Song at Twilight

Song at Twilight

4.4 5
by Pamela Sherwood

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She has everything she's ever dreamed of-except the man who broke her heart

Sophie Tresilian is the toast of
Victorian England, desired by countless men but unwilling to commit to any. Though she has fame and fortune, she lost her heart years before. She'd loved Robin Pendarvis since they were children...but a family scandal drove

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She has everything she's ever dreamed of-except the man who broke her heart

Sophie Tresilian is the toast of
Victorian England, desired by countless men but unwilling to commit to any. Though she has fame and fortune, she lost her heart years before. She'd loved Robin Pendarvis since they were children...but a family scandal drove them apart. Now he's back, and seeing him again revives all the old pain-and all the old passion. Unable to deny the love that still burns between them, they will risk everything to be together once more.
Will the tragedy that ruined their past destroy their future as well?

Editorial Reviews

Library Journal
★ 10/15/2013
Devastated when Robin Pendarvis's past wrenches him from her life and crushes her romantic dreams, silver-voiced Sophie Tresilian gives up on love and immerses herself in her music. Now, four years later with her star on the rise, Sophie almost has it all—until Robin walks into one of her London performances and turns her world upside down. The past alternates with the present as tantalizing flashbacks bring fans up to speed in a compelling, deeply complex romance that becomes more tangled as it progresses. A self-possessed heroine and a hero determined to make things right prevail against formidable odds in this engaging story that is enhanced by an abundance of family and friends (some introduced in Waltz with a Stranger) and leaves room for the stories that are sure to come. VERDICT Moving, lyrically written, and superbly inventive, this late Victorian tale has a dash of mystery and more than one startling plot twist to put a refreshing spin on the typical tender reunion story. A delightful way to spend an afternoon. Sherwood lives in Southern California.
From the Publisher
"Written with a lyrical grace reminiscent of Rosamunde Pilcher, Pamela Sherwood's A Song at Twilight spins a powerfully romantic tale of two honorable, star-crossed lovers trying to find their way back to each other's arms." - Mary Jo Putney, New York Times bestselling author of Sometimes a Rogue

"Rich with drama and mystery, Robin and Sophie's love story is a sweeping tale filled with the drama of the Cornish landscape and lyrical yearning of the music Sophie sings." - Teresa Grant, author of The Paris Affair

"Readers who miss the lush, sweeping romances of Judy Cuevas and Penelope Williamson will swoon with delight over Sherwood's lyrically descriptive writing style, richly nuanced characterization, and superb sense of pacing." - Booklist

"A delightful way to spend an afternoon." - Library Journal

"A delightful book to wind down the day with." - Long and Short Reviews

"An interesting and enchanting story,once you get to reading!" - My Book Addiction Reviews

"A SONG AT TWILIGHT by Pamela Sherwood hits all the right notes. " - The Romance Reviews

"A Song at Twilight was a brilliant historical romance. I completely adored this book! Lovers of romance, you have to read this!" - Imagine a World

"I really enjoyed the A SONG AT TWILIGHT, and I highly recommend it for any lover of poetry, music, or historical fiction." - Reviews Galore

"I just loved this book to bits and pieces." - Books Like Breathing

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Product Details

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Read an Excerpt


O, call back yesterday! Bid time return.

-Shakespeare, Richard II

London, July 1896

He'd been a fool to come, but he couldn't have stayed away if his life depended on it.

All around him, Robin could hear the rustle of programmes, the faint coughs and murmurs as the audience settled in before the performance. Down in the pit, violins lilted and cellos thrummed as the orchestra tuned up its instruments. The concert had sold out quickly-he'd been fortunate to secure a prime seat in one of the lower tiers with a clear view of the stage. But even the galleries and balconies were full tonight.

He smoothed out his programme with hands that shook only slightly, then read the lines of print over and over until the words ran together in a meaningless blur. David Cherwell, the promising Welsh tenor, and Sophia Tresilian-one of the finest young sopranos in recent memory-performing together for one night only at the prestigious Albert Hall.

Sophia. The name seemed to belong to some glamorous stranger. In Cornwall, among those who knew her best, she was just Sophie. Sometimes "Snip" to her brother Harry. "Lark" to her sister Cecily. And to Robin himself... He pushed the thought away, reminding himself that he'd lost the right to call her anything at all four years ago. Lost it, renounced it, thrown it away... and for the best. What could he have offered her then but heartache and ruin?

And now here she was-celebrated, adored, at the start of a brilliant career. And here he was, watching and waiting. To see all that radiant promise fulfilled. To comfort himself with the knowledge that he'd done the right thing. And for one more reason that he could not, dared not, put into words yet.

One way or another, tonight would tell the tale.

The house lights dimmed and the orchestra launched into a brisk overture that Robin barely heeded because his attention was fixed on the stage. As the last flourish sounded, he saw the slender figure walk out to take her place before them all.

Not tall, Sophie, but she carried herself with a poise that made her appear so. Stage lights caught the coppery glints in her dark hair, shone on the smooth ivory heart of her face, the slim column of her throat, rising from the décolleté neckline of her gown-a gown the color of midnight, almost void of ornament, severe but becoming. She'd worn white the first time he saw her-a young girl's dress, artless and unsophisticated, but even then the woman had begun to emerge. And here she stood now, the blossom to the bud, so beautiful it made him ache.

And not just him. He sensed the heightened awareness around him, the way so many of the men in his vicinity seemed to come to a point. Like hounds catching the first whiff of game, or orchid hunters sighting a rare, elusive bloom.

Unseen, the piano rippled out an introduction, the somber chords echoing through the hall, now hushed and reverent as a church. Onstage, Sophie raised her head and began to sing.

"Music for a while, Shall all your cares beguile..."

Purcell-she'd always had a fondness for that composer's songs. Her voice held the same purity he remembered, but with an added richness, the patina of training and experience. Caught between pride and pain, Robin sat motionless and listened, absorbing every note.

How long had it been since he'd first heard her sing?

Five years ago, this past December. A lifetime ago...

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