Philippa Marbury Quotes

“I don't understand," Olivia said. "How did Penny sewing and unsewing make for the Trojan War?"
"Penelope was Odysseus's wife," Philippa explained. "He left her, and she sat at her loom, sewing all day, and unraveling all her work at night. For years."
"Why on earth would someone do that?" Olivia wrinkled her nose, selecting a sweet from a nearby tray. "Years? Really?"
"She was waiting for him to come home," Penelope said, meeting Michael's gaze. There was something meaningful there, and he thought she might be speaking of more than the Greek myth. Did she wait for him at night? She'd told him not to touch her... she'd pushed him away... but tonight, if he went to her, would she accept him? Would she follow the path of her namesake?
"I hope you have more exciting things to do when you are waiting for Michael to come home, Penny," Olivia teased.
Penelope smiled, but there was something in her gaze that he did not like, something akin to sadness. He blamed himself for it. Before him, she was happier. Before him, she smiled and laughed and played games with her sisters without reminder of her unfortunate fate.
He stood to meet her as she approached the settee. "I would never leave my Penelope for years." He said, "I would be too afraid that someone would snatch her away." His mother-in-law sighed audibly from across the room as his new sisters laughed. He lifted one of Penelope's hands in his and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Penelope and Odysseus were never my favored mythic couple, anyway. I was always more partial to Persephone and Hades."
Penelope smiled at him, and the room was suddenly much much warmer. "You think they were a happier couple?" she asked, wry.
He met her little smile, enjoying himself as he lowered his voice. "I think six months of feast is better than twenty years of famine." She blushed, and he resisted the urge to kiss her there, in the drawing room, hang propriety and ladies' delicate sensibilities.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“She extended her hand. "I'm afraid you have the better of me, sir. I've not made the pleasure of your acquaintance."
He gave her proffered hand a long look before meeting her gaze once more, as though giving her the chance to change her mind. "I am Temple."
The Duke of Lamont.
The murderer.
She stepped back, her hand falling involuntarily at the thought before she could stop it. "Oh."
His lips twisted in a wry smile. "Now you're wishing you hadn't come here after all."
Her mind raced. He wouldn't hurt her. He was Bourne's partner. He was Mr. Cross's partner. It was the middle of the day. People were not killed in Mayfair in the middle of the day.
And for all she'd heard about this dark, dangerous man, there wasn't a single stitch of proof that he'd done that which he was purported to have done.
She extended her hand once more. "I am Philippa Marbury."
One black brow arched, but he took her hand firmly. "Brave girl."
"There's no proof that you're what they say."
"Gossip is damning enough."
She shook her head. "I am a scientist. Hypotheses are useless without evidence."
One side of his mouth twitched. "Would that the rest of England were as thorough.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“She looked to Pippa. "Have I made it difficult for you?"
Pippa hedged. "Not at all. Castleton sent news to Father just last week that he was planning to court me in earnest, and it's not as though I'm the most ordinary of debutantes."
It was an understatement. Pippa was something of a bluestocking, very focused on the sciences and fascinated by the insides of living things, from plants to people. She'd once stolen a goose from the kitchens and dissected it in her bedchamber.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“It ain't my problem if the ladies are drawn to me," Digger said. "A gentleman doesn't turn 'em away if they're askin' for a minute or two." His eyes slid to Pippa once more. "Ain't that right, Lady Soon-to-be-a-countess?"
"I find it difficult to believe either that ladies are drawn to you or that, in such a case, you would act the part of a gentleman," Pippa retorted.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“I must have an excellent connection at a nearby hothouse."
"You do. My younger sister- Philippa- grows the loveliest flowers, year-round, at Needham Manor."
He leaned forward, mocking in his whisper. "The first rule of falsehoods is that we only tell them about ourselves, darling."
She watched the spindly birch trees at the road's edge fading into the white snow beyond. "It's not a falsehood. Pippa is a horticulturist.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Pippa is virtually engaged to Lord Castleton; we expect he'll propose within a matter of days of her return to London."
His hand stilled for a moment before continuing its long, slow slide. "How did she and Castleton come to know each other?"
She thought of the plain, uninspiring earl. "The same way it happens with anyone, really. Balls, dinners, dancing. He seems nice enough, but... I do not care for the idea of him with Pippa."
"Why not?"
"Some would say she's peculiar, but she's not. She's simply bookish, loves the sciences. She is fascinated by how things work. He doesn't seem to be able to keep up with her. But, honestly? I don't think she gives a fig one way or another about whether or whom she marries. As long as he has a library and a few dogs, she'll make a happiness of sorts for herself. I only wish she could find someone more... well, I hate to sound cruel, but... intelligent.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Not that we expect anything less of Lord Bourne- husband or not, he remains a rogue! And that which we call a rogue, by any other name would scandalize as sweet!"
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Penelope did roll her eyes at that, looking to Michael, who looked... pleased. "You're complimented?"
He turned innocent eyes on her. "Should I not be?"
"Well," Philippa added thoughtfully, "anything Shakespearean must be at least a vague compliment."
"Precisely," Michael said, gifting Pippa with a smile that made Penelope more than a little envious of her younger sister.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“I might as well marry Castleton," Pippa said. "It will make Father happy. And I shall never have to see the inside of a season again. Think of all the visits to the dressmaker I can forgo."
Penelope smiled at the jest, even as she wanted to open her mouth and scream at the unfairness of it all. Pippa did not deserve a loveless marriage any more than the other Marbury girls did.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“May I help you?"
She did not look up. "You've miscalculated column F."
What in hell?
"I have not."
She pushed her glasses up her nose and tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear, entirely focused on the ledger. "You have. The proper calculation should be one hundred and twelve thousand, three hundred forty-six and seventeen pence."
Impossible.
He stood, moving to look over her shoulder. "That's what it says."
She shook her head, placing one long finger on the tabulation line. He noticed the tip of the finger was slightly crooked, leaning a touch to the right. "You've written one hundred twelve thousand, three hundred, forty-five and seventeen pence. You-" She looked up at him, eyes owl-like behind her spectacles as she took in his height and his bare chest. "You- you've lost a quid."
He bent over her, deliberately crowding her and enjoying the way her breath caught at his nearness. "That is a six."
She cleared her throat and looked again. "Oh." She leaned in and checked the number again. "I suppose you've lost your handwriting skills, instead," she said dryly, and he chuckled as she reached for a pencil and repaired the number.
He watched, riveted to the callus at the tip of her second finger, before he whispered low in her ear, "Are you an accounting fairy sent in the dead of night to check my figures?"
She leaned away from the whisper and and turned to look at him. "It's one o'clock in the afternoon," she said, matter-of-factly, and he had an intense desire to take her spectacles from her face and kiss her senseless, just to see what this odd young woman would say.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name