The Love Knot by Rebecca Brandewyne released on Apr 24, 2003 is available now for purchase.
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The Love Knot
By Rebecca Brandewyne
Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.Copyright © 2003 Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
All right reserved.
Chapter OneThe Love Knot
The Highwayman rides no more the hightoby, The hightoby no more he rides,
With silver rapier a'gleam in the pale moonlight And two pistols at his sides.
He lost his heart to a fey silkie lass, Who danced 'neath the rise o' the moon, Sealskin hair a'tangling in the wind, As she played her haunting tune.
From the mist and the sea, she crept to the shore, At the stroke of the midnight hour. With oil paints and brush, she cast her spell In her dark, enchanted bower. She burned a bright candle for her love, Sought his image in the mirror, where She braided a crimson silk love knot Into her long brown hair. So the Highwayman rides no more the hightoby, For his heart was stolen away. Now, he dwells forever in the Otherworld With his dark silkie lass so fey. The Mist and the Sea Of what is't fools make such vain keeping? Sin their conception, their birth, weeping: Their life, a general mist of error, Their death, a hideous storm of terror. The Duchess of Malfi (1623), act IV - John Webster From want of regular rests, I have been rather narvus, And the passage in Lear -"Do you not hear the sea?" - has haunted me intensely. Letter to John Hamilton Reynolds - John Keats
Frightful Cliffs of Fall O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.
Poems (1918). No. 64, Carrion Comfort - Gerard Manley Hopkins Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you. Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? Songs of Experience (1794). The Tiger - William Blake * * *
The Cliffs at the Edge of the Sea Cornwall, England, 1802
Sometimes, on a wintry eve years later, when the wind was high and blew like a torrent among the rustling trees of the park, and the moon was hazily ringed and tossed among ghostily drifting clouds; when the ocean along the treacherous rocky coast maddened and roiled, and swept, white-foamed, over the deceptive reefs and shingled beaches, the gray rain came hard, and the gossamer mist cloaked the hills, the moors and the marshlands of Cornwall, there were those who would remember this perilous night when Verity Collier stood poised at the edge of the precipitous black cliffs that crumbled down to the sea far below, staring, petrified, into the hideous dark abyss that had always haunted her - and that bore the face of her own terror.
Always - ever since she had been a child - she had been absolutely terrified of heights.
She did not know why - for who can explain the fears, often irrational, that lurk in the mind of a child, some of them, to be sure, to be sheepishly laughed at in later years and easily cast off, but others never to be outgrown and left behind. Rather, these last - the worst of all - seem only to slither like serpents through the dark, labyrinthine chasms of the adult brain, there to conceal and entrench themselves even more profoundly and securely in their hiding places, whence to strike viciously and poisonously when least expected.
Those evil fangs that now pierced Verity sank deeply, their venom surging like a fever through her blood, leaving her dizzy, disoriented and faint. Her head swam sickeningly; her heart pounded as though it would at any moment burst from her breast; and her nerves stretched as taut as harp strings, vibrating rackingly with fright. Her mouth and throat were so dry that she could not swallow, while, conversely, the rest of her body sweated so profusely that, more than once, she unwittingly wiped her palms upon her skirts buffeted by the rising wind that whipped and tore mercilessly at her hair and garments.
Her knees shook violently, weakened until, at last, they completely gave way beneath her, and she slid down heavily upon them, bowing her head and closing her eyes, the blood roaring in her ears and the earth tilting wildly, nauseatingly, all around her, as though it had somehow spun out of control upon its very axis.
Excerpted from The Love Knot by Rebecca Brandewyne Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
It took me quite awhile to get into "The Love Knot". The writing style was something I wasn't used to and that was my main stumbling block. I persevered and I am glad that I did. "The Love Knot" is the story of Verity Collier, a governess who takes a position at St. Aubyn Manor in Cornwall. There are a few mysteries in this book, and they are all solved by the end. Over the course of the novel, Verity falls in love with the Earl, Jago, and her employer. Their relationship comes about fairly quickly but not until the last third of the book. Overall, this was a good book and if you can get past the writing style, in my opinion, you'll have a good read.
The first two pages have only seven and a half sentencs so you can understand why it took 135 pages for the lovers to have a conversation! Ms. Brandewyne also has too many quotes and exerpts from other works. It appears she is trying so hard to impress us with how well-read she is that she forgets she is supposed to be impressing us with her story!
I¿ve been a huge fan & have read all of Ms. Sherwood¿s books, but was extremely disappointed with her latest novel, The Love Knot. This book has an almost identical storyline of the classic Jane Eyre! Cruel charity school; becomes teacher at that school; gets a job far away as governess to a widower & his children; feels like an outcast & is treated shabbily by his party guests, she falls for her employer, etc. - only the names are changed along with a slight addition to the plot. I had to keep looking at the cover to make sure I was not reading Jane Eyre accidentally! Even adding a mystery highwayman did not bring any excitement to this book. Maybe Ms. Sherwood needs a new muse.
Verity travels to her new position as governess to an enigmatic, widowed lords young twins. Before she can reach the manor, however, she is waylaid by the dashing highwayman known as Black Jack, who steals a lock of her hair before departing. ............ This is not the most disturbing thing that will soon happen to the young lady. Her new home appears to be haunted, mysterious forces seem to be trying to kill her, and most unnerving, Verity begins to fall in love with her already engaged employer. ***** Secrets and politics mix with romance in this brooding novel that hearkens to the days of Daphne duMaur and the Brontes. Little is as it appears, despite the heroine's name. Only love is true. Readers will also find their minds stretched and expanded by the addition of poetry and little used vocabulary sure to widen their lexicon.
In 1802 Verity Collier accepts a position as governess to seven-year-old twins Meliora and Bastian though she has no previous experience with this work. Because the position is in remote Cornwall, the father Lord Jago Ransleigh, has no other takers. For Verity, the position enables her to escape working at a suffocating school....................... On the trek to St. Aubyn, highwayman Black Jack Raven holds up the carriage containing Verity. She courageously persuades him not to take a family locket from her, but he imitates Sheridan by stealing a locket of her hair. At the manor, Verity finds she likes the reticent children still struggling with the death of their mother in an accident two years ago. When she meets the Earl, who is always away from the estate on War Office business, she thinks he is also Black Jack. Trying to learn the truth places her in danger of the body and the heart as she quickly falls in love with her employer............................... This delightful Regency romantic suspense borrows heavily from the gothic crowd. Verity lives up to her name, but is also brave (no Rape of the Lock will stop her) and serves as the right role model for two lost little children. Readers will feel for the twins, but especially Bastian (try getting more than a nod out of him). Jago is the classic gothic hero who cannot believe the woman he is falling in love with would foolishly waltz into danger. Rebecca Brandewyne shows why she is so highly regarded with this strong historical intrigue.................. Harriet Klausner