Llandrindon Quotes

“Drat. Daisy pulled back with a frown. She felt guilty that she had enjoyed the kiss so little. And it made her feel even worse when it appeared Llandrindon had enjoyed it quite a lot.
“My dear Miss Bowman,” Llandrindon murmured flirtatiously. “You didn’t tell me you tasted so sweet.”
He reached for her again, and Daisy danced backward with a little yelp. “My lord, control yourself!”
“I cannot.” He pursued her slowly around the fountain until they resembled a pair of circling cats. Suddenly he made a dash for her, catching at the sleeve of her gown. Daisy pushed hard at him and twisted away, feeling the soft white muslin rip an inch or two at the shoulder seam.
There was a loud splash and a splatter of water drops.
Daisy stood blinking at the empty spot where Llandrindon had been, and then covered her eyes with her hands as if that would somehow make the entire situation go away.
“My lord?” she asked gingerly. “Did you… did you just fall into the fountain?”
“No,” came his sour reply. “You pushed me into the fountain.”
“It was entirely unintentional, I assure you.” Daisy forced herself to look at him.
Llandrindon rose to his feet, water streaming from his hair and clothes, his coat pockets filled to the brim. It appeared the dip in the fountain had cooled his passions considerably.
He glowered at her in affronted silence. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he reached into one of his water-laden coat pockets. A tiny frog leaped from the pocket and returned to the fountain with a quiet plunk.
Daisy tried to choke back her amusement, but the harder she tried the worse it became, until she finally burst out laughing. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth, while irrepressible giggles slipped out. “I’m so— oh dear—” And she bent over laughing until tears came to her eyes.
The tension between them disappeared as Llandrin don began to smile reluctantly. He stepped from the fountain, dripping from every surface. “I believe when you kiss the toad,” he said dryly, “he is supposed to turn into a prince. Unfortunately in my case it doesn’t seem to have worked.”
Daisy felt a rush of sympathy and kindness, even as she snorted with a few last giggles. Approaching him carefully, she placed her small hands on either side of his wet face and pressed a friendly, fleeting kiss on his lips.
His eyes widened at the gesture.
“You are someone’s handsome prince,” Daisy said, smiling at him apologetically. “Just not mine. But when the right woman finds you… how lucky she’ll be.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Scandal in Spring

“They came to a tall juniper hedge beyond which extended a flagstoned walkway that bordered the side of the manor. As they made their way to an opening of the hedge, they heard a pair of masculine voices engaged in conversation. The voices were not loud. In fact, the strictly moderated volume of the conversation betrayed that something secret— and therefore intriguing— was being discussed. Pausing behind the hedge, Daisy motioned for Evie to be still and quiet.
“… doesn’t promise to be much of a breeder…” one of them was saying.
The comment was met with a low but indignant objection. “Timid? Holy hell, the woman has enough spirit to climb Mont-Blanc with a pen-knife and a ball of twine. Her children will be perfect hellions.”
Daisy and Evie stared at each other with mutual astonishment. Both voices were easily recognizable as those belonging to Lord Llandrindon and Matthew Swift.
“Really,” Llandrindon said skeptically. “My impression is that she is a literary-minded girl. Rather a bluestocking.”
“Yes, she loves books. She also happens to love adventure. She has a remarkable imagination accompanied by a passionate enthusiasm for life and an iron constitution. You’re not going to find a girl her equal on your side of the Atlantic or mine.”
“I had no intention of looking on your side,” Llandrindon said dryly. “English girls possess all the traits I would desire in a wife.”
They were talking about her, Daisy realized, her mouth dropping open. She was torn between delight at Matthew Swift’s description of her, and indignation that he was trying to sell her to Llandrindon as if she were a bottle of patent medicine from a street vendor’s cart.
“I require a wife who is poised,” Llandrindon continued, “sheltered, restful…”
“Restful? What about natural and intelligent? What about a girl with the confidence to be herself rather than trying to imitate some pallid ideal of subservient womanhood?”
“I have a question,” Llandrindon said.
“Yes?”
“If she’s so bloody remarkable, why don’t you marry her?”
Daisy held her breath, straining to hear Swift’s reply. To her supreme frustration his voice was muffled by the filter of the hedges. “Drat,” she muttered and made to follow them.
Evie yanked her back behind the hedge. “No,” she whispered sharply. “Don’t test our luck, Daisy. It was a miracle they didn’t realize we were here.”
“But I wanted to hear the rest of it!”
“So did I.” They stared at each other with round eyes. “Daisy…” Evie said in wonder, “… I think Matthew Swift is in love with you.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Scandal in Spring

“The days that followed were what Matthew would remember for the rest of his life as a week of unholy torture.
He had been to hell and back at a much earlier time in his life, having known physical pain, deprivation, near-starvation, and bone-chilling fear. But none of those discomforts came close to the agony of standing by and watching Daisy Bowman being courted by Lord Llandrindon.
It seemed the seeds he had sown in Llandrindon’s mind about Daisy’s charms had successfully taken root. Llandrindon was at Daisy’s side constantly, chatting, flirting, letting his gaze travel over her with offensive familiarity. And Daisy was similarly absorbed, hanging on his every word, dropping whatever she happened to be doing as soon as Llandrindon appeared.
On Monday they went out for a private picnic.
On Tuesday they went for a carriage drive.
On Wednesday they went to pick bluebells.
On Thursday they fished at the lake, returning with damp clothes and sun-glazed complexions, laughing together at a joke they didn’t share with anyone else.
On Friday they danced together at an impromptu musical evening, looking so well matched that one of the guests remarked it was a pleasure to watch them.
On Saturday Matthew woke up wanting to murder someone.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Scandal in Spring

“All this effort for a man who doesn’t even care,” Daisy muttered to herself, thinking dire thoughts about Matthew Swift.
Llandrindon sat a few yards away on the rim of a garden fountain, obediently holding still as she sketched his portrait. She had never been particularly talented at sketching, but she was running out of things to do with him.
“What was that?” the Scottish lord called out.
“I said you have a fine head of hair!”
― Lisa Kleypas, Scandal in Spring

“This week has had a strange effect on me,” Llandrindon ruminated aloud. “I feel… different.”
“Are you ill?” Daisy asked in concern, closing the sketchbook. “I’m sorry, I’ve made you sit out in the sun too long.”
“No, not that kind of different. What I meant to say is that I feel… wonderful.” Llandrindon was staring at her in that odd way again. “Better than I ever have before.”
“It’s the country air, I expect.” Daisy stood and brushed her skirts off, and went to him. “It’s quite invigorating.”
“It’s not the country air I find invigorating,” Llandrindon said in a low voice. “It’s you, Miss Bowman.”
Daisy’s mouth fell open. “Me?”
“You.” He stood and took her shoulders in his hands.
Daisy could only stutter in surprise. “I— I— my lord—”
“These past few days in your company have given me cause for deep reflection.”
Daisy twisted to glance at their surroundings, taking in the neatly trimmed hedges covered with bursts of pink climbing roses. “Is Mr. Swift nearby?” she whispered. “Is that why you’re talking this way?”
“No, I’m speaking for myself.” Ardently Llandrindon pulled her closer, until the sketchbook was nearly crushed between them. “You’ve opened my eyes, Miss Bowman. You’ve made me see everything a different way. I want to find shapes in clouds, and do something worth writing a poem about. I want to read novels. I want to make life an adventure—”
“How nice,” Daisy said, wriggling in his tightening grasp.
“— with you.”
Oh no.
“You’re joking,” she said weakly.
“I’m besotted,” he declared.
“I’m unavailable.”
“I’m determined.”
“I’m… surprised.”
“You dear little thing,” he exclaimed. “You’re everything he said you were. Magic. Thunderstorms wrapped up with rainbows. Clever and lovely and desirable—”
“Wait.” Daisy stared at him in astonishment. “Matth— that is, Mr. Swift said that?”
“Yes, yes, yes…” And before she could move, speak or breathe, Llandrindon lowered his head and kissed her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Scandal in Spring