Lillian Bowman Quotes

“Westcliff thinks that St. Vincent is in love with you.”

Evie choked a little and didn’t dare look up from her tea. “Wh-why does he think that?”

“He’s known St. Vincent from childhood, and can read him fairly well. And Westcliff sees an odd sort of logic in why you would finally be the one to win St. Vincent’s heart. He says a girl like you would appeal to…hmm, how did he put it?…I can’t remember the exact words, but it was something like… you would appeal to St. Vincent’s deepest, most secret fantasy.”

Evie felt her cheeks flushing while a skirmish of pain and hope took place in the tired confines of her chest. She tried to respond sardonically. “I should think his fantasy is to consort with as many women as possible.”

A grin crossed Lillian’s lips. “Dear, that is not St. Vincent’s fantasy, it’s his reality. And you’re probably the first sweet, decent girl he’s ever had anything to do with.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter

“Does he behave in rude or improper ways?"
"He's a Bowman. We don't know any better.”
― Lisa Kleypas, A Wallflower Christmas

“My lord," she whispered, "have you gone mad?"

"Yes. Yes.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“A rare orchid that gives off its scent only at night," Nettle replied. "The petals are pure white, far more delicate even than jasmine. One cannot obtain the essence by heating the blossoms- they are too fragile."
"Cold enfleurage, then?" Lillian murmured, referring to the process of soaking the precious petals in sheets of fat until it was saturated with their fragrance, then using an alcohol-based solvent to draw out the pure essence.
"Yes."
She took another breath of the exquisite essence. "What is the orchid's name?"
"Lady of the Night."
That elicited a delighted chuckle from Daisy. "That sounds like the title of one of the novels my mother has forbidden me to read.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“Without thinking, Lillian let out a few curse words that caused Evie to blanch. One of Lillian's more questionable accomplishments was the ability to swear as fluently as a sailor, acquired from much time spent with her grandmother, who had worked as a washwoman at the harbor docks.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“But why shouldn't I thank someone for doing me a service?" he heard Lillian ask with genuine perplexity. "It's polite to say thank you, isn't it?"
"You should no more thank a servant than you would think a horse for allowing you to ride it, or a table for bearing the dishes you place upon it."
"Well, we're not discussing animals or inanimate objects, are we? A footman is a person."
"No," the countess said coldly. "A footman is a servant."
"And a servant is a person," Lillian said stubbornly.
The elderly woman sighed in exasperation. "Whatever your view of a footman is, you must not thank him at dinner. Servants neither expect nor desire such condescension, and if you insist on putting them in the awkward position of having to respond to your remarks, they will think badly of you... as will everyone else. Do not insult me with that vapid stare, Miss Bowman! You come from a family of means- surely you employed servants at your New York residence!"
"Yes," Lillian acknowledged pertly, "but we talked to ours.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“I shall leave you to your Sisyphean task."
"What does that mean?" he heard Daisy ask.
Lillian replied while her smiling gaze remained locked with Marcus's. "It seems you avoided one too many Greek mythology lessons, dear. Sisyphus was a soul in Hades who was damned to perform an eternal task... rolling a huge boulder up a hill, only to have it roll down again just before he reached the top."
"Then if the countess is Sisyphus," Daisy concluded, "I suppose we're..."
"The boulder," Lady Westcliff said succinctly, causing both girls to laugh.
"Do continue with our instruction, my lady," Lillian said, giving her full attention to the elderly woman as Marcus left the room. "We'll try not to flatten you on the way down.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“I wonder why it is that so many light-haired women smell of amber..."
"You mean amber perfume?" Daisy asked.
"No-their skin itself. Amber, and sometimes honey..."
"What on earth do you mean? the younger girl asked with a bemused laugh. "People don't smell like anything, except when they need to wash."
The pair regarded each other with what appeared to be mutual surprise. "Yes, they do," Lillian said. "Everyone has a smell... don't say you've never noticed? The way some people's skin is like bitter almond, or violet, while others..."
"Others have a scent like plum, or palm sap, or fish hay," Nettle commented.
Lillian glanced at him with a satisfied smile. "Yes, exactly!"
Nettle removed his spectacles and polished them with care, while his mind swarmed with questions. Was it possible that this girl could actually detect a person's intrinsic scent? He himself could- but it was a rare gift, and not one that he had ever known a woman to have.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“Despite the sisters' pretend rivalry and occasional squabbles, they were each other's staunchest ally and closest friend. Few people in Lillian's life had ever loved her except Daisy, who adored the ugliest stray dogs, the most annoying children, and things that needed to be repaired or thrown out altogether.
And yet for all their closeness, they were quite different. Daisy was an idealist, a dreamer, a mercurial creature who alternated between childlike whimsy and shrewd intelligence. Lillian knew herself to be a sharp-tongued girl with a fortress of defenses between herself and the rest of the world- a girl with well-maintained cynicism and a biting sense of humor.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“While the indecisive customer hovered over an array of perfumes that Nettle had brought out for her, the American girls browsed among the shelves of perfumes, colognes, pomades, waxes, creams, soaps, and other items intended for beauty care. There were bath oils in stoppered crystal bottles, , and tins of herbal unguents, and tiny boxes of violet pastilles to freshen the breath. Lower shelves held treasure troves of scented candles and inks, sachets filled with clove-saturated smelling salts, potpourri bowls, and jars of pastes and balms. Nettle noticed, however, that while the younger girl, Daisy, viewed the assortment with only mild interest, the older one, Lillian, had stopped before a row of oils and extracts that contained pure scent. Rose, frangipani, jasmine, bergamot, and so forth. Lifting the amber glass bottles, she opened them carefully and inhaled with visible appreciation.
Eventually the blond woman made her choice, purchased a flacon of perfume, and left the shop, a small bell ringing cheerfully as the door closed.
Lillian, who had turned to glance at the departing woman, murmured thoughtfully, "I wonder why it is that so many light-haired women smell of amber..."
"You mean amber perfume?" Daisy asked.
"No- their skin itself. Amber, and sometimes honey..."
"What on earth do you mean?" the younger girl asked with a bemused laugh. "People don't smell like anything, except when they need to wash."
The pair regarded each other with what appeared to be mutual surprise. "Yes, they do," Lillian said. "Everyone has a smell... don't say you've never noticed? The way some people's skin is like bitter almond, or violet, while others..."
"Others have a scent like plum, or palm sap, or fresh hay," Nettle commented.
Lillian glanced at him with a satisfied smile. "Yes, exactly!"
Nettle removed his spectacles and polished them with care, while his mind swarmed with questions. Could it be? Was it possible that this girl could actually detect a person's intrinsic scent? He himself could- but it was a rare gift, and not one that he had ever known a woman to have.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“Every now and then the breeze carries a distinct hint of eau de sheep."
"Really?" Annabelle sniffed experimentally. "I don't smell a thing."
"That's because you don't have a nose," Lillian replied.
"I beg your pardon?" Annabelle asked with a quizzical grin.
"Oh, you have a regular sort of nose," Lillian explained, "but I have 'a nose.' I'm unusually sensitive to smell. Give me any perfume, and I can separate it into all its parts. Rather like listening to a musical chord and dividing all its notes. Before we left New York, I even helped to develop a formula for scented soap, for my father's factory."
"Could you create a perfume, do you think?" Annabelle asked in fascination.
"I daresay I could create an excellent perfume," Lillian said confidently.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Secrets of a Summer Night

“Damn," Westcliff finally exclaimed. "I have occasional business dealings with their father. How am I supposed to face Thomas Bowman without remembering that I've seen his daughter in her underwear?"
"Daughters," Simon corrected. "They were both there."
"I only noticed the taller one."
"Lillian?"
"Yes, that one." A scowl crossed Westcliff's face. "Good God, no wonder they're all unmarried! They're heathens even by American standards. And the way that woman spoke to me, as if I should have been embarrassed to interrupt their pagan revelry-”
― Lisa Kleypas, Secrets of a Summer Night

“As Lillian walked into the orangery, she was suffused in the scent of... oranges. But lemons, bays, and myrtles also cast their fragrance extravagantly through the gently heated air.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“But why shouldn't I thank someone for doing me a service?" he heard Lillian ask with genuine perplexity. "It's polite to say thank you, isn't it?"
"You should no more thank a servant than you would thank a horse for allowing you to ride it, or a table for bearing the dishes you place upon it."
"Well, we're not discussing animals or inanimate objects, are we? A footman is a person."
"No," the countess said coldly. "A footman is a servant."
"And a servant is a person," Lillian said stubbornly.
The elderly woman sighed in exasperation. "Whatever your view of a footman is, you must not thank him at dinner. Servants neither expect nor desire such condescension, and if you insist on putting them in the awkward position of having to respond to your remarks, they will think badly of you... as will everyone else. Do not insult me with that vapid stare, Miss Bowman! You come from a family of means- surely you employed servants at your New York residence!"
"Yes," Lillian acknowledged pertly, "but we talked to ours.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“She wandered to one of the lavender stalks and touched the tiny violet-blue blossoms, and brought her scented fingertips to her throat. "They extract the essential oil by forcing steam through the plants and drawing off the liquid. It takes something like five hundred pounds of lavender plants to produce just a few precious ounces of oils.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“The prettiest bottle, made of glass molded in a pattern of leaves, was half-filled with a colorless liquor. Her attention was caught by the sight of a pear inside the bottle.
Lifting the bottle, Lillian examined it closely and gently swirled the liquid until the pear lifted and turned with the motion. A perfectly preserved golden pear. This must be a new variety of eau-de-vie, as the French called it... "water of life," a colorless brandy distilled from grapes, plums, or elderberries. Pears as well, it seemed.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“You are a rebellion, a useless retaliation against a ghost. And when the novelty of his vulgar bride wears thin, the earl will come to despise you as I do. But by then it will be too late. The lineage will be ruined."
Lillian remained expressionless, though she felt the color drain from her face. No one, she realized, had ever looked at her with real hatred until now. It was clear that the countess wished every ill upon her short of death- perhaps not even barring that. Rather than shrink, cry, or protest, however, Lillian found herself launching a counterattack. "Maybe he wants to marry me as a retaliation against you, my lady. In which case I am delighted to serve as the means of reprisal.”
― Lisa Kleypas, It Happened One Autumn

“Lillian tells everyone about her flaws," Daisy said, her brown eyes twinkling. "She's proud of them."
"I do have a terrible temper," Lillian acknowledged smugly. "And I can curse like a sailor."
"Who taught you to do that?" Annabelle asked.
"My grandmother. She was a washerwoman. And my grandfather was the soap maker from whom she bought her supplies. Since she worked near the docks, most of her customers were sailors and dockers, who taught her words so vulgar that it would curl your hair ribbons to hear them.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Secrets of a Summer Night

“No one's ever had this effect on me before. I feel ten times more alive." She laughed self-consciously. "Does that sound silly?"
"Not at all. I understand. Your mother had the same effect on me."
"Did she?"
The earl let out a gravelly chuckle as he thought back to those days. "She was a fearless, free-spirited beauty with all the self-restraint of an unbroken horse. I knew she wasn't to the only life I could offer her. But I was mesmerized by her. I loved her enthusiasm and warmth, and everything that made her different from me. I thought if we were both willing to take a chance on each other, we might have a good marriage. It's turned out to be an extraordinary one."
"No regrets, then?" Merritt dared to ask. "Even in the privacy of your own thoughts?"
"Never," he said promptly. "Without Lillian, I would never have known true happiness. I don't hold with the common wisdom that a couple must have the same tastes and backgrounds. Married life would be dull indeed without some friction: one can't light a match without it."
Merritt smiled. "I adore you, Papa. You've made it nearly impossible for me to find a man who doesn't suffer in comparison to you.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Disguise