and Winterborne’s—to make sarcastic remarks about Tom Severin, in the way of longstanding friends. But it rankled now in a way it never had before. “After all Mr. Severin has done for our family,” she said quietly, “he deserves more respect than that.” They were all silent, darting surprised glances at her. Until that moment, Cassandra had never dared to utter one word of reproof to him. To West’s credit, he considered the point, and relented. “You’re right,” he said in a different tone. “I beg your pardon for being a facetious arse. But I know both of you well enough to be certain you don’t belong together.” Cassandra met his gaze without blinking. “Is it possible that Mr. Severin and I might know each other in a different way than you know either of us?” “Touché. Is it possible that you might think you know him far less than you actually do?” “Touché,” Cassandra replied reluctantly.”

“I've overheard the way men gossip at dances or parties. They point out all a girl's physical flaws and debate whether she's too tall or short, or if her complexion is smooth enough, or whether her bosom is adequate." Pandora scowled. "Why don't they have to be perfect?" "Because they're men." Pandora looked disgusted. "That's the London Season for you: Casting girls before swine." Turning to her husband, she asked, "Do men really talk about women that way?" "Men, no," Gabriel said. "Arsewits, yes.”

“Sweetheart," West murmured kindly, "listen to me. There's no need to worry. You'll either meet someone new, or you'll reconsider someone you didn't appreciate at first. Some men are an acquired taste. Like oysters, or Gorgonzola cheese." She let out a shuddering sigh. "Cousin West, if I haven't married by the time I'm twenty-five... and you're still a bachelor... would you be my oyster?" West looked at her blankly. "Let's agree to marry each other someday," she continued, "if no one else wants us. I would be a good wife. All I've ever dreamed of is having my own little family, and a happy home where everyone feels safe and welcome. You know I never nag or slam doors or sulk in corners. I just need someone to take care of. I want to matter to someone. Before you refuse-" "Lady Cassandra Ravenel," West interrupted, "that is the most idiotic idea anyone's come up with since Napoleon decided to invade Russia." Her gaze turned reproachful. "Why?" "Among a dizzying array of reasons, you're too young for me." "You're no older than Lord St. Vincent, and he just married my twin." "I'm older than him on the inside, by decades. My soul is a raisin. Take my word for it, you don't want to be my wife." "It would be better than being lonely." "What rubbish. 'Alone' and 'lonely' are entirely different things." West reached out to smooth back a dangling golden curl that had stuck against a drying tear track on her cheek. "Now, go bathe your face in cool water, and-" "I'll be your oyster," Tom broke in.”

“Hearts don't start out frozen," Cassandra said wisely. "Something happened to you." Mr. Severin gave her a slightly mocking glance. "How do you know so much about the heart?" "I've read novels-" Cassandra began earnestly, and was disgruntled to hear his quiet laugh. "Many of them. You don't think a person can learn things from reading novels?" "Nothing that actually applies to life." But the blue-green eyes contained a friendly sparkle, as if he found her charming. "But life is what novels are about. A novel can contain more truth than a thousand newspaper articles or scientific papers. It can make you imagine, just for a little while, that you're someone else- and then you understand more about people who are different from you." The way he listened to her was so very flattering, so careful and interested, as if he were collecting her words like flowers to be pressed in a book. "I stand corrected," he said. "I see I'll have to read one.”

“After she'd crossed the threshold, Tom said urgently, without thinking, "My lady?" Slowly she reappeared, peeking at him from behind the doorjamb. Tom wasn't sure what to say, only that he couldn't let her leave without thinking she was anything less than perfect, exactly as she was. "You're not too plump," he said gruffly. "The more of you there is in the world, the better." As far as compliments went, it wasn't exactly eloquent, or even appropriate. But amusement sparkled in the one blue eye that was visible before Cassandra vanished. Every muscle in his body tensed with the instinct to follow her like a hound on the scent.”

“Also, I'm too plump. All my dresses are tight." "You look the same as always." "My dress had to be altered last night. It wouldn't button up the back." Twisting stealthily in the chair, Tom peeked around the edge. His breath caught as he stared at her in wonder. For the first time in his life, Tom Severin was smitten. Smitten and slain. She was beautiful the way fire and sunlight were beautiful, warm and glowing and golden. The sight of here dealt him a famished, hollow feeling. She was everything he'd missed in his disadvantaged youth, every lost hope and opportunity.”

“But don't you remember what happened at Eversby Priory, when a goose built her nest in the swan's territory? She thought she was enough like them that they wouldn't mind her. Only her neck was too short, and her legs were too long, and she didn't have the right sort of feathers, so the swans kept attacking and chasing the poor thing until finally she was driven off." "You're not a goose." Pandora's mouth twisted. "I'm an awfully deficient swan, then.”

“Mr. Severin smiled, tiny constellations of reflected chandelier lights glinting in his eyes. "Since I've told you about my tastes... what are yours?" Cassandra looked down at her folded hands in her lap. "I like trivial things, mostly," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "Handiwork, such as embroidery, knitting, and needlepoint. I sketch and paint a little. I like naps and teatime, and taking a lazy stroll on a sunny day, and reading books on a rainy afternoon. But I would like two have my own family someday, and... I want to help other people far more than I'm able to now. I take baskets of food and medicine to tenants and acquaintances in the village, but that's not enough. I want to provide real help to people who need it." She sighed shortly. "I suppose that's not very interesting. Pandora's the exciting, amusing twin, the one people remember. I've always been... well, the one who's not Pandora.”

“The countess's dispassionate gaze fell on Cassandra first, and she motioned for the girl to approach. "The posture is merely adequate," she observed, "but that can be corrected. What are your accomplishments, child?" Having been prepared for the question in advance, Cassandra replied hesitantly. "My lady, I am able to sew, draw, and watercolor. I play no instruments, but I am well-read." "Have you studied languages?" "A little French." "Have you any hobbies?" "No, ma'am." "Excellent. Men are afraid of girls with hobbies." Glancing at Kathleen, Lady Berwick remarked in an aside, "She's a beauty. With a bit more polish, she'll be the belle of the season.”

“To her dismay, the child only clutched her more tightly, refusing to budge. Cassandra was the one to solve the problem. Sinking down to her haunches, she smiled into Charity's face. "Won't you come with us?" she entreated softly. "We're very nice. I'll take you to a pretty room upstairs. There's a cozy fire in the hearth, and a box that plays music. Six different melodies. Come let me show you." Cautiously the child emerged from the folds of Helen's skirts and reached out to be carried. After a disconcerted blink, Cassandra gathered her up and stood. Pandora wore a resigned grin. "I've always said you were the nicer one.”

“Also, I'm too plump. All my dresses are tight." "You look the same as always." "My dress had to be altered last night. It wouldn't button up the back." Twisting stealthily in the chair, Tom peeked around the edge. His breath caught as he stared at her in wonder. For the first time in his life, Tom Severin was smitten. Smitten and slain. She was beautiful the way fire and sunlight were beautiful, warm and glowing and golden. The sight of her dealt him a famished, hollow feeling. She was everything he'd missed in his disadvantaged youth, every lost hope and opportunity.”

“Guests came and went as they pleased, filling their gold-banded plates with hot breads, poached eggs on toast, smoked quail, fruit salad, and slices of charlotte russe made with sponge cake and Bavarian cream. Footmen crossed through the entrance hall as they headed outside with trays of coffee, tea, and iced champagne. Ordinarily this was the kind of event Cassandra would have enjoyed to no end. She loved a nice breakfast, especially when there was a little something sweet to finish off, and charlotte russe was one of her favorite desserts. However, she was in no mood to make small talk with anyone. Besides, she'd eaten far too many sweets lately... the extra jam tart at teatime yesterday, and all the fruit ices between dinner courses last night, and that entire éclair, stuffed with rich almond cream and roofed with a crisp layer of icing. And one of the little decorative marzipan flowers from a platter of puddings.”

“West turned his attention back to Cassandra. “Sweetheart, none of us could bear seeing you in a one-sided marriage. Don’t expect Severin to change. You can’t love someone into loving you back.” “I understand,” Cassandra said. “But even if Tom is never able to return my feelings, he has qualities that make up for it.” “What qualities?” Devon asked, plainly bewildered. “I’ve always thought I understood you well, but this … you and Severin … it makes no sense to me.” As Cassandra considered how to explain, she heard Phoebe point out with a touch of amusement, “It’s not that improbable, is it? Mr. Severin is a very attractive man.” Both Ravenel brothers looked at her blankly. “Oh, yes,” Kathleen agreed. “Not to mention charming.” West rolled his eyes and gave Devon a resigned glance. “He’s always had it,” he said flatly. “That thing women like.” “What thing?” Devon asked. “The secret, mysterious thing I’ve always wished someone would explain so we could pretend to have it too.”

“It’s about to rain forks and knives,” Winterborne reported, water drops glittering on his hair and the shoulders of his coat. He reached for a glass of champagne from a silver tray on the table, and raised it in Tom’s direction. “Good luck it is, for the wedding day.” “Why is that, exactly?” Tom asked, disgruntled. “A wet knot is harder to untie,” Winterborne said. “The marriage bond will be tight and long lasting.” Ethan Ransom volunteered, “Mam always said rain on a wedding day washed away the sadness of the past.” “Not only are superstitions irrational,” Tom said, “they’re inconvenient. If you believe in one, you have to believe them all, which necessitates a thousand pointless rituals.” Not being allowed to see the bride before the ceremony, for example. He hadn’t had so much as a glimpse of Cassandra that morning, and he was chafing to find out how she was feeling, if she’d slept well, if there was something she needed. West came into the room with his arms full of folded umbrellas. Justin, dressed in a little velveteen suit, was at his heels. “Aren’t you supposed to be upstairs in the nursery with your little brother?” St. Vincent asked his five-year-old nephew. “Dad needed my help,” Justin said self-importantly, bringing an umbrella to him. “We’re about to have a soaker,” West said briskly. “We’ll have to take everyone out to the chapel as soon as possible, before the ground turns to mud. Don’t open one of these indoors: It’s bad luck.” “I didn’t think you were superstitious,” Tom protested. “You believe in science.” West grinned at him. “I’m a farmer, Severin. When it comes to superstitions, farmers lead the pack. Incidentally, the locals say rain on the wedding day means fertility.” Devon commented dryly, “To a Hampshireman, nearly everything is a sign of fertility. It’s a preoccupation around here.” “What’s fertility?” Justin asked. In the sudden silence, all gazes went to West, who asked defensively, “Why is everyone looking at me?” “As Justin’s new father,” St. Vincent replied, making no effort to hide his enjoyment, “that question is in your province.” West looked down into Justin’s expectant face. “Let’s ask your mother later,” he suggested. The child looked mildly concerned. “Don’t you know, Dad?”

“Would you like to hear a song while I cut your hair? There's one my sister Pandora and I wrote, called Pig in the House." Looking intrigued, Bazzle nodded. Cassandra launched into a sublimely ridiculous song about the antics of two sisters trying to hide their pet pig from the farmer, the butcher, the cook, and a local squire who was especially fond of bacon. While she sang, she moved around Bazzle's head, snipping off long locks and dropping them into a pail Garrett held for her. Bazzle listened as if spellbound, occasionally chortling at the silly lyrics. As soon as the song was finished, he demanded another, and sat while Cassandra continued with My Dog Thinks He's a Chicken, followed by Why Frogs are Slimy and Toads are Dry. Had Tom been capable of falling in love, he would have right there and then, as he watched Lady Cassandra Ravenel serenade a ragamuffin while cutting his hair. She was so capable and clever and adorable, it made his chest ache with a hot pressure that threatened to fracture something. "She has a marvelous way with children," Garrett murmured to him at one point, clearly delighted by the situation. She had a way with everyone. Especially him. He'd never been besotted like this. It was intolerable.”

“He couldn't stand by and do nothing. Something inside him had been let out of its cage, and it wouldn't go back in until he'd made the world pay for hurting Cassandra. When he thought of what she might be feeling, how frightened and furious and wounded she must be... a strange and terrible emotion twisted all through him. He wanted Cassandra in his arms. He wanted to shield her from all this damned ugliness.”

“But everyone likes dogs," Cassandra protested. "I don't dislike dogs. I just don't want one in my house." "Our house." She braced her elbows on the table and massaged her temples. "I've always had dogs. Pandora and I couldn't have survived our childhood without Napoleon and Josephine. If cleanliness is what worries you, I'll make certain the dog is bathed often, and accidents will be disposed of right away." That drew a grimace from him. "I don't want there to be accidents in the first place. Besides, you'll have more than enough to keep you busy- you won't have time for a pet." "I need a dog." Tom held the propelling pencil between his first and second fingers, and flipped it back and forth to make the ends tap on the table. "Let's look at this logically- you don't really need a dog. You're not a shepherd or a rat catcher. Household dogs serve no useful purpose." "They fetch things," Cassandra pointed out. "You'll have an entire staff of servants to fetch anything you want." "I want a companion who'll go on walks with me, and sit on my lap while I pet him." "You'll have me for that." Cassandra pointed to the contract. "Dog," she insisted. "I'm afraid it's nonnegotiable.”

“She wore a dress of white satin, elegant and unusual in its simplicity, with no fussy ruffles and frills to distract from the lovely shape of her figure. Instead of wearing the traditional veil, she had drawn the sides of her hair up to the crown of her head and let the rest cascade down her back in long golden coils. Her only ornamentation was a tiara of graduated diamond stars, which Tom had sent upstairs that morning as a Christmas gift. The wealth of rose-cut gems glittered madly in the candlelight, but they couldn't eclipse her sparkling eyes and radiant face. She looked like a snow queen walking through a winter forest, too beautiful to be entirely human. And there he stood, with his heart in his fist.”

“An incredulous scowl crossed his face as he saw a gathering of dockworkers, porters, and cabmen near his wife. A navvy called out to her- "Gi' me a smile, ye sweet tidbit! One little smile! What's yer name?" Cassandra tried to ignore the catcalls, while the coast guard stood by, doing nothing to shield her. "Now, now, Mr. Severin-" the old harbormaster said, following as Tom headed toward Cassandra with swift, ground-eating strides. Tom reached his wife, blocked her from view, and sent a chilling glance at the navvy. "My wife doesn't feel like smiling. Is there something you'd like to say to me?" The catcalls faded, and the navvy met his gaze, taking his measure... deciding to back down. "Only that you're the luckiest bastard alive," the navvy said cheekily. The crowd broke up with a mixture of chuckles and guffaws. "On your way now, lads," the harbormaster said, briskly dispersing the gathering. "Time to go about your business." As Tom turned to Cassandra, he was relieved to see that she didn't seem upset. "Are you all right?" he asked. She nodded immediately. "No harm done." The officer looked sheepish. "I thought they would tire of their sport if we ignored them long enough." "Ignoring doesn't work," Tom said curtly. "It's the same as permission. Next time, pick the ringleader and go for him." "He was twice my size," the officer protested. Tom shot him an exasperated glance. "The world expects a man to have a backbone. Especially when a woman is being harassed.”

“Tom said, looking at Cassandra, “I live at Hyde Park Square. We could live in that one if you like it. But it would be an easy matter to move to one of the others, if you would prefer.” Cassandra blinked in confusion. “You have more than one house?” “Four,” Tom replied in a matter-of-fact tone. Seeing her expression, he appeared to realize how odd she found it, and continued more cautiously, “I also have a few undeveloped residential lots in Kensington and Hammersmith, and recently I acquired an estate in Edmonton. But it would be impractical to live that far from my offices. So … I thought I might turn that one into a town.” “You’re going to start a town?” Kathleen asked blankly. “For the love of God,” West said, “don’t name it after yourself.”

“Tom stopped in his tracks as he saw Cassandra approaching from the opposite end of the hallway. She was unspeakably pretty in a pink velvet dress with pulled-back skirts that followed the shape of her waist and hips. The front hem kicked up in a froth of of white silk ruffles with every footstep. His mouth went dry with excitement. His heart writhed and struggled like some live thing he'd just trapped inside a dresser drawer.”

“Three hours later, Cassandra limped into the quiet, empty conservatory. Soft ripples of light reflected from the indoor stream and jostled against shadows cast by ferns and palm fronds. It looked like the room of some underwater palace. Painfully she made her way to the steps of a small stone bridge and sat in a billow of blue silk organza skirts. Tiny crystal beads had been scattered among the multiple layers of delicate fabric, casting glints across the floor.”

“But Cassandra was even more breathtaking than he remembered. Her golden sunstruck beauty illuminated the sterile environment of the clinic. She was wonderfully dressed in a green velvet walking dress and a matching hooded cloak trimmed with white fur. Her hair, so shiny it looked molten, had been pinned up in a complex mass of coils and topped with a flirtatious little excuse for a hat. He felt her presence like a shock, every nerve tingling.”

“She went from one pair of arms to another, laughing and flirting. It was nothing short of grueling. She was aware of Tom's presence the entire time. And all the while, she was painfully aware that none of this was remotely comparable to that evening in the Clare winter garden, when Tom had waltzed her through shadows and moonlight as if on midnight wings. She'd never experienced that kind of ease, almost a rapture of movement, before or since. Her body still remembered the touch of his hands, so capable and gentle, guiding her without push or pull. So effortless.”

“Men may profess their yearning to find a modest and sensible girl to marry. But none of you can resist chasing after a golden-haired flirt with a well-endowed figure, all dimples and giggles- without giving a passing thought to how empty-headed she might be." "Guilty as charged," one of the men admitted, and they all chuckled. "She's not empty-headed," Tom said, unable to keep silent. Adelia gave him a piercing glance, her smile firmly fixed. "I forgot- you're acquainted with the family. Don't say Lady Cassandra is a secret intellectual? An unacknowledged genius of our modern times?" Another round of chuckles, this time more subdued. "She's highly intelligent," Tom replied coolly, "and quick-witted. She's also extraordinarily kind. I've never heard her speak ill of anyone." Adelia flushed at the subtle rebuke.”

“There were poached eggs, broiled grapefruit halves, a rasher of bacon, and a basket of small oblong cakes that appeared to have been twisted and turned partially inside out before they had been deep-fried to golden brown. "What are these?" Cassandra asked the waiter. "Those are called Jersey Wonders, milady. They've been made on the island since before I was a boy." After the waiter had finished setting out the food and left, Cassandra picked up one of the cakes and took a bite. The outside was lightly crisp, the inside soft and flavored with ginger and nutmeg. "Mmm." Tom chuckled. He came to seat her at the table, and bent to kiss her temple. "A cake that's shaped like a shoe," he murmured. "How perfect for you.”

“West told Cassandra, “Phoebe and I have come up with a plan.” “It’s West’s plan,” Phoebe said. “You’ll recall she has a younger brother named Raphael,” West continued. “Tall, unmarried, nice teeth. He’s perfect.” “He’s not at all perfect,” Phoebe said. “And how do you know he’s tall and has nice teeth?” “Your parents are obviously incapable of producing a less than superior human being.”

“After changing into a yellow day dress with airy pagoda sleeves that ended at the elbow, she went to the family's private upstairs parlor. The family dogs, a pair of small black spaniels named Napoleon and Josephine, saw her in the hallway and trotted after her. The parlor was comfortably cluttered with heaps of colorful cushions on the furniture, a battered piano in the corner, and piles of books everywhere. She sat cross-legged on the carpet with the dogs, smiling as they bounded in and out of her lap excitedly. "We don't need Prince Charming, do we?" she asked them aloud. "No, we do not. There's a patch of sun on the carpet and books nearby- that's all we need to be happy." The spaniels stretched out in a bright yellow rectangle, wriggling and sighing in contentment. After petting and scratching the dogs for a while, Cassandra reached out to a stack of books on a low table, and sorted through them idly. Double Wedding... The Secret Duke... My Dashing Suitor, and other romantic novels she had read and reread. Much lower in the pile, there were books such as History of the Thirty Years' Peace and Life of Nelson, the kind one read in case one was called upon to make insightful comments at dinner.”

“After three months of hard work and as many distractions as he'd been able to devise for himself, Tom still hadn't been able to put Lady Cassandra Ravenel out of his mind. Memories of her kept catching at the edge of his consciousness, sparkling like a tenacious strand of Christmas tinsel stuck in the carpet. He wouldn't have guessed in a million years that Cassandra would have come down to the kitchen to visit him. Nor would he have wanted her to. He'd have chosen far different circumstances, somewhere with flowers and candlelight, or out on a garden terrace. And yet as they'd crouched together on a dirty floor, soldering boiler pipes in a room full of kitchen maids, Tom had been conscious of an unfolding sense of delight. She had been so clever and curious, with a sunny energy that transfixed him.”

“Only a small part of Tom's brain functioned normally. The rest of it was busy gathering details: the whiff of perfumed dusting powder, the intense blueness of her eyes. He'd never seen a complexion like hers, fresh and faintly opalescent, like milk glass with pink light shining through it. Was her skin like that all over? He thought of the limbs and curves beneath the ruffles of her dress, and he was suffused with a sensation that recalled the way icy water could sometimes feel hot, or a burn could feel like a chill.”

“There was only the memory of Cassandra's sweet, yielding mouth, the lush curves of her body molding perfectly to his. Like a melody that kept repeating itself throughout a symphony, she was his idée fixe, haunting him whether dreaming or awake. Everything demanded that he chase Cassandra, do whatever was necessary to win her. But if he succeeded, he would destroy everything that made her worth having.”

“But there was no mockery or disapproval in Cassandra's gaze as she approached. She was smiling as if she were glad to see him. She gave him her slim gloved hand, a gesture of closeness and familiarity. The day instantly became the best one he'd had in weeks. His heart thumped joyfully at her nearness. The shape of her hand fit his as if every joint and fine muscle and soft ligament had been designed for perfect alignment. It had been like this when they'd waltzed, their bodies fitting together, moving together, with magical coordination.”

“I can see why you would like him." "You can?" "Yes, he's very good-looking, and his personality has interesting corners and edges. And he's a man, not a boy." How like Pandora to accurately identify the reasons Cassandra found Tom Severin so compelling, and Lord Lambert so... not. Lambert had been born to privilege, and his character was still unformed in many ways. He'd never had to make his own way in life, and likely never would. Tom Severin, by contrast, had started with nothing except his wits and will, and had become powerful by anyone's standards. Lord Lambert enjoyed a life of languid ease, while Tom blazed through his days with relentless energy. Even the side of Tom that was cool and calculating was exciting. Stimulating. There was hardly any doubt in Cassandra's mind that Lambert would be easier to live with... but as to the one she would rather share a bed with...”

“Last night she'd dared to put on a scandalous garment Helen had given her for the honeymoon. It couldn't really be called a nightgown- in fact, there was hardly enough of it to qualify even as a chemise. It was made of pomegranate-red silk and gauze, fastening in the front with a few coquettish ribbon ties. Helen had used a French word for it... negligée... and had assured her it was exactly the kind of thing husbands liked.”