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His brows rose. “And how is it that you have come to be such an expert on scrapes and bruises?” “I’m a governess,” she said. Because really, that ought to be explanation enough.

Julia Quinn

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Julia Quinn
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: January 12
Author
Writer
Evergreen State
Julie Cotler
Julie Pottinger
Really
Brows
Expert
Experts
Explanation
Rose
Ought
Come
Scrapes
Enough
Bruises

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Oh, very well, do you want to know why I really think you should keep a journal? She nodded. Because someday you're going to grow into yourself, and you will be as beautiful as you already are smart.
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Nothing like trapping the gentlemen where they couldn't get away.
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Do I look like a mess?” she asked. He nodded. “But you’re my mess,” he whispered.
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She smelled like England, of soft rain and sun-kissed meadows. And she felt like the best kind of heaven. He wanted to wrap himself around, bury himself within her, and stay there for all of his days. He hadn’t had a drop to drink in three years, but he was intoxicated now, bubbling with a lightness he’d never thought to feel again.
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When you walk into a room,” he said softly, “the air changes.
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Mother,” Hyacinth said with a great show of solicitude, “you know I love you dearly—” “Why is it,” Violet pondered, “that I have come to expect nothing good when I hear a sentence beginning in that manner?
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She tried to remind herself that beauty was only skin deep, but that didn't offer any helpful excuses when she was berating herself for never knowing what to say to people. There was nothing more depressing than an ugly girl with no personality.
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Daniel held himself very still, waiting for the wave of jealousy that never came. He was furious with the man who’d taken advantage of her innocence, but he did not feel jealous. He did not need to be her first, he realized. He simply needed to be her last. Her only.
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It was juvenile, he knew, this need to assign blame, but everyone had a right to childish emotions from time to time, didn't they?
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Weakness never got anyone anywhere.
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Don’t tell me your name. It’s likely to awaken my conscience, and that’s the last thing we want.
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Tell me something wicked.
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Love works in mysterious ways.
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Have you seen Frances?” He tilted his head to the right. “I believe she’s off rooting about in the bushes.” Anne followed his gaze uneasily. “Rooting?” “She told me she was practicing for the next play.” Anne blinked at him, not following. “For when she gets to be a unicorn.” “Oh, of course.” She chuckled. “She is rather tenacious, that one.
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Love is blind,” Harriet quipped. “But not illiterate,” Elizabeth retorted.
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I keep waiting for the day in which everyone who loves Downton Abbey will realize they were actually watching a historical romance novel.
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He was the firstborn Bridgerton of a firstborn Bridgerton of a firstborn Bridgerton eight times over. He had a dynastic responsibility to be fruitful and multiply.
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It was heaven. Forget angels, forget St. Peter and glittering harpsichords. Heaven was a dance in the arms of one's true love.
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I would give the world to have one more person for whom I would lay down my life.
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I don't like your tone, was Violet's standard answer when one of her children was winning an argument.
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