The Lure of the Moonflower Quotes

“It's the exile's dilemma. The home they yearn for is never the home to which they return. If they return.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“If a man took a lover it would be accounted commonplace. Why shouldn't you? Your virtue lies in your mind, not in what lies between your legs.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“What is love?
Jane had asked Nicolas, when he had professed that emotion, unasked. It hadn’t been coyness. It had been a genuine question.
She knew what the poets said of love; she knew what great men and women had sacrificed in the name of that elusive emotion. Towers had toppled; fleets had been launched. But Jane had always wondered if they had all felt a bit sheepish about it afterwards, if what they had lauded as love was merely, in fact, the grip of a strong infatuation, lust fueled by inaccessibility. The prize, when won, lost its luster; infatuation turned to indifference. The famous beauty had a shrill voice; the great lover stinted his servants. Love was a chimera, an ideal.
Maybe you just aren’t capable of feeling it
, Nicolas had tossed back at her, one of those golden barbs that cut deeper than she had ever allowed herself to acknowledge.
But he had been wrong. And so had she. Love wasn’t an ideal; it was messy and muddy and fraught with inconsistencies. It was a hard arm around her shoulders when she slipped and might have fallen, a reluctant nod in the middle of an argument. It was the slouch of Jack’s shoulders and the crooked line of his smile. It was knowing that whatever hardships befell them, they would stumble through it together.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“The woman in purple subjected Jack to a critical inspection. “You must be Jack. Jane succeeded in part of her mission, at least.” And then: “You don’t look at all as I expected.”
“Fewer horns?” said Jack tersely.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“If you don’t mind my interrupting your no doubt fascinating private conversation,” said Richard, lifting a blond brow, “there have been some inquiries as to why our guest is not bound.”
“Or trussed,” contributed Henrietta.
“I have,” said Nicolas, spreading his arms wide, “attempted to explain, but your comrades, my love, seem reluctant to listen. I would prefer not to have rope marks on this coat, if it is all the same.”
“There must be some shackles in the dungeon,” said Henrietta darkly.
“Rust stains,” said Nicolas politely, “are very difficult to get out. My valet would be most cross. And one does not like to encounter Gaston when he is cross.”
Miles nodded knowingly. “Valets, eh?”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Don’t worry,” said Lizzy brightly, dancing into the chamber in a peculiar costume that was part Robin Hood and part Paris frock. “I have my crossbow.”
Nicolas regarded the costume appreciatively. “That is a most unusual ensemble, mademoiselle. But becoming.”
“I know,” said Lizzy. “And I still have my crossbow.”
Nicolas bowed his head in acknowledgment.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Happiness isn’t a gift you can give. It’s a task you work on together.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Jack reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The perfume was growing on him. “How are your blisters?”
It didn’t work. “They sting,” said Jane shortly. “But I didn’t mind that. I didn’t mind any of it. As I would have told you if you had only
listened.”
Jack pressed his eyes shut. Somehow he had gone from being noble and wronged to just being wrong. He wasn’t quite sure how that had happened. “I thought you wanted a bath and a proper bed.”
“There is,” said Jane dangerously, “a vast difference between wanting a proper bed and requiring coronets on my sheets. Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t care what sort of bed it was as long as you were in it?”
The words rang through the small room. Jack’s throat felt sore, swollen. He couldn’t seem to force words out, even if there had been any words to say. Jane’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, her bosom swelling distractingly over the low neckline of her white gauze gown.
“Jane—” Jack managed, but it was too late.
Jane jerked away, knocking over a bag of meal in the process. “I don’t need another man to put me on a pedestal. I have enough of those already.” She wrenched open the door to the drilling ground, the sky flaming red and orange behind her. “Congratulations on a successful mission, Moonflower.”
And the door slammed, taking with it Jane and the last of the light.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Jack’s fingers closed around her shoulders. Jane could feel his labored breaths, the ragged movement of his chest. “You show up looking like that—wearing his dress, his jewels, his perfumes. What in the hell am I supposed to think?” He released her, stepping back. “My congratulations, Countess. You’ll make a beautiful ornament at the court of Louis the Eighteenth.”
Jane had always prided herself on her ability to retain her poise, even in the most grueling of circumstances. But she was frustrated, humiliated, hurt, and just plain furious.
Jane poked Jack in the chest with her index finger. It felt good, so she did it again. “Would you like to know just how many times I’ve told Nicolas no? By last count, approximately thirty-seven. Not that it’s any of your concern. You see, he, like you, seems to believe that I don’t know what is best for me.”
Jack grabbed her hand before she could poke him again. “He can give you everything I can’t. He can give you riches, titles, a place in the world.”
Jane jerked her hand away. “I have my place in the world! I made it myself, with my own hard work.” And error, a great deal of error. She braced her hands against Jack’s shoulders, holding herself away to look at his face. “Have I ever—ever—given you any indication that I desire titles or riches?”
“Not in so many words, no . . .” Jack’s fingers itched to close around her waist and draw her close. Everything that had seemed so clear ten minutes ago was murky and blurry. He knew he had a point, but he was no longer entirely sure what that point was. He retreated a step, his back hitting the whitewashed stone of the wall.
Jane stalked forward, cornering him. Jack could feel the rough stone biting into his back as Jane glared at him, her chest right beneath his nose. “I don’t want to be placed on a pedestal. I don’t want to be the ornament of anyone’s court. And I certainly don’t want a lute beneath my window!”
She had told him that, hadn’t she? Jack was beginning to feel rather less sure of himself. The Gardener, that proposal, felt very far away, and Jane was very near.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“He turned as she entered, barely visible in the dusky room. “Am I to wish you happy?”
Jane stopped short. After all these weeks together, everything they had shared. “That’s all? That’s all you have to say?”
Jack pushed away from the window. “What am I meant to do? Duel for you?” He jerked a thumb back in the direction of the armory. “He would win.”
“I never asked you to duel for me!” She would do her own dueling, thank you very much. Jack of all people should know that. Jane’s nails dug into her palms. “I’m not a prize to be won or a parcel to be handed back and forth.”
Jack held up a hand. “I never said—”
No, he didn’t, did he? Tight-lipped, Jane advanced on the man she had foolishly allowed herself to grow to love. “You never say anything. Because if you did, you might have to admit that you care. It’s easier just to turn around and walk away. Just like you’ve walked away from everything.”
She could tell she had hit home by the way Jack stiffened. “I didn’t precisely see you saying no to him, did I?”
It was cold in the small room, icy cold, but Jane didn’t feel it. “Because you didn’t stay to see it!”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“He paused for dramatic effect, waiting until all eyes were on him before turning and looking at Jane, an intimate, heavy-lidded look designed just for her—and his audience. Holding out both hands to her, he said in a voice designed to carry, “It is traditional, is it not, for an alliance to be sealed with a marriage?”
Taking Jane’s hands, he drew her forward, into the center of the room, where everyone could have the best possible view.
Jane’s hands were cold, cold as ice. She drew them away, frozen with the wrongness of it. “Nicolas—don’t. Please.”
She cast an anxious glance over her shoulder at Jack, who was doing his best impression of a stone boulder.
Nicolas tugged on her hand, claiming her attention. “Surely now,” he said softly, smiling up at her in a way that would once have made her all fluttery, “there can be no obstacle to our union.”
“Aside from good taste and common sense,” said Henrietta hotly.
“He’s not bad-looking,” commented Miss Gwen. “If you like reptiles.”
Dropping to the floor at Jane’s feet, Nicolas drew the signet from his finger. Not his personal signet, the one he used as the Gardener, but the sigil of the counts of Brillac.
Once, a very long time ago, Jane had imagined this moment, had imagined a world in which she and Nicolas might be together.
That, however, was before she had known him.
And before she had known Jack.
“Well, my Jeanne?” Nicolas said whimsically, proffering the ring. “Will you make me the happiest of men?”
Gold glittered in the torchlight. On the edge of the circle, Jack turned on his heel and stalked off.
Yanking her skirt away, Jane said sharply, “Did you really believe that making a public spectacle of me would change my answer?”
From the side of the room, there was the faint click of a door closing.
The dimple was very apparent in Nicolas’s cheek as he smiled up at her. “I live in hope.”
“Don’t,” said Jane crisply. “Not on that score.”
“That,” said Henrietta, “in case you didn’t notice, was a no.”
Nicolas rose easily to his feet. “I prefer to think of it as a ‘perhaps later.’”
“It was a no,” said Jane, and turned on her heel, not sure whom she wanted to shake more: Nicolas for refusing to take no for an answer, or Jack for walking away.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“I’ll believe it when I see it, missy. Snakes don’t change their scales, no matter how many times he”—Miss Gwen poked her sword parasol in the Gardener’s general direction—“changes his name. What has it been? Four names so far? Five? It’s getting hard to keep track. Make up your mind already.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Our guest”—she gave Nicolas a hard look, willing him to behave himself—“is not bound because Monsieur le Comte de Brillac has expressed a desire to become our ally.”
Miss Gwen snorted. “Oh, is that what he’s calling himself now?”
Miles looked at Miss Gwen with interest. “Do you mean the count thingy, or ally?”
Nicolas stepped into the middle of the room with the grace of a born performer. “Both, I assure you, are true. The title of Comte de Brillac comes to me from my mother’s husband. Ally, I hope, is a title I may earn.” He bowed towards the door, where four marines were staggering beneath the burden of an unconscious Braganza. “May Her Majesty Queen Maria be the first token of my good intentions.”
“Rather a large token,” muttered Miles.
“The size of the token,” said Nicolas, with a courtly bow, “is a representation of the sincerity of my commitment.”
Or of Queen Maria’s fondness for
biscoitos, but Jane decided not to press that point.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“You,” said Henrietta, regarding the Gardener with the sort of venom usually reserved for people who ignore the queue at lending libraries. “What are you doing here?”
The Gardener doffed his hat. “Lady Henrietta. How lovely to see you again.”
Jane couldn’t echo the sentiment. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Henrietta; Henrietta was like a sister to her, or at least the closer kind of cousin. But she wasn’t exactly the person Jane would have chosen for a sensitive mission to a French-occupied country.
And where Henrietta was . . .
“Hullo! Did I hear voices?” Miles careened into his wife’s back.
Catching sight of the Gardener and his wife’s Medusa stare, Miles prudently backed up a step.
“Does anyone have any port on hand?” Miles inquired of no one in particular. “And perhaps a biscuit.”
Lady Henrietta plunked her hands on her hips. “You’re going to feed him?”
“No,” said Miles, hiding behind his floppy hair. “For me. I feel in need of fortification.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Jack’s throat worked as he looked out across the waves. “How much of a chance do you think she has against the Gardener?”
Miss Gwen didn’t belittle or make light of his concerns. “The man’s twisty; I’ll give him that. And there was a time . . . There was a time when he might have been a danger to her.” She looked shrewdly at Jack. “I take it that is no longer likely to be a concern.”
Was he wearing a sign on his chest? Jack felt like a raw youth caught mooning beneath a girl’s window.
“Jane isn’t the only one who is maddeningly omniscient,” Jack muttered.
“Where did you think she got it from?”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“The urge to turn his back until his stepmother went away was strong, but the urge to talk about Jane was stronger. “You were her chaperone?” Jack said, the words half lost on the wind.
“Chaperone, second in command.” Miss Gwen rested her parasol point on the ground, frowning out to sea, her eyes searching the waters that separated them from the mainland. “I’ve known her since she was born.”
“Was she always . . .” Jack stuck.
“Maddeningly omniscient?” Miss Gwen gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “Yes. Even as a child. Oh, she hid it well. The girl had good manners. She knew when to keep her mouth shut in adult company. But if you made the mistake of asking! The vicar,” she said with satisfaction, “never questioned her about her catechism again.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Jack looked down at the cracked paving at his feet. The last thing he wanted was to have a discussion about his emotions with the woman who had married his father—who, for some bizarre reason, everyone, with the exception of his father, persisted in referring to as “Miss” Gwen.
It didn’t seem to bother his father. In fact, his father was as happy as Jack could ever remember seeing him.
It was very odd thinking of one’s parent as a person. Even odder being introduced, in one fell swoop, to his father’s new life: a wife, a family, albeit a rather amorphously connected family. Miles Dorrington had attempted to explain how everyone was connected, but Jack would have needed a chart to map it all out, and frankly he just wasn’t that interested.
He was more concerned about what was happening with Jane.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“She won’t come that way.”
Jack’s stepmother stepped out beside him on the large terrace in front of the fortress. All around them, the setting sun painted the sky a brilliant red and purple that only accentuated the jagged cliffs of the isle of Berlengas, jutting out into the sea around them. The wind had risen, slapping the waves into a frenzy. Whitecapped, they dashed themselves against the base of the narrow causeway that connected the Forte São João Batista with the island.
“I know that,” said Jack quickly, but despite himself, his eyes turned again to that narrow and twisting stone bridge, the shadows playing tricks on him, presenting him with the image of a carriage, the echo of horses’ hooves against the stone.
His stepmother was right: anyone would be mad to attempt the bridge at dusk in a high wind. Under the very best of conditions it would be dangerous. And these were not the best of conditions.
If Jane came at all, she would come by sea.
“She will come,” said Jack fiercely. “She knows what she’s doing.”
His stepmother furled her parasol, tucking it under her arm. “Most of the time.” Before Jack could retort, she added in a voice like vinegar, “I care about her, too, you know.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“She feigned a sip of her wine. It was claret, not port. It was, she thought, very like Nicolas to travel with his own cellar into a region famed for its wines. “I shall always think of you as a friend.”
“Only a friend?” Nicolas arranged himself flatteringly at her feet. It was, Jane knew, a standard tableau, the young swain at the feet of his love.
She could speak her lines, or she could change the dialogue, throw him off balance. “Said the amorous shepherd to his love? Do get up, Nicolas. I’ve come to you on a serious matter.”
“What could be more serious than love?” But he rose all the same, drawing a chair to rest beside the divan. “If not for my so charming person, why are you here?”
While his eyes were fixed on her face, Jane turned her hand over her cup, releasing the hidden catch in her ring. “I’ve come for Queen Maria,” she said calmly.
Nicolas stared at her for a moment, his eyebrows rising to his carefully curled hair, and then he began to laugh. His laugh was one of his more charming attributes, a light tenor, and entirely unfeigned.
“Only you, my Jeanne. Only you.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Sunset. He had promised her until sunset. “If something goes wrong, we need to get her out.”
Miles Dorrington looked thoughtful. “I say, we could raise the Jolly Roger and storm the fort as pirates. While they’re panicking, you sneak in and retrieve Jane.”
“Too many cannons,” said Jack tersely. “You’ll be blown to splinters before we can get inside. Next?”
Lizzy raised her crossbow. “I could—”
“No,” said Jack and his father in unison. When Jack had finished glaring at his father, he said, “Jane and I discussed this. If she’s not back by sundown, Lord Richard and I”—Jack nodded to the blond man, who nodded back—“will go after her disguised as dragoons.”
Lord Richard quickly took charge. “I’ll see that my men acquire the relevant uniforms.”
“No,” said Jack’s new stepmother.
“No?” Jack looked narrowly at his stepmother. “What do you propose, then?”
His stepmother paced decisively down the deck. “Richard”—Lord Richard leaped agilely out of range of her parasol—“will stay and mind the
Bien-Aimée . If Jane isn’t back by sundown”—Jack’s stepmother regarded him imperiously—“you and I will go after her.”
“Gwen is very good at rappelling down walls,” said Jack’s father, looking at his bride with gooey eyes. “Up them, too.”
“We’re not rappelling,” said Jack. If there was anything he hated, it was rappelling. It was as showy and useless as swinging through windows on ropes. “We’re going through the door.”
“I’ve known that girl since she was born.” His stepmother stalked towards him, parasol point glinting. “I’ve protected her from more assailants than you’ve had hot suppers. If you go, I go.”
“How lovely,” said Lady Henrietta brightly. “You can get to know each other.”
Miles Dorrington prudently lifted his wife by the waist and deposited her out of parasol range.
“We don’t know that she’ll need rescuing,” said Jack, staring down his new stepmother. “The plan might go as planned.”
His stepmother snorted. “With the Gardener? I’ll go get my pistols.”
And she departed, leaving Jack with a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach as he tried not to contemplate what the Gardener might be doing with Jane right now.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“But we know Jane,” put in Lady Henrietta. “Her plans always go as planned.” She exchanged a glance with her husband. “Well, almost always. But that wasn’t her fault.” And then, as if it explained everything, “She is the Pink Carnation.”
She wasn’t just the Pink Carnation. She was also human, very, very human. She made mistakes, she doubted herself, her heels blistered, and her hair snarled. Couldn’t any of them see that?
“She’s not invincible.” Jack tried to banish the images of what might be happening even now, but they crowded around him.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Jack was not feeling warm and filial sentiments towards his new stepmother. “What was she meant to do, deliver me trussed and bound onto the ship?”
“Wouldn’t that be a bit gratuitous?” Everyone turned to look at Miles Dorrington, who held up both hands in self-defense. “Why would you truss and bind? Surely one would do.”
“You,” said Jack’s stepmother, advancing purposefully, “are not helping.”
Miles Dorrington ducked behind his wife.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Before Jack could say anything, he was bowled sideways by a small female moving with great velocity.
“Jack! Jack, Jack, Jack!” His sister Lizzy flung herself at him, momentarily stunning him. Or maybe that was just the large wooden object she was holding banging into the side of his head.
Jack gave his sister a quick, reflexive squeeze before turning to glare at his father. “You brought Lizzy?”
“How could I miss the return of my favorite brother?” said Lizzy, smiling winningly at him, and Jack realized, dizzily, that she wasn’t the little girl he remembered. The wild red-brown curls were the same, but the missing front teeth had grown in and the rest of her had grown up.
He wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for any of this. In his head, Lizzy was still perpetually six years old.
She’s rejected offers from three viscounts and the heir to a marquisate.
Jane had told him, hadn’t she? But Jack hadn’t believed it. It had been a story about someone else, not his Lizzy.
“Lizzy is in training,” said his stepmother grandly.
“For what?” demanded Jack. He noticed for the first time that the object in her hand appeared to be . . . “And why is she holding a crossbow?”
“Because I’m too small for a longbow,” said Lizzy patiently. “Don’t look so alarmed. I haven’t hit anyone by accident in months.”
“Hasn’t hit anyone on purpose either,” murmured Miles to Lady Henrietta.
Lizzy narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that a challenge?”
“No!” said everyone in unison.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“He glanced at the woman in purple, who was smirking fondly at Jack’s father in a way that filled Jack with darkest foreboding. “We wanted to surprise you.”
Jack looked from his father to the woman in purple. He thought he knew what was coming and he didn’t like it. “We?”
His father slid his arm through that of the woman in purple. He cleared his throat. “Jack, may I present my wife, your new—”
“Felicitations.” If his father thought he was going to call this woman mother, he had to be mad. But then, that was his father, wasn’t it? He always saw the world as he wished it to be. It was stupid, at Jack’s age, to feel disappointment. Jack nodded crisply to his new stepmother. “Congratulations, madam. Had I been informed, I would have sent a gift.”
“That didn’t sound terribly celebratory,” whispered Lady Henrietta to her husband.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“His father clasped his shoulders, holding him at arm’s length, looking him up and down. “You’ve grown.”
“It’s been eleven years,” said Jack numbly. “Of course I’ve grown.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Jane’s been captured?” Lady Henrietta surged forward like the statue on the prow of a ship.
“She’s gone in,” Jack corrected shortly. “Voluntarily.”
“And you let her?” Lady Henrietta’s eyes were as wide as they could go.
A dry cackle came from the hatch that led to the nether regions of the yacht. “Have you ever seen anyone ‘let’ Jane do anything?”
A parasol emerged first, a purple parasol, the point hitting the deck with a force that made Miles jump. The newcomer strode forward, blindingly purple skirts swishing around her legs. Jack had never seen that much purple all in one place before. It was like being assaulted by an aubergine.
“If Jane is there, it’s because she chose to be there,” said the newcomer definitively. Jack wasn’t sure whether to appreciate or resent her support. “Jane does or she doesn’t. I would as soon try to yoke an aardvark.”
Lady Henrietta cocked her head. “Does one yoke aardvarks?”
“No,” said Jack shortly, putting an abrupt end to what might otherwise have become a fascinating and largely pointless discourse on natural history.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“In flawless and very aristocratic French, Jane said, “Tell Monsieur le Comte de Brillac that he has a guest.”
“Er . . .” It was clear the guard didn’t know what to make of her. “Do you have papers?”
Yes. In a trunk somewhere on the road to Santarém.
Jane drew herself up, doing her best imitation of the Dowager Duchess of Dovedale in a snit. “Take me to the comte. At once.”
“But—”
“You may tell him,” said Jane, flicking at a smudge of dirt on her sleeve, “that his fiancée is here to see him.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“Jane leaned her head against a rough bit of brickwork. She couldn’t say that she hadn’t been warned. She’d known what Jack was before they began working together.
But she hadn’t known all the other things he was: the kindness, the fundamental decency of him. Beneath the layer of deliberate devil-may-care, his moral code was as stern as hers, and he was, she realized, a great deal better at seeing to the needs of others.
She tried to remember the frustrating bits, the moments when they had clashed. But all she could remember was Jack adapting to her change of plans. Jack taking charge when her plan had failed. Jack challenging her, making her think more carefully, and then, when she’d charted their course, covering her back without question. Caring for her.
When she was with him, she felt the weight of being the Pink Carnation lift off her shoulders. She didn’t have to be perfect. She didn’t have to have all the answers. Because Jack was there with her.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower

“You’re not holding it against Jane that Gwen asked her to bring you home? I didn’t know,” he added quickly. “Not until the plan was in motion. And by then—”
“I don’t imagine many people say no to Mrs. Reid,” said Jack dryly.
“Not within range of her parasol.” His father grinned at him.
Reluctantly, Jack found himself grinning back. Even at his angriest he had never been entirely proof against his father’s charm. It was part of the reason he had stayed away so long.”
― Lauren Willig, The Lure of the Moonflower