What do you think?
Rate this book
533 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1992
Well, as you can see, I can’t seem to write a coherent review of Flowers from the Storm, and trust me, I’ve spent months trying. And as silly as it might sound, I’ve been afraid to write this review, because if you’ve read the book and didn’t like it, or if you believe as Christian’s mother and Maddy did, that he was deserving of the “punishment” God set upon him, then you believe those things about me, too, because this book is my life. But, fortunately for Christian and Maddy, they got their happily ever after. So, rather than write anymore and try to explain it all, I’ll just continue to watch over Christian and keep him close to my heart.
He lay facedown on the bed, his arms spread, his cheek against the silken sheets. His ribs ached. If he'd known a prayer he would have prayed it - coward that he was, to ask for favors now, when he'd never deigned to ask before.
He didn’t reckon that God owed him anything. He reckoned that he’d had it all, and wasted it. Burning lakes and howling fiends had just never seemed that convincing, perils hardly fit to frighten naughty children.
He turned over, staring up at the darkness.
Damned… having found out now what hell was really like.
“God forgive, Jervaulx - that I sh'd love thee."
"That I should love thee.”
“Maddygirl deserved to be a duchess. It had been a great mistake of nature to make her a thee-thou sugar scoop bonnet.”
He wasn’t a two-year-old. He had not lost his reason. He isn’t mad; he is maddened.
“It was pointless, this small attempt at escape. He defeated her. What she wished to avoid was inside her; not for one instant as she walked did she think of anything but Jervaulx.”
“He was the Devil - smiling a little tender, a warmth that she’d never foreseen, not in all her everyday prayers to God to keep her soul safe and in spiritual grace. Never once had she imagined that Satan would smooth her hair, would smell of heat and earth…wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t hiss evil promises in her ears. Never once had she thought he would be anything but ugly and corrupt and easy for virtuous Archimedea Timms to scorn.”
“I‘m afraid,” she whispered. “I‘m afraid of what thou wilt do to my soul and my heart.”
“Your heart…is precious to me,” he said quietly.”
“Oh, stop, say stop, but it‘s too late.
Too late. Because God forgive me, I love thee more than my own life.”
He held out his hand. The light behind him caught unexpected color - the long stems of wild Michaelmas daisies stirred by the wind ...
Help me. I can't do this alone anymore. Amen.
The change in things, the profound chasm between yesterday and today lay between them.
Mist. He'd been living in a mist.
‘He liked radical politics and had a fondness for chocolate.’
‘Could not. Would not. Was afraid to go alone.
He put his hands over his eyes and through his hair, defying the sharp agony in his back. He’d never known he would be a coward, afraid of what he wanted so intensely.’
“You…make me…better.”
“Oh, I will try.” She played with a lock at his temple. “But thou art the duke, a bad wicked man, and I love thee too well to make thee something different.”
“Bad wicked…idiot,” he said wryly.
“No,” she said. “A star that I could only look up and wonder at. Thou perceivest my true covetous nature—I’m glad thou fell, and I can hold thee in my hands.”
He gave a hoarse laugh. “Tinsel…star.” He looked down at her lap. “Don’t deserve you, Maddy, but too…reprobate to give you up.”
“My apologies, Mr. Timms. I can hardly help myself. Shall we proceed to her nose? That, we shall call a nose of—character. I don’t think we can call it perfect; it’s a little too aquiline for that. A decided nose. A maiden lady’s nose. It goes with the tilt of the chin. But her eyes…I’m afraid her eyes ruin the spinster effect again, most emphatically. And her mouth. She has a pensive, a very pretty mouth, that doesn’t smile overly often.” He took a sip of wine. “But then again—let’s be fair. I’ve definitely seen her smile at you, but she hasn’t favored me at all. This serious mouth might have been insipid, but instead it goes with the wonderful long lashes that haven’t got that silly debutante curl. They’re straight, but they’re so long and angled down that they shadow her eyes and turn the hazel to gold, and she seems as if she’s looking out through them at me. No…” He shook his head sadly. “Miss Timms, I regret to tell you that it isn’t a spinster effect at all. I’ve never had a spinster look out beneath her lashes at me the way you do.”
She moistened her lips. “Why didst thou hit him?”
He made a groan, shook his head. “Kill!”
“No. No—I don’t believe that. Thou couldst not have wished to kill him. Why didst thou attack him?”
He gazed at her as if she were some mysterious vision, then shook his head again, looking down.
“Understand?” she asked.
He shook his head, dropped it lower.
Maddy knelt. “I want to understand,” she said slowly. “Tell me why.”
“Want?” he murmured close to her ear.
“They’ll come,” she moaned. “They’ll come, they’ll come.”
His arms tightened. “Want me?”
A book is a magic thing. It has a life of its own. Do you doubt it, in the small hours of the night when you sit up in bed reading and reading, living in a world you never made, unable to bear to leave it until the last page closes and it vanishes into thin air?
-Laura Kinsale
With no rule but love between us...