Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways, #5)

by Lisa Kleypas

never make out any of them except for Orion and his belt. But the longer I stared, the more the sky seemed like an ocean, and then I saw an entire fleet of ships made of stars.

I imagined we were on one of those ships, sailing on moonlight.

In truth, I find the ocean unnerving. Too vast.

I much prefer the forests around Stony Cross. They’re always fascinating, and full of commonplace miracles … spiderwebs glittering with rain, new trees growing from the trunks of fallen oaks.

I wish you could see them with me. And together we would listen to the wind rushing through the leaves overhead, a lo...

Enclosed is a robin’s feather that I found during my walk this morning. It’s for luck. Keep it in your pocket.

Just now I had the oddest feeling while writing this letter, as if you were standing in the room with me. As if my pen had become a magic wand, and I had conjured you right here. If I wish hard enough

I have the robin’s feather in my pocket. How did you know I needed a token to carry into battle?

During the lulls, I try to imagine being in some other place. I imagine you with your feet propped near the hearth, and your breath sweet with mint tea. I imagine walking through the Stony Cross forests with you.

I would love to see some commonplace miracles, but I don’t think I could find them without you.

I think you might be my only chance of becoming part o...

I feel as if I have more memories of you than...

A dance. A conversation. A kiss. I wish I could reli...

I would appreciate them more. I would appreciate ...

Last night I dreamed of you again. I couldn’t see your face, but...

You were whisperi...

The last time I held you, I didn’t know who you truly were. Or who I ...

We never looked beneath the surface. Perhaps it’s b...

I don’t think I could have left you, had I felt for you t...

I’ll tell you what I’m fighting for. Not for England, nor her allies, no...

It’s all come down to the hope of be...

You’ve made me realize that words are the most important things in the world. And never so much as now.

I go there often. It’s my hiding place, my sanctuary … and now that you know about it, it’s yours as well.

I’ve just lit a candle and set it in a window. A very tiny lodestar, for you to follow home.

I try to think of you in your secret house … my princess in a tower. And my lodestar in the window.

I fear for my soul. The things I have done, Pru. The things I have yet to do. If I don’t expect God to forgive me, how can I ask you to?

Love forgives all things. You don’t even need to ask.

Aristotle taught that stars are made of a different matter than the four earthly elements—a quintessence—that also happens to be what the human psyche is made of. Which is why man’s spirit corresponds to the stars.

I do like the idea that there’s a little starlight in each of us.

I carry thoughts of you like my own personal constellation. How far away you are, dearest friend, but no farther than those fixed stars in my soul.

Do not doubt that I am coming back to you someday.

Until I can hold you in my arms, these worn and ramshackle words are the only way to reach you. What a poor translation of love they are. Words could never do justice to you, or capture what you mean to me.

Still … I love you. I swear by th...

I will not leave this earth until you hear thos...

He had written to her on the thirtieth of June, without knowing she had written to him on the same day. One couldn’t help but take that as a sign.

It was a different kind of grief, of course, but it carried the same flavor of hopeless need.

How had these feelings crept up on her? Good God, she could hardly remember what Christopher Phelan looked like, and yet her heart was breaking over him.

Worst of all, it was entirely likely that Christopher’s declarations had been inspired by the hardships of wartime. This Christopher she knew from the letters … the man she loved … might vanish once he returned home.

As for the love letter, she crumpled it and shoved it into the drawer. Later she would burn it in her own private ceremony, and watch every heartfelt word burn to ashes.

This is the smell of June, she wanted to write to Christopher … honeysuckle, green hay, wet linen hung out to dry …

“Audrey,” she said unsteadily, “I wish I could bear this for you.” Audrey stared at her for a long moment, her face flushing with emotion. “That, Beatrix, is what makes you a true friend.”

It was important for them to believe that if or when their time came, they would be treated with at least a flicker of humanity.

Somehow, half a world away, he had fallen in love with her. It didn’t matter that he hardly knew her. What little he knew of her, he loved.

Through their letters, they had found the promise of more in each other.

think you want him for the wrong reasons … when there are so many right reasons. He’s earned it.

“Captain Phelan wrote that when you and he knew each other, neither of you looked beneath the surface.”

Beatrix gave her a bleak look, reflecting that for Prudence, the only thing beneath the surface was more surface.

but it was no longer her right to ask questions of him. It never had been.

in the meantime, you have your little brother.” “But Alex is hardly any fun,” Rye said. “He can’t talk or throw a ball. And he leaks.” “At both ends,”

“I’d much rather play.” “Yes, but you must learn your maths.” “I don’t need to, really. I already know how to count to a hundred. And I’m sure I’ll never need more than a hundred of anything.”