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Kathleen Ravenel Quotes

Browse 24 quotes about Kathleen Ravenel.

Kathleen Ravenel Quotes

“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.”

“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.”

“West’s face softened. “Listen to me, Cassandra: If you spend enough time around Severin, you’ll come to love him. It’s your nature. Even knowing it’s a bad idea under the circumstances, you’ll end up doing it, the way I used to sing in the bath.” Phoebe slid her husband a surprised glance. “When was that?” “When I lived alone. But I was obliged to stop after I moved to Eversby Priory, when Kathleen told me it was scaring the servants.” “It sounded nonhuman,” Kathleen said. “We all thought someone was performing an exorcism.” Entertained by the revelation, Phoebe grinned and slipped her arm through West’s.”

“Kathleen, Lady Trenear, was a petite woman with red hair, tip-tilted eyes and high cheekbones. Phoebe had come to like her very much during the week the Ravenels had stayed at Heron's Point. Kathleen was cheerful and engaging, albeit a bit horse mad, since both her parents had been in the business of breeding and training Arabians. Phoebe liked horses, but she didn't know nearly enough about them to carry on a detailed conversation. Fortunately, Kathleen was the mother of an infant son who was close to Stephen's age, and that had provided ample ground for conversation.”

“What is this?" Kathleen asked, picking up the bottle and viewing it suspiciously. "It's a beautifier," Pandora said. "Bloom of Rose," Cassandra chimed in. Kathleen gasped as she realized what it was. "It's rouge. She had never even held a container of rouge before. Setting it on the counter, she said firmly, "No." "But Kathleen-" "No to rouge," she said, "now and for all time." "We need to enhance our complexions," Pandora protested. "It won't do any harm," Cassandra chimed in. "The bottle says that Bloom of Rose is 'delicate and inoffensive'... It's written right there, you see?" "The comments you would receive if you wore rouge in public would assuredly not be delicate or inoffensive. People would assume you were a fallen woman. Or worse, an actress." Pandora turned to Devon. "Lord Trenear, what do you think?" "This is one of those times when it's best for a man to avoid thinking altogether," he said hastily. "Bother," Cassandra said. Reaching for a white glass pot with a gilded top, she gave it to Kathleen. "We found this for you. It's lily pomatum, for your wrinkles." "I don't have wrinkles," Kathleen said with dawning indignation. "Not yet," Pandora allowed. "But someday you will.”

“He found himself staring into a pair of amber eyes that tilted at the outer corners in a catlike slant. For a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, while all his senses struggled to take her in. He had never seen anything like her. She was younger than he had expected, with a fair complexion and auburn hair that looked too heavy for its pins. A set of wide, pronounced cheekbones and a narrow jaw imparted an exquisite feline triangularity to her features. The curves of her lips were so full that even when she pressed them together tightly, as she was doing now, they still looked soft. Although she was not conventionally beautiful, she was so original that it rendered the question of beauty inconsequential.”

“I know what that sort thinks of me: a city toff. A great useless peacock who knows nothing about the superior virtues of farm life." "I don't think they'll judge you severely, so long as they believe that you're not judging them. Just try to be sincere, and you should have no difficulty." "I have no talent for sincerity," West muttered. "It's not a talent," Kathleen said. "It's a willingness to speak from your heart, rather than trying to be amusing or evasive.”

“He hated it when women cried. At the first sign of tears, he had always bolted like a hare at a coursing. But as soon as his arms had gone around Kathleen, in one ordinary instant, the world, the past, everything he'd always been certain of had all been obliterated. She had reached for him, not out of passion or fear, but the simple human need for closeness. It had electrified him. No one had ever sought comfort from him before, and the act of giving it had felt more unspeakably intimate than the most torrent sexual encounter. He'd felt the force of his entire being wrap around her in a moment of sweet, raw connection.”

“Out of regard for me, if for no other reason, he shouldn't have taken the innocence of a young woman under my protection. It's a matter of respect." Kathleen hoisted herself more fully over him, staring down into his blue eyes. "This," she mocked gently, "from a man who seduced me in nearly every room, stairwell and hay-nook of Eversby Priory. Where was your regard for innocence then?" His frown disappeared. "That was different." "Why, may I ask?" Devon flipped her over, reversing their positions neatly and surprising a giggle from her. "Because," he said huskily, "I wanted you so much..." She writhed and laughed as he unfastened her nightgown. "... and as lord of the manor," he continued, proceeding to strip her naked, "I thought it was time to exercise my droit de seigneur." "As if I were some medieval peasant girl?" she asked, shoving him onto his back, and climbing over him. Grabbing his marauding hands, she tried to pin him down with her entire weight. A deep laugh escaped him. "Love, that won't work. You're no heavier than a butterfly." Clearly enjoying their play, he lay unresisting as she gripped his thick wrists more tightly. "A determined butterfly," he conceded. As he stared up at her, his smile faded, and his eyes darkened to intense blue. "I was a selfish bastard," he said softly. "I shouldn't have seduced you." "I was willing," Kathleen pointed out, inwardly surprised by his remorse. He was changing, she thought, rapidly gaining maturity as he shouldered the responsibilities that had been forced on him so unexpectedly. "I would do it differently now. Forgive me." He paused, frowning in self-reproach. "I wasn't raised to be honorable. It's damned difficult to learn." Kathleen slid her hands over his until their fingers interlaced. "There's nothing to forgive, or regret." Devon shook his head, not allowing her to absolve him. "Tell me how to atone." She bent to brush her lips against his. "Love me," she whispered. With great care, Devon rolled until she was caught beneath him. "Always," he said huskily, and possessed her mouth while his hands slid over her body.”

“Asad waited in one of the end stalls, watching alertly as Kathleen approached. His head lifted, his ears perking forward in recognition. He was a compact gelding with powerful hindquarters, an elegant conformation that afforded both speed and endurance. His coloring was a shade of chestnut so light it appeared golden, his mane and tail flaxen. "There's my boy," Kathleen exclaimed gently, reaching out to him with her palm upward. Asad sniffed at her hand and gave her a welcoming nicker. Lowering his finely modeled head, he moved to the front of the stall. She stroked his nose and forehead, and he reacted with pure gladness, blowing softly and nudging closer. "I shouldn't have waited so long to see you," she said, overcome with remorse. Clumsily she leaned to kiss the space between the horse's eyes. She felt him nibble delicately at the shoulder of her dress, trying to groom her. A crooked grin twisted her lips. Pushing his head away, she scratched his satiny neck in the way she knew he liked. "I shouldn't have left you alone, my poor boy." Her fingers tangled in the white-blond mane. She felt the weight of his head come to rest on her shoulder. The trusting gesture caused her throat to cinch around a quick breath.”

“I'm here at the earl's behest to talk to a set of clodhoppers about their turnip planting. As soon as that's concluded, I can promise you that I'll return to London with all possible haste." Clodhoppers? Kathleen drew in a sharp breath, thinking of the tenant families and the way they worked and persevered and endured the hardships of farming... all to put food on the table of men such as this, who looked down his nose at them. "The families who live here," she managed to say, "are worthy of your respect. Generations of tenant farmers built this estate- and precious little reward they've received in return. Go into their cottages, and see the conditions in which they live, and contrast it with your own circumstances. And then perhaps you might ask yourself if you're worthy of their respect." "Good God," West muttered, "my brother was right. You do have the temperance of a baited badger." They exchanged glances of mutual loathing and walked away from each other.”

“Everyone on this estate is struggling to survive- and we're all depending on your brother, who's trying to solve problems that he had no hand in creating. But instead of doing something to help, you've chosen to drink yourself silly and totter around like a selfish lumping idiot-" Her throat worked around an angry sob, and she swallowed it down before continuing quietly. "Go back to London. You're of no use to anyone here. Blame me if you like. Tell Lord Trenear that I was too much of a bitch to tolerate. He'll have no difficulty accepting that." Turning, she walked away from him, throwing a few last words over her shoulder. "Perhaps someday you'll find someone who can save you from excesses. Personally, I don't believe you're worth the effort.”

“I told the twins, as tactfully as possible, that Hamlet was never barrowed in infancy, as he should have been. I had no idea the procedure was necessary, or I would have made certain it was done." "Barrowed?" Kathleen asked, perplexed. West made a scissoring gesture with two fingers. "Oh." "Remaining, er... intact," West continued, "has made Hamlet unfit for future consumption, so there's no reason to fear he'll end up on the dinner table. But he'll become increasingly aggressive as he goes through pubescence. It seems he'll become malodorous as well. He's now suited for only one purpose." "Do you mean-" Kathleen began. "Might this wait until after breakfast?" Devon asked from behind a newspaper. West sent Kathleen an apologetic grin. ""I'll explain later." "If you're going to tell me about the inconvenience of having an uncastrated male in the house," Kathleen said, "I'm already aware of it." West choked a little on his toast. There was no sound from Devon's direction.”

“My name is Kathleen." An Irish name. "Why do you have no accent?" "I was sent to England as a child, to live with family friends in Leominster." "Why?" A frown knit between her winged brows. "My parents were very much occupied with their horses. They spent several months of each year in Egypt to purchase Arabian bloodstock for their farm. I was... an inconvenience. Their friends Lord and Lady Berwick, who were also horse people, offered to take me in and raise me with their two daughters.”

“There seemed no way to accurately describe Kathleen. He could say that her hair was red and that her eyes were golden-brown and tip-tilted like a cat's. He could describe her fair skin and the rosy undertone that rose to the surface like a winter sunrise. The way she moved, her supple athletic grace constrained by laces and stays and layers. But none of that explained the fascination she held for him... the sense that somehow she had the power to unlock some altogether new feeling inside him, if only she cared to try.”

“Kathleen is not heartless, you see," Helen murmured. "She feels very deep sorrow. It's only that she can't show it." Devon wasn't certain whether to thank or curse Helen for the revelations. He didn't want to feel any compassion for Kathleen. But the rejection by her parents at such a tender age would have been devastating. He understood all about the desire to avoid painful memories and emotions... the compelling need to keep certain doors closed.”

“There's much to do," she said. "The funeral will be in Ireland." She gave Helen a stricken glance. "I haven't been there since I was a child." "You don't have to make decisions right now," Helen said. "Perhaps you should go upstairs and lie down." "I can't, there are things I must-" Kathleen stopped as Devon entered the room. His intent gaze swept over her, coming to rest on her bleached white face. "What is it, love?" he asked gently. "My father's gone." She tried very hard to sound prosaic. "It's not a surprise, of course. We knew that he was in ill health." "Yes." Devon came forward and took her rigid form against his, wrapping her in his arms. "I'm perfectly calm," she said against his shoulder. "Yes." Devon kissed her temple. His face was taut with concern, the blue eyes hazed with tenderness. "I'm not going to cry." Her tone was matter-of-fact. "He certainly wouldn't have wanted my tears." Devon smoothed her hair, his hand covering half her small head. "Give them to me, then," he said softly. Kathleen hid her face in his shirtfront, her slight form seeming to wilt. In a few seconds, a low, broken keening sound began to emerge without stopping. Her husband laid his cheek on her head and cradled her closer against the solid reassurance of his body.”

“Kathleen and Devon managed to focus most of the conversation on one of Lady Berwick's favorite subjects: horses. Both Lord and Lady Berwick were keen horse enthusiasts, occupying themselves with the training of thoroughbreds at their Leominster estate. In fact, that was how they had originally become acquainted with Kathleen's parents, Lord and Lady Carbery, who had owned an Arabian stud farm in Ireland. Lady Berwick displayed a lively interest upon learning that Kathleen would inherit at least two dozen horses of purebred Arabian stock, and a parcel of land comprising a riding school, stables, paddocks, and an arena.”