live with heartache. They had grieved hard with each loss, and raged, too, because their father had told them it was natural to feel angry.
In time, the rage eased, and the painful grief subsided into quiet sorrow. Now, two years after losing their beloved father and nearly eighteen months after the death of the "baby" brother they'd doted upon, their natural zest for life was returning.
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
The world was no longer uniformly black. There were dark moments, to be sure, but there was sunshine as well. And one bright beam of sunshine was their guardian, whose doings afforded no end of vicarious excitement in what, at Blakesleigh, was a stultifyingly tame existence.
"I'll wager anything that half the letters Aunt Dorothea gets from her friends are about him," Elizabeth said, after a long sigh about the waiting period.
"I doubt the gossips know any more than the Whisperer does. They get everything secondhand. Or third-hand." Emily looked at her sister. "I'm not sure Papa would approve of our nosing about in Aunt Dorothea's correspondence box. We should not think of it."
"I'm not sure he'd approve of no one telling us anything about our own guardian," said Elizabeth. "It's dis-respectful of Papa, who named him guardian, isn't it? Remember how he would read his friends' letters, and laugh, and say,
'Only listen to what your Cousin Vere has done this time, the rascal.' "
Emily smiled. " 'A hellion,' he'd say. 'A true Mallory hellion, like your grandpa and his brothers.' "
" 'The last of the old, true breed,' " Elizabeth softly quoted her father. " 'Vere, as in veritas .' "
" 'Aylwin—formidable friend.' He was a friend to Robin, wasn't he?"
"And formidable." Elizabeth's eyes glistened. "They couldn't stop him. They kept us out when Robin was dying, because they were all afraid. But not Cousin Vere." She took her sister's hand. "He was true to Robin."
"We shall be true to him."
They smiled at each other.
Elizabeth put the Whisperer into the fire.
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
"Now, as to those letters," she said.
"Not so tight, drat you," Lydia snapped. "The thing's hard enough to move in.
You needn't make it impossible to breathe in."
The thing in question was a corsetlike device ingeniously designed to transform a womanly shape into a manly one.
The person Lydia snapped at was Helena Martin.*[*See Captives of the Night , Avon Books, © 1994.]
In the old days, when she and Lydia had played together in the London slums, Helena had a highly successful career as a thief. Nowadays, she was an even more successful courtesan. The friendship had survived years of separation as well as changes in vocation.
At present they were in the elegantly cluttered dressing room of Helena's quietly expensive residence in Kensington.
"It must be tight," Helena answered, "unless you want your manly chest going in one direction while the rest of you goes another." She gave the lacing knot a final, brutal yank, then stepped away.
Lydia surveyed her reflection in the glass. Thanks to the contraption, she now had a chest like a pigeon's. The look was ultra-fashionable. Many men padded their chests and shoulders and squeezed their waists with corsets to achieve it.
Except Ainswood. The manly form under his garments owed nothing to artifice.
For about the thousandth time in the week since the encounter at the Blue Owl, Lydia pushed his image from her mind.
She stepped away from the mirror and dressed. With the device secured, the rest of the masculine costume she quickly donned fit satisfactorily.
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
Months ago Helena had worn the ensemble to a masquerade and fooled everyone. Thanks to a few alterations—Helena was smaller—Lydia expected similar success, though she wasn't going to a masquerade.
Her destination was Jerrimer's, a gambling hell in a quiet way off St. James's Street. She had told Macgowan that she wanted to write a story about the place, the kind her
In time, the rage eased, and the painful grief subsided into quiet sorrow. Now, two years after losing their beloved father and nearly eighteen months after the death of the "baby" brother they'd doted upon, their natural zest for life was returning.
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
The world was no longer uniformly black. There were dark moments, to be sure, but there was sunshine as well. And one bright beam of sunshine was their guardian, whose doings afforded no end of vicarious excitement in what, at Blakesleigh, was a stultifyingly tame existence.
"I'll wager anything that half the letters Aunt Dorothea gets from her friends are about him," Elizabeth said, after a long sigh about the waiting period.
"I doubt the gossips know any more than the Whisperer does. They get everything secondhand. Or third-hand." Emily looked at her sister. "I'm not sure Papa would approve of our nosing about in Aunt Dorothea's correspondence box. We should not think of it."
"I'm not sure he'd approve of no one telling us anything about our own guardian," said Elizabeth. "It's dis-respectful of Papa, who named him guardian, isn't it? Remember how he would read his friends' letters, and laugh, and say,
'Only listen to what your Cousin Vere has done this time, the rascal.' "
Emily smiled. " 'A hellion,' he'd say. 'A true Mallory hellion, like your grandpa and his brothers.' "
" 'The last of the old, true breed,' " Elizabeth softly quoted her father. " 'Vere, as in veritas .' "
" 'Aylwin—formidable friend.' He was a friend to Robin, wasn't he?"
"And formidable." Elizabeth's eyes glistened. "They couldn't stop him. They kept us out when Robin was dying, because they were all afraid. But not Cousin Vere." She took her sister's hand. "He was true to Robin."
"We shall be true to him."
They smiled at each other.
Elizabeth put the Whisperer into the fire.
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
"Now, as to those letters," she said.
"Not so tight, drat you," Lydia snapped. "The thing's hard enough to move in.
You needn't make it impossible to breathe in."
The thing in question was a corsetlike device ingeniously designed to transform a womanly shape into a manly one.
The person Lydia snapped at was Helena Martin.*[*See Captives of the Night , Avon Books, © 1994.]
In the old days, when she and Lydia had played together in the London slums, Helena had a highly successful career as a thief. Nowadays, she was an even more successful courtesan. The friendship had survived years of separation as well as changes in vocation.
At present they were in the elegantly cluttered dressing room of Helena's quietly expensive residence in Kensington.
"It must be tight," Helena answered, "unless you want your manly chest going in one direction while the rest of you goes another." She gave the lacing knot a final, brutal yank, then stepped away.
Lydia surveyed her reflection in the glass. Thanks to the contraption, she now had a chest like a pigeon's. The look was ultra-fashionable. Many men padded their chests and shoulders and squeezed their waists with corsets to achieve it.
Except Ainswood. The manly form under his garments owed nothing to artifice.
For about the thousandth time in the week since the encounter at the Blue Owl, Lydia pushed his image from her mind.
She stepped away from the mirror and dressed. With the device secured, the rest of the masculine costume she quickly donned fit satisfactorily.
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
Months ago Helena had worn the ensemble to a masquerade and fooled everyone. Thanks to a few alterations—Helena was smaller—Lydia expected similar success, though she wasn't going to a masquerade.
Her destination was Jerrimer's, a gambling hell in a quiet way off St. James's Street. She had told Macgowan that she wanted to write a story about the place, the kind her
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