The Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels

a book, a cup of tea, and no company; that was Cecilia’s idea of heaven.

Men these days. Albert was the same. "Don't ride in an open carriage for fear of assassins." "Don't have parties." "Don't hit me with the furniture." They need to develop more spine.

But that’s enough history for today. Come and learn how to kill someone with a teaspoon.

No one would help steal the houses of their fellow Society members,” Cecilia insisted. He gave her an amused frown. “Why not? Half of you are trying to assassinate the other half.” “That’s different.

Half of what I’m wearing is unmentionable. Suffice it to say, if you were dressed as a woman, you would understand the impossibility of going to bed in your clothes.

It landed on Cecilia's hat, which exploded in a puff of smoke and feathers. Everyone stared at it. "Oh dear," Constantinopla said after a shocked moment. "What will you do, Cecilia? You're now exposed to the Great Peril." "I'll protect her from it," Ned said promptly. Constantinopla gave him a bewildered look. "From the sun?

What can I say? If society wanted me to keep track of my illicit lovers, they should have educated me better.

So it was a matter of love at first sight?. . .How romantic. I am always suspicious of love earned by familiarity—it shows a lack of imagination. Of course, a quick inspection of financial records can only prove true love's value. But who am I to comment? Only an old maid who knows nothing of the joys of being dominated by a man, living self-reliant as I do in my own small home.

I love a horizon. . .That feeling of longing, of mystery and distant magic, pulls always on my soul. I suppose that's where my mother must be. Roaming through the afterlight, stealing heaven. . .

What would you do with your education?” “Improve whatever part of world I could touch upon.

And she felt the same certainty she had all along. That despite calling himself an assassin, he wanted to make the world better. A little brighter, a little more amusing, if he could.

Even reading Wuthering Heights had proven a trial—she’d kept wanting to edit it.

He was, everyone else said, a pretentious idiot. A pretentious idiot with a whole lot of guns and the willingness to use them.

By the dim light of a lantern, they crossed the field toward the oak woods. Ned took the lead then, being more familiar with the nocturnal hazards of a meadow. With his guidance they avoided cow pats, thistles, sudden ditches, murky dark puddles, and an iron rake someone had left lying about just waiting for a comic moment.

You are a scoundrel,” she whispered furiously. “Yes,” he agreed. “I’m thinking of starting a Society of Gentlemen Scoundrels.” “You’re millennia too late. It already exists and is called the patriarchy.

Everyone knew about Morvath’s hatred of the Darlington clan, which was equaled only by his hatred of the Bassingthwaite clan, his adopted family the Morvath clan, the Hanoverian clan currently represented by Queen Victoria, the Chapman and Hall publishing clan, and the company that made those caramel cream profiteroles that ended up tasting like fish.

(the same ring with each marriage, for while husbands were easily discarded, a really nice ring, flattering to the finger, was not).

Even so, she’d tried all she could to smooth troubled waters. But Darlington had rudely persisted in avoiding the knife (and gun, poison, rabid dog, fall from a great height, garrote, flaming arrow).

one does not want to encourage the younger generation too much, lest they lose sight of their proper place: under one’s thumb.

One can be happy in eternal solitude: a book, a cup of tea, and no company; that was Cecilia’s idea of heaven. Having spent the past week surrounded by people, and thwarted at every turn in her efforts to locate a library, she was now feeling as if she had endured an upper circle of hell.

You're fully ruined now," he murmureed, smiling wryly. "No," she breathed. "I was rurined the moment I laid eyes on you. Uttterly ruined for everything else, evermore." "Told you so." "Fiend." She frowned with mock severity. "Rake?" he suggested. "Oh yes, please.

nor even how deeply winter dreamed in her lovely eyes.

We were experiencing technical difficulties,” she said, daring him to argue. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” “I do not know, Captain O’Riley, but if you do not get out of my way, they will be calling it murder. Plain and simple.

But they were pirates. Used to shaping the world however they decided it.

Observe a lady when she has some woman’s work in hand, and you will see the image of peace, calmly intent on her task. Thus were the matrons of the Wisteria Society; holding themselves in humble, feminine focus, they smashed bottles between cushions, sharpened swizzle sticks, and handed out corkscrews. Olivia Etterly fashioned a knuckle-duster from teaspoons, and Millie the Monster took the drapes’ braided cord as a garrote.

What happened with the doctor?" Cecilia whispered to Pleasance. "He told her not to be a silly old woman and to take the morphine," Pleasance whispered in reply. "So he had a death wish, then?

she also could not understand why she herself, and indeed all young pirates of her acquaintance, were forced through a long training regime—studying thaumaturgical physics, writing essays, taking countless elocution lessons, running a mile in full bustled gown—before being allowed their wings, and yet servants were just handed a copy of the highly secret, highly powerful spell and told to have it memorized by the end of the week.

Be careful,” he advised in a low voice. “Watch out for flying toast. And if she asks you to pull her finger, don’t. Just—really don’t.

when she had curled up with her head on his lap to sleep, he’d felt nothing but adoration for her (literally: his legs went numb within half an hour and remained that way all night).

A lady stays tranquil and poised under all circumstances. Instead of panicking, she squares her jaw, protects her heart, and ensures that she has enough ammunition to gun down everyone in her path. I say, is this glazed ham?