Beatrix Hathaway Quotes

“Has anyone had a look at Merripen's shoulder?" Amelia asked, glancing at Win. "It's probably time for the dressing to be changed."
"I'll do it," Win said at once. "And I'll take up a supper tray."
"Beatrix will accompany you," Amelia advised.
"I can manage the tray," Win protested.
"It's not that... I meant it's not proper for you to be alone with Merripen in his room."
Win looked surprised, and made a face. "I don't need Beatrix to come. It's only Merripen, after all."
After Win left the dining hall, Poppy looked at Amelia. "Do you think that Win really doesn't know how he-"
"I have no idea. And I've never dared to broach the subject, because I don't want to put ideas into her head."
"I hope she doesn't know," Beatrix ventured. "It would be dreadfully sad if she did."
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 other 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 so 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.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Mine Till Midnight

“Beatrix had worn her best gown, made of shimmering aniline violet. The bodice was scooped low, revealing a generous expanse of fair skin. Her hair had been curled and swept up with a multitude of pearl-tipped pins- other than that, she wore no adornment.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“There was also a package wrapped in pale blue paper and tied with a matching ribbon. Picking up a small folded note that had been tucked under the ribbon, Beatrix read:

A gift for your wedding night, darling Bea. This gown was made by the most fashionable modiste in London. It is rather different from the ones you usually wear, but it will be very pleasing to a bridegroom. Trust me about this.
-Poppy

Holding the nightgown up, Beatrix saw that it was made of black gossamer and fastened with tiny jet buttons. Since the only nightgowns she had ever worn had been of modest white cambric or muslin, this was rather shocking. However, if it was what husbands liked...
After removing her corset and her other underpinnings, Beatrix drew the gown over her head and let a slither over her body in a cool, silky drift. The thin fabric draped closely over her shoulders and torso and buttoned at the waist before flowing to the ground in transparent panels. A side slit went up to her hip, exposing her leg when she moved. And her back was shockingly exposed, the gown dipping low against her spine. Pulling the pins and combs from her hair, she dropped them into the muslin bag in the trunk.
Tentatively she emerged from behind the screen.
Christopher had just finished pouring two glasses of champagne. He turned toward her and froze, except for his gaze, which traveled over her in a burning sweep. "My God," he muttered, and drained his champagne. Setting the empty glass aside, he gripped the other as if he were afraid it might slip through his fingers.
"Do you like my nightgown?" Beatrix asked.
Christopher nodded, not taking his gaze from her. "Where's the rest of it?"
"This was all I could find." Unable to resist teasing him, Beatrix twisted and tried to see the back view. "I wonder if I put it on backward..."
"Let me see." As she turned to reveal the naked line of her back, Christopher drew in a harsh breath.
Although Beatrix heard him mumble a curse, she didn't take offense, deducing that Poppy had been right about the nightgown. And when he drained the second glass of champagne, forgetting that it was hers, Beatrix sternly repressed a grin. She went to the bed and climbed onto the mattress, relishing the billowy softness of its quilts and linens. Reclining on her side, she made no attempt to cover her exposed leg as the gossamer fabric fell open to her hip.
Christopher came to her, stripping off his shirt along the way. The sight of him, all that flexing muscle and sun-glazed skin, was breathtaking. He was a beautiful man, a scarred Apollo, a dream lover. And he was hers.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Albert?"
The barking became more passionate, with cries and whimpers breaking in.
Slowly Beatrix lowered to the ground and sat with her back against the shed. "Calm yourself, Albert," she said. "I'll let you out as soon as you're quiet."
The terrier growled and pawed at the door.
Having consulted several books on the subject of dogs, one on rough terriers in particular, Beatrix was fairly certain that training Albert with techniques involving dominance or punishment would not be at all effective. In fact, they would probably make his behavior worse. Terriers, the book had said, frequently tried to outsmart humans. The only method left was to reward his good behavior with praise and food and kindness.
"Of course you're unhappy, poor boy. He's gone away, and your place is by his side. But I've come to collect you, and while he's gone, we'll work on your manners. Perhaps we can't turn you into a perfect lapdog... but I'll help you learn how to get on with others." She paused before adding with a reflective grin. "Of course, I can't manage to behave properly in polite society. I've always thought there's a fair amount of dishonesty involved in politeness. There, you're quiet now." She stood and pulled at the latch. "Here is your first rule, Albert: it's very rude to maul people."
Albert burst out and jumped on her. Had she not been holding on to the support of the shed's frame, she would have been knocked over. Whining and wagging his tail, Albert stood on his hind legs and dove his face against her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Where is Albert?"
"He'll be here momentarily. I asked our housekeeper to fetch him."
Christopher blinked. "She's not afraid of him?"
"Of Albert? Heavens, no, everyone adores him."
The concept of someone, anyone, adoring his belligerent pet was difficult to grasp. Having expected to receive an inventory of all the damage Albert had caused, Christopher gave her a blank look.
And then the housekeeper returned with an obedient and well-groomed dog trotting by her side.
"Albert?" Christopher said.
The dog looked at him, ears twitching. His whiskered face changed, eyes brightening with excitement. Without hesitating, Albert launched forward with a happy yelp. Christopher knelt on the floor, gathering up an armful of joyfully wriggling canine. Albert strained to lick him, and whimpered and dove against him repeatedly.
Christopher was overwhelmed by feelings of kinship and relief. Grabbing the warm, compact body close, Christopher murmured his name and petted him roughly, and Albert whined and trembled.
"I missed you, Albert. Good boy. There's my boy." Unable to help himself, Christopher pressed his face against the rough fur. He was undone by guilt, humbled by the fact that even though he had abandoned Albert for the summer, the dog showed nothing but eager welcome. "I was away too long," Christopher murmured, looking into the soulful brown eyes. "I won't leave you again." He dragged his gaze up to Beatrix's. "It was a mistake to leave him," he said gruffly.
She was smiling at him. "Albert won't hold it against you. To err is human, to forgive, canine."
To his disbelief, Christopher felt an answering smile tug at the corners of his lips. He continued to pet the dog, who was fit and sleek. "You've taken good care of him."
"He's much better behaved than before," she said. "You can take him anywhere now."
Rising to his feet, Christopher looked down at her. "Why did you do it?" he asked softly.
"He's very much worth saving. Anyone could see that."
The awareness between them became unbearably aware. Christopher's heart worked in hard, uneven beats. How pretty she was in the white dress. She radiated a healthy female physicality that was very different from the fashionable frailty of London women. He wondered what it would be like to bed her, if she would be as direct in her passions as she was in everything else.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“In the case of Leo, however, Beatrix assured Christopher that in spite of his sharp tongue, Leo was a caring and loyal brother. "You'll come to like him very well," she said. "But it's no surprise that you feel more comfortable around Cam- you're both foxes."
"Foxes?" Christopher had repeated, amused.
"Yes. I can always tell what kind of animal a person would be. Foxes are hunters, but they don't rely on brute strength. They're subtle and clever. Fond of outwitting others. And although they sometimes travel far, they always like to come back to a snug, safe home."
"I suppose Leo is a lion," Christopher said dryly.
"Oh, yes. Dramatic, demonstrative, and he hates being ignored. And sometimes he'll take a swipe at you. But beneath the sharp claws and the growls, he's still a cat."
"What animal are you?"
"A ferret. We can't help collecting things. When we're awake, we're very busy, but we also like to be still for long periods." She grinned at him. "And ferrets are very affectionate.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“I shouldn't have spoken to you as I did earlier. For my family, arguing is a sport- we forget that some people tend to take it personally." One of her fingertips drew an intricate little pattern on his thigh. "But I have redeeming qualities," she continued. "I never mind dog hair, for example. And I can pick up small objects with my toes, which is a surprisingly useful talent."
Christopher's numbness started melting like spring ice. And it had nothing to do with the Armagnac. It was all Beatrix.
God, he adored her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“She paused and regarded Annandale with frank interest. "My goodness, you are an eagle, aren't you?"
"A what?" the elderly man asked, his eyes narrowing.
"An eagle." Beatrix stared at him closely. "You have such striking features, and you exude power even while sitting still. And you like to watch people. You can assess them instantly, can't you? No doubt you're always right."
Christopher began to intervene, certain that his grandfather would incinerate her with his response. To his astonishment, Annandale practically preened under Beatrix's admiring regard.
"I can," the earl allowed. "And indeed, I am seldom mistaken in my judgements.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Ultimately no particular woman had ever seemed all that different from the rest.
Until those letters. The sentences had looped around him with a spirit so artless and adorable, he had loved it, loved her, immediately.
His thumb moved over the parchment as if it were sensitive living skin. "Mark my words, Audrey- I'm going to marry the woman who wrote this letter.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“As he neared the house, he saw Albert bounding out of the woods, followed by Beatrix's slender form. She was returning from Ramsay House. A strong gust of wind blew against her wine-colored cloak, causing it to flap wildly, and her hat flew from her head. She laughed as the dog went to chase it. Seeing Christopher approach on the road, she waved at him.
He was nearly overcome with relief. The panic eased. The darkness began to recede. Thank you, God. Beatrix was there, and safe. She belonged to him, she was beautiful and vibrant, and he would spend his life taking care of her. Whatever she desired of him, whatever words or memories she asked for, he would give. It almost seemed easy now- the force of his love would make anything easy.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Becoming aware of Albert nosing at his shoulder, Leo turned to pet him. "Is this a dog or a street broom?"
"It's Albert," Beatrix replied.
The dog promptly collapsed to his side, tail thumping the floor repeatedly.
Beatrix smiled. Three months earlier, such a scene would have been unimaginable. Albert would have been so hostile and fearful that she wouldn't have dared to expose him to children.
But with patience, love, and discipline- not to mention a great deal of help from Rye- Albert had become a different dog altogether. Gradually he had become accustomed to the constant activity in the household, including the presence of other animals. Now he greeted newness with curiosity rather than fear and aggression.
Albert had also gained some much-needed weight, looking sleek and healthy. Beatrix had painstakingly groomed him, stripping and trimming his fur regularly, but leaving the adorable whisks that gave his face a whimsical expression. When Beatrix walked Albert to the village, children gathered around him, and he submitted happily to their petting. He loved to play and fetch. He stole shoes and tried to bury them when no one was looking. He was, in short, a thoroughly normal dog.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“I suppose I thought that you might have tried to attract Christopher's attention to yourself. As ludicrous as that would have been."
Beatrix tilted her head slightly. "Ludicrous?"
"Perhaps that's not the right word. I meant unsuitable. Because a man in Christopher's position needs a sophisticated woman. Someone to support his position in society. With his fame and influence, he may enter politics someday. And he could hardly do that with a wife who spent most of her time in the forest... or the stables."
That delicate reminder was like an arrow through Beatrix's heart.
"She's more suited to the stables than the drawing room," Christopher had once said.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“She swat his hand away as he touched her breast again. "Stop that. I just want to-" Undeterred, he had gone for the button placket of her shirt. She scowled in exasperation. "All right, then," she snapped, "do as you please! Perhaps afterward we could manage a coherent discussion." Twisting beneath him, she flopped onto her stomach.
Christopher went still. After a long hesitation, she heard him ask in a far normal voice, "What are you doing?"
"I'm making it easier for you," came her defiant reply. "Go on, start ravishing."
Another silence. Then, "Why are you facing downward?"
"Because that's how it's done." Beatrix twisted to look at him over her shoulder. A twinge of uncertainty caused her to ask, "Isn't it?"
His face was blank. "Has no one ever told you?"
"No, but I've read about it."
Christopher rolled off her, relieving her of his weight. He wore an odd expression as he asked, "From what books?"
"Veterinary manuals. And of course, I've observed the squirrels in springtime, and farm animals and-"
She was interrupted as Christopher cleared his throat loudly, and again. Darting a confused glance at him, she realized that he was trying to choke back amusement.
Beatrix began to feel indignant. Her first time in a bed with a man, and he was laughing.
"Look here," she said in a businesslike manner, "I've read about the mating habits of over two dozen species, and with the exception of snails, whose genitalia is on their necks, they all-" She broke off and frowned. "Why are you laughing at me?"
Christopher had collapsed, overcome with hilarity. As he lifted his head and saw her affronted expression, he struggled manfully with another outburst. "Beatrix. I'm... I'm not laughing at you."
"You are!"
"No, I'm not. It's just..." He swiped a tear from the corner of his eye, and a few more chuckles escaped. "Squirrels..."
"Well, it may be humorous to you, but it's a very serious matter to the squirrels."
That set him off again. In a display of rank insensitivity to the reproductive rights of small mammals, Christopher had buried his face in a pillow, his shoulders shaking.
"What is so amusing about fornicating squirrels?" Beatrix asked irritably.
By this time he had gone into near apoplexy. "No more," he gasped. "Please."
"I gather it's not the same for people," Beatrix said with great dignity, inwardly mortified. "They don't go about it the same way that animals do?"
Fighting to control himself, Christopher rolled to face her. His eyes were brilliant with unspent laughter. "Yes. No. That is, they do, but..."
"But you don't prefer it that way?"
Considering how to answer her, Christopher reached out to smooth her disheveled hair, which was falling out of its pins. "I do. I'm quite enthusiastic about it, actually. But it's not right for your first time."
"Why not?"
Christopher looked at her, a slow smile curving his lips. His voice deepened as he asked, "Shall I show you?"
Beatrix was transfixed.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“In the excitement of all these revelations, Phelan, one could easily be swept away. Are you very sure of your feelings for Beatrix? Because she is-"
"Unique," Leo supplied.
"I know that." Christopher felt his mouth twitch with a trace of humor. "I know that she steal things unintentionally. She wears breeches, and references Greek philosophers, and has read far too many veterinary manuals. I know that she keeps the kinds of pets that other people pay to have exterminated." Thinking of Beatrix, he felt an ache of yearning. "I know that she could never reside in London, that she could only thrive by living close to nature. I know that she is compassionate, intelligent, and brave, and the only thing she truly fears is being abandoned. And I would never do that, because I happen to love her to distraction.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“...whenever you find a clearing like this," Beatrix said, leading Christopher to a small, sun-dappled meadow, "it's most likely an ancient field enclosure from the Bronze Age. They knew nothing about fertilizing, so when a patch of land became unproductive, they simply cleared a new area. And the old areas became covered with gorse and bracken and heather. And here-" she showed him the cavity of an oak tree near the clearing- "is where I watched a hobby chick hatch in early summer. Hobbies don't build their own nests, they use ones made by other birds. They're so fast when they fly, they look like sickles cutting through the air."
Christopher listened attentively. With the breeze playing lightly in his dark gold hair, and a slight smile on his lips, he was so handsome that it was difficult not to gape at him. "You know all the secrets of this forest, don't you?" he asked gently.
"There's so much to learn, I've only scratched the surface. I've filled books with sketches of animals and plants, and I keep finding new ones to study.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Don't come up behind me," Christopher said roughly. "Ever."
"I of all people should have known that. I won't do it again."
Christopher took a fiery swallow of the liquor. "What do you mean, you of all people?"
"I'm used to wild creatures who don't like to be approached from behind."
He shot her a baleful glance. "How fortunate that your experience with animals has turned out to be such good preparation for marriage to me."
"I didn't mean... well, my point was that I should have been more considerate of your nerves."
"I don't have nerves," he snapped.
"I'm sorry. We'll call them something else." Her voice was so soothing and gentle that it would have caused an assortment of cobras, tigers, wolverines, and badgers to all snuggle together and take a group nap.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“And an image had appeared in Christopher's head... not the usual ones of the war, but a peaceful one... Beatrix's face, calm and intent, as she had tended a wounded bird the previous day. She had wrapped the broken wing of a small sparrow against its body, and then showed Rye how to feed the bird. As Christopher had watched the proceedings, he had been struck by the mixture of delicacy and strength in Beatrix's hands.
Bringing his attention back to the ranting woman before him, Christopher pitied the man who eventually became Prudence's husband.
Prudence's mother had come into the parlor then, alarmed by the uproar, Christopher had taken his leave soon after, regretting every minute he had ever wasted in Prudence Mercer's company.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“And an image had appeared in Christopher's head... not the usual ones of the war, but a peaceful one... Beatrix's face, calm and intent, as she had tended a wounded bird the previous day. She had wrapped the broken wing of a small sparrow against its body, and then showed Rye how to feed the bird. As Christopher had watched the proceedings, he had been struck by the mixture of delicacy and strength in Beatrix's hands.
Bringing his attention back to the ranting woman before him, Christopher pitied the man who eventually became Prudence's husband.
Prudence's mother had come into the parlor then, alarmed by the uproar, and she had tried to soothe her. Christopher had taken his leave soon after, regretting every minute he had ever wasted in Prudence Mercer's company.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Christopher contemplated Beatrix, who was sitting a few places away from him. Those eyes... midnight blue, innocent and wise, alarmingly perceptive. What a curious mixture of qualities she possessed. She was capable of extraordinary composure and yet she was willing to play like a child. She was intellectual, instinctive, droll. Talking with her was like opening a treasure box to sort through unexpected delights.
As a man not yet thirty, Christopher was only six years older than Beatrix, and yet he felt the difference between them as a hundred. He wanted, needed, to be close to her, while at the same time he had to close away the worst of what he had seen and done, so that it would never touch her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“This cat is missing a leg," he remarked to Beatrix.
"Yes, I would have named her Nelson, after the one-armed admiral, but she's female. She belonged to the cheesemaker until her foot was caught in a trap."
"Why did you name her Lucky?" Annandale asked.
"I hoped it would change her fortunes."
"And did it?"
"Well, she's sitting in the lap of an earl, isn't she?" Beatrix pointed out, and Annandale laughed outright.
He touched the cat's remaining paw. "She is fortunate to have been able to adapt."
"She was determined," Beatrix said. "You should have seen the poor thing, not long after the amputation. She kept trying to walk on the missing leg, or jump down from a chair, and she would stumble and lose her balance. But one day, she woke up and seemed to have accepted the fact that the leg was gone for good. And she became nearly as agile as before." She added significantly, "The trick was forgetting about what she had lost... and learning to go on with what she had left."
Annandale gave her a fascinated stare, his lips curving. "What a clever young woman you are.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“One could not employ a purposeful stride with Beatrix. She stopped frequently to look at spiderwebs, insects, moss, nests. She listened to out-of-doors sounds with the same appreciation that other people showed while listening to Mozart. It was all a symphony to her... sky, water, land. She approached the world anew each day, living fully in the present, keeping pace with everything around her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Since they had established a household at Riverton, Beatrix had increased the size of her menagerie, and was constantly occupied with animal-related charities and concerns. She had also compiled a report for the newly established natural history society in London. For some reason it had not been at all difficult to convince the group of elderly entomologists, ornithologists, and other naturalists to include a pretty young woman in their midst. Especially when it became clear that Beatrix could talk for hours about migration patterns, plant cycles, and other matters relating to animal habitats and behavior. There was even discussion of Beatrix's joining a board to form a new natural history museum, to provide a lady's perspective on various aspects of the project.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Forgive us, Captain Phelan," Amelia murmured. "I can see that my sister startled you. Really, we've tried to learn better manners, but we're Philistines, all of us. And while Beatrix is out of hearing, I would like to assure you that she doesn't usually dress so outlandishly. However, every now and then she goes on an undertaking that makes long skirts inadvisable. Replacing a bird in a nest, for example, or training a horse, and so forth."
"A more conventional solution," Christopher said carefully, "would be to forbid the activity that necessitated the wearing of men's garments."
Rohan grinned. "One of my private rules for dealing with Hathaways," he said, "is never to forbid them anything. Because that guarantees they'll keep doing it."
"Heavens, we're not as bad as all that," Amelia protested.
Rohan gave his wife a speaking glance, his smile lingering. "Hathaways require freedom," he told Christopher, "Beatrix in particular. An ordinary life- being contained in parlors and drawing rooms- would be a prison for her. She relates to the world in a far more vital and natural way than any gadji I've ever known.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“In no time at all, Beatrix appeared. She was wearing a white dress made of thin, flowing layers, the bodice wrapped intricately over the curves of her breasts. The translucence of her chest and upper arms gave her the look of emerging from the white silk.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“He was fascinated by Beatrix's competence at things women were not usually competent at. She knew how to use a hammer or a plane tool. She rode better than any woman he had ever seen, and possibly better than any man. She had an original mind, an intelligence woven of recall and intuition. But the more Christopher learned about Beatrix, the more he perceived the vein of insecurity that ran deep in her. A sense of otherness that often inclined her toward solitude. He thought that perhaps it had something to do with her parents' untimely deaths, especially her mother's, which Beatrix had felt as an abandonment. And perhaps it was partly a result of the Hathaways' having been pushed into a social position they had never been prepared for. Being in the upper classes wasn't merely following a set of rules, it was a way of thinking, of carrying oneself and interacting with the world, that had to be instilled since birth. Beatrix would never acquire the sophistication of the young women who had been raised in the aristocracy.
That was one of the things he loved most about her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“There were camp prostitutes," he said, "who were kept busy servicing the soldiers. But they were none too attractive, and they helped to spread any number of diseases through the regiment."
"Poor things," Beatrix said sincerely.
"The prostitutes or the soldiers?"
"All of you."
How like her, he thought, to react with compassion rather than distaste. Taking one of her hands, Christopher pressed a kiss into her palm.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“What do you think of her?" he asked.
Annandale replied without hesitation. "I would marry her myself, were I five years younger."
"Five?" Christopher repeated skeptically.
"Ten, damn you." But a slight smile had appeared on the earl's time-weathered face. "I commend you on your choice. She's a spirited girl. Fearless, Lovely in her own way, and with her charm she has no need of true beauty. You'll need to keep a firm hand on the reins, but the trouble will be worth it." He paused, looking wistful. "Once you've had a woman like that, you can never be content with the ordinary kind."
Christopher had been about to argue over the question of Beatrix's beauty, which in his opinion was unequaled. But that last sentence caught his attention. "You're referring to Grandmother?" he asked.
"No. Your grandmother was the kind of woman I thought I should marry. I was in love with someone else- a far less suitable girl. And I let her go, to my everlasting regret." He sighed, pondering some distant memory. "A lifetime without her..."
Fascinated, Christopher wanted to ask more... but this was hardly the time or place for such a conversation. However, it gave him an unexpected insight into his grandfather. What would it do to a man, to marry a Prudence when one might have had a Beatrix? It would be enough to turn anyone bitter.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Opening the lid, Beatrix found her neatly folded clothes and a drawstring muslin bag containing a brush and a rack of hairpins, and other small necessities. There was also a package wrapped in pale blue paper and tied with a matching ribbon. Picking up a small folded note that had been tucked under the ribbon, Beatrix read:

A gift for your wedding night, darling Bea. This gown was made by the most fashionable modiste in London. It is rather different from the ones you usually wear, but it will be very pleasing to a bridegroom. Trust me about this.
-Poppy

Holding the nightgown up, Beatrix saw that it was made of black gossamer and fastened with tiny jet buttons. Since the only nightgowns she had ever worn had been of modest white cambric or muslin, this was rather shocking. However, if it was what husbands liked...
After removing her corset and her other underpinnings, Beatrix drew the gown over her head and let a slither over her body in a cool, silky drift. The thin fabric draped closely over her shoulders and torso and buttoned at the waist before flowing to the ground in transparent panels. A side slit went up to her hip, exposing her leg when she moved. And her back was shockingly exposed, the gown dipping low against her spine. Pulling the pins and combs from her hair, she dropped them into the muslin bag in the trunk.
Tentatively she emerged from behind the screen.
Christopher had just finished pouring two glasses of champagne. He turned toward her and froze, except for his gaze, which traveled over her in a burning sweep. "My God," he muttered, and drained his champagne. Setting the empty glass aside, he gripped the other as if he were afraid it might slip through his fingers.
"Do you like my nightgown?" Beatrix asked.
Christopher nodded, not taking his gaze from her. "Where's the rest of it?"
"This was all I could find." Unable to resist teasing him, Beatrix twisted and tried to see the back view. "I wonder if I put it on backward..."
"Let me see." As she turned to reveal the naked line of her back, Christopher drew in a harsh breath.
Although Beatrix heard him mumble a curse, she didn't take offense, deducing that Poppy had been right about the nightgown. And when he drained the second glass of champagne, forgetting that it was hers, Beatrix sternly repressed a grin. She went to the bed and climbed onto the mattress, relishing the billowy softness of its quilts and linens. Reclining on her side, she made no attempt to cover her exposed leg as the gossamer fabric fell open to her hip.
Christopher came to her, stripping off his shirt along the way. The sight of him, all that flexing muscle and sun-glazed skin, was breathtaking. He was a beautiful man, a scarred Apollo, a dream lover. And he was hers.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Christopher felt as if he were being followed. He actually glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see death or the devil. It was the kind of morbid thought that had plagued him so mercilessly after the war. But far less often lately.
All because of Beatrix.
He felt a sudden pull in his chest, a yearning to go wherever she was, find her and draw her tightly against him. Last night it had seemed impossible to talk to her. Today he thought it might be easier. He would do anything to try and be the husband she needed. It would not be done in one fell swoop. But she was patient, and forgiving, and Dear Lord, he loved her for it.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Medusa the hedgehog was wandering casually along the hallway. She paused as Christopher approached. A faint smile touched his lips. He bent to pick her up as Beatrix had showed him, inserting his hands beneath her. The hedgehog's quills flattened naturally as he turned her up to look at him. Relaxed and curious, she viewed him with her perpetual hedgehog smile.
"Medusa," he said softly, "I wouldn't advise climbing out of your pen at night. One of the maids might find you, and then what? You might find yourself taken to the scullery and used to scrub a pot." Taking her to the private upstairs receiving room, he lowered her into her pen.
Continuing on to Beatrix's room, he reflected that his wife viewed poor Bennett as yet another wounded creature. She had shown no hesitation in welcoming him into their home. One would expect no less of Beatrix.
Entering the room quietly, he saw his wife at her dressing table, carefully filing the claws of Lucky's remaining paw. The cat regarded her with a bored expression, tail flicking lazily. "... you must stay away from the settee cushions," Beatrix was lecturing, "or Mrs. Clocker will have both our heads."
Christopher's gaze traveled over the long, elegant lines of her figure, her silhouette revealed in the lamp glow that shone through her muslin nightgown.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon