Contentment

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 22 of 189 · 20 per page

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  identity and Church government which his immense personal prestige had postponed. The resulting quarrels were often bitter, and although British Methodism continued growing in numbers and influence, it was characterized for almost a century by constant internal schisms away from the original ‘Wesleyan Connexion’ — in fact, worldwide, Methodism has been extraordinarily fertile in creating new religious identities, as we will discover. Methodists still all sang Charles Wesley’s hymns and shared a common ethos, practising a ‘religion of the heart’ which treasured Wesley’s optimistic affirmation of the possibility of Christian perfection. Here once more was a typical Wesley contradiction. While John Wesley loved Luther’s exposition of Christ’s sacrifice for sin in his Passion and the need for the gift of free grace for salvation, his High Churchmanship led him to reject predestination and to affirm humanity’s universal potential for acceptance by God. He wanted to challenge his converts to do their best in an active Christian life, and he commended the challenge to Reformed views of salvation offered by the sixteenth-century renegade Dutch Reformed minister Jacobus Arminius (see p. 649). He even called the house journal of his Methodists the Arminian Magazine to ram home the point; and it was a point with which most Church of England clergy would then have agreed. Wesley’s distinctive soteriology was to have great long-term resonances. By no means all the leading figures of the Evangelical Revival were swept into Wesley’s Connexion or its offshoots. His early associate George Whitefield deeply disagreed with Wesley’s rejection of Calvinist predestination, and he founded his own association of Calvinist congregations. Whitefield lacked Wesley’s organizational talent; his genius lay in oratory (see Plate 37). His cenotaph in Old South Presbyterian Church, in Newburyport, Massachusetts, says with an idiom which may mislead modern ears but is intended as a compliment to a preacher of the post-Apostolic age, ‘no other uninspired man ever preached to so large assemblies’. Many Evangelical clergy nevertheless managed to avoid the separation from the Church of England forced on the followers of Whitefield and Wesley. While Wesley famously wrote ‘I look upon all the world as my parish’, they were prepared to work within the existing parish structure of the Church of England.66 Through their energies, certain areas and parishes became strongholds of Evangelical practice. As a result, by the end of the eighteenth century, there was a recognizable Evangelical party among English clergy and gentry — still divided by those inclined to Calvinism and those like Wesley inclined to Arminianism. Such Evangelicals and their Methodist and Dissenting allies or rivals began a long process of remoulding British social attitudes away from the extrovert

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  This belongs to the American people.” “We’re here to do a job,” Borman said. “That’s part of the job,” Kraft answered. Borman saw no yielding in Kraft’s eyes. The cameras would stay. Borman still objected that the work plan was too crowded, and Kraft didn’t deny it. There was a lot to do, maybe too much, but six days on a moonshot was an eyeblink, given the risks and expenditures required to get there, so they damn well had to get the most out of it. Anything less and none of them would be doing his job. That made sense to Borman. And with that, the plan was complete. The men checked their watches. It was five P.M. In just four hours, they’d designed a mission that would send the first human beings away from their home planet, have them orbit the Moon, then return home. In a year that was shaping up to be among the most fractious in the nation’s history, in which its citizens were rippling with anger and its institutions were no longer trusted, something sublime had occurred in this office. Shaking hands, Kraft and Borman had the same thought: This was a great afternoon. This was America at her best. The two men left the building together. As Borman walked past the other astronauts’ Corvettes and climbed into his 1955 Ford pickup, Kraft could only admire him. Even during this technical meeting, Borman had been true to form: direct, principled, and bullshit-free, unwilling to look past minor details or compromise around edges. To many, including Kraft, he seemed the ideal astronaut to command the riskiest flight NASA might ever undertake. To those who knew him best, it seemed Borman had arrived at a crossroads, not just in his career but in his life. Chapter Five [image file=Image00007.jpg] FRANK BORMANFrank Frederick Borman first left Earth at age five, in 1933, when his father took him on a trip from their home in Gary, Indiana, to an airfield in Ohio. There, a barnstorming pilot wedged father and son into the front seat of a Waco biplane and flew them over the countryside. Five-year-old Frank could hardly process the freedom of it all—the open cockpit, the wind in his face, nothing between him and the rest of the world as the machine growled and swooped through an endless sky. The pilot asked for five dollars when the airplane finally settled back on Earth, a fortune during the Great Depression, and the greatest bargain Frank could imagine. Not long after, Frank’s family moved to Tucson, Arizona. His father, Edwin Borman, leased a Mobil service station and tried to make a go of it. The Bormans didn’t have much—just a rented two-bedroom home and a 1929 Dodge with creaky wooden spokes. As the Depression moved into the 1930s, Edwin’s business suffered and he lost his gas station lease.

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  No longer bound to Miami, the Bormans moved to Las Cruces, New Mexico, where their son Fred owned a car dealership. While there, Frank and Susan enjoyed one of the easiest and happiest stretches of their marriage. Frank served on corporate boards, invested in the car dealership with Fred, and stayed close to their other son, Ed, who’d become a helicopter test pilot. Frank did a lot of flying of small aircraft, still a foundational pleasure. Susan designed and rebuilt a home in the desert. After more than a decade in New Mexico, Frank and Susan moved to Montana, following their son Fred, who’d purchased a cattle ranch. Frank continued to fly in Montana’s big skies and attended air shows across the country with Susan. To this day, he thinks about a time in 1951 when, as an Air Force pilot, he ruptured an eardrum and was grounded permanently by order of the flight surgeon. Lying heartbroken in bed in the Philippines, he told Susan he’d leave the military and get a job as an aeronautical engineer. Susan had every reason to rejoice: She was a 21- year-old new mother with another baby on the way; Frank could earn a decent wage as a civilian; and the family could finally have a normal life, not one in which fighter pilots often died. Instead, Susan told her husband, “You will not do that. Flying means too much to you. You’ll go see Major McGee and show him you can fly.” Frank hardly knew what to say. But at Susan’s urging, he asked Charles McGee, one of the original Tuskegee Airmen, to give him a shot. McGee didn’t hesitate, putting Frank in an airplane and checking him out. When the flight surgeon found out that the legendary McGee had given his blessing, Frank was back in the cockpit. It’s a story Borman seldom tells to others, but decades later he still can’t get over what Susan did to save his career, and him. People still recognize Frank in Montana sometimes. Some ask if he still looks up into the sky at the Moon and thinks about having gone there. He smiles, but tells the truth: “I suppose I do, but not often.” — Shortly after Apollo 13’s safe return in 1970, political heavyweights in Wisconsin approached Jim Lovell about running as a Republican for United States Senate in his home state. He demurred, but that didn’t stop

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  and humble people struggling to make sense of a new industrial society in Georgian Britain. It shapes the sublime abstractions of the organ music of Johann Sebastian Bach. During the drab and mendacious tyranny of the German Democratic Republic, a Bach organ recital could pack out a church with people seeking something which spoke to them of objectivity, integrity and serene authenticity. All manifestations of Christian consciousness need to be taken seriously: from a craving to understand the ultimate purpose of God, which has produced terrifying visions of the Last Days, to the instinct to comfortable sociability, which has led to cricket on the Anglican vicarage lawn (see Plates 12 and 52). This is emphatically a personal view of the sweep of Christian history, so I make no apology for stating my own position in the story: the reader of a book which pontificates on religion has a right to know. I come from a background in which the Church was a three-generation family business, and from a childhood spent in the rectory of an Anglican country parish, a world not unlike that of the Rev. Samuel Crossman, of which I have the happiest memories. I was brought up in the presence of the Bible, and I remember with affection what it was like to hold a dogmatic position on the statements of Christian belief. I would now describe myself as a candid friend of Christianity. I still appreciate the seriousness which a religious mentality brings to the mystery and misery of human existence, and I appreciate the solemnity of religious liturgy as a way of confronting these problems. I live with the puzzle of wondering how something so apparently crazy can be so captivating to millions of other members of my species. It is in part to answer that question for myself that I seek out the history of this world faith, alongside those of humankind’s countless other expressions of religious belief and practice. Maybe some familiar with theological jargon will with charity regard this as an apophatic form of the Christian faith. I make no pronouncement as to whether Christianity, or indeed any religious belief, is ‘true’. This is a necessary self-denying ordinance. Is Shakespeare’s Hamlet ‘true’? It never happened, but it seems to me to be much more ‘true’, full of meaning and significance for human beings, than the reality of the breakfast I ate this morning, which was certainly ‘true’ in a banal sense. Christianity’s claim to truth is absolutely central to it over much of the past two thousand years, and much of this history is dedicated to tracing the varieties of this claim and the competition between them. But historians do not possess a prerogative to pronounce on the truth of the existence of God itself, any more than do (for example) biologists. There is, however, an important aspect of Christianity on which it is the occupation of historians to speak: the story of Christianity is undeniably true, in that it is part of human history. Historical truth can be just as

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  For the next several days, Lovell and Borman flew their spacecraft, conducted medical experiments, and, perhaps most astonishing for two men confined to such a tiny capsule, didn’t drive each other crazy. Toward the end of its two-week flight, Gemini 7 experienced problems. The craft’s fuel cells began failing and its thrusters faltered. Two days remained in the mission, and Borman’s instinct was to terminate early. But Lovell—privately, without broadcasting a word for the public to hear—urged him to hang in and not worry, that the ship would make it. Along with Chris Kraft’s reassurance, Lovell’s encouragement persuaded Borman to hold on, and the flight finished near perfectly. By the time the astronauts were aboard the aircraft carrier USS Wasp, they’d set several world records for space flight, including longest duration. Standing on deck, the scruffy Lovell said of the two cramped weeks spent with Borman, “We’d like to announce our engagement.” Back home, Marilyn told reporters, “Jim could come home beard and all, and I would welcome him with open arms.” A month later, in January 1966, Marilyn gave birth to the couple’s fourth child, Jeffrey. Less than a year later, on November 11, 1966, Lovell was back on the launchpad as commander of Gemini 12. It was to be the final mission of Project Gemini. Strapped in beside him was Buzz Aldrin, who’d been selected as part of NASA’s third group of astronauts in 1963. Together, the men would spend four days in orbit around Earth. In some ways, the pressure on Lovell for this flight was even greater than it had been during Gemini 7. Gemini 12 had to succeed in order for NASA—and the country—to feel confident about launching Apollo, the program that would take America to the Moon. The mission went smoothly, and after a journey of 1.6 million miles, Gemini 12 splashed down in the western Atlantic. As Lovell was hoisted from the ocean by helicopter, he held a distinction that even he couldn’t have imagined twenty years earlier, when he was writing letters to rocket societies and wishing he could afford college. Jim Lovell had now spent more time in space—eighteen days—than any other man in history. Chapter Eight

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  ‘The hand that made us is divine.’37 It was tempting even for clergy in established Churches to sit easily to confessional statements which they had inherited from the deplorably violent age of the Reformation, and see the reasonableness of deism as both congenial and morally superior to what had gone before. It was the same mood which after 1660 had produced the ‘Latitudinarian’ outlook in the Church of England (see pp. 653–4). Ranged against the rationalists or deists were the anxious voices of other members of the same intellectual elite, who were promoting the view of an intensely personal, interventionist God in the various Protestant Evangelical Awakenings, from Pietism in Germany to Jonathan Edwards on the eastern American seaboard. We cannot understand the rise of Evangelicalism without seeing it against the background of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Christian and post-Christian rationalism – but also in the context of other profound changes in European society of which the Evangelicals were uncomfortably aware. SOCIAL WATERSHEDS IN THE NETHELANDS AND ENGLAND (1650–1750) If Judaism and Reformed Protestantism were one fundamental pairing behind the creation of a new spirit in Christian religion and metaphysics, the other came through those sometimes uncomfortably yoked Protestant states, the Netherlands and England. The chief settings in which the millenarian, messianic or apocalyptic excitements of Reformed Protestantism and Judaism united, they pioneered the future in another and very different respect: towards the end of the seventeenth century, both societies began a long process of moving Christian doctrine and practice from the central place in European everyday life which it had enjoyed for more than a millennium, and placing it among a range of personal choices. The background to this was a conjunction of political, social and economic peculiarities in the two countries flanking the North Sea. Quite apart from their crabwise and often reluctant embrace of religious toleration for a wide variety of religious dissidence, both countries achieved a wider distribution of prosperity than any other part of seventeenth-century Europe. By improving their farming techniques and breeding new money through an exceptional range of manufactures and commercial enterprises, they were the first regions to escape famine, the constant danger of mass starvation following harvest failure.38 This had momentous consequences. An increasingly general distribution of

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  In the end, only one Australasian or Pacific territory, Tonga, escaped direct European or American rule, through an astute alliance with Britain by a newly established monarchy, basing its legitimacy on a unique construction which might have gladdened the heart of that High Tory John Wesley: a Methodist established Church. Christian groundwork was laid by LMS-inspired Tahitians in the 1820s, but a decade later Methodist initiatives began. Taufa’ahau, an ambitious and talented member of the Tupou family in the Tongan Ha’apai group of islands, allied with John Thomas, a Methodist minister once a blacksmith in Worcester; Taufa’ahau encouraged Thomas’s mission and drew on the abilities of a Tongan aristocrat now a Methodist missionary, Pita (Peter) Vi. Between them they launched a vigorous campaign against traditional Tongan cults, which ran parallel with Taufa’ahau’s growing power throughout the Tongan archipelago. In 1845 Thomas had the satisfaction of adapting English coronation rites for Taufa’ahau’s enthronement as King George I, founding a royal dynasty which endures to this day. Thirty years later there followed a written monarchical constitution for Tonga, shaped by an Australian Methodist minister, Shirley Baker, whose aspirations outran his self-restraint and brought a bizarre and sour twist to Tongan politics. Now Prime Minister of Tonga, Baker escaped the discipline of an increasingly alarmed Australasian Wesleyan Conference by resigning his ministry, and he encouraged the King to form an independent Tongan Methodist Church. Schism with Conference loyalists resulted, and between 1885 and 1887 there followed a brutal persecution of Methodists by Methodists, until the British High Commissioner intervened. By the end of George I’s long reign in 1893, Baker had become a marginal figure, and the royal Church of the Tupou dynasty had returned to a less bloodthirsty Methodism. Queen Sālote, majestic and generously proportioned heir to the light-touch British Protectorate established in 1900, was a much-appreciated visitor to England at her fellow monarch Elizabeth II’s coronation in 1953.38 AFRICA: AN ISLAMIC OR A PROTESTANT CENTURY? Nowhere else in the world was the relationship of Christianity to colonial expansion so straightforward as in the Pacific, partly because elsewhere Europeans encountered cultures based on faiths also claiming a universal message or with the potential to do so: Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism. Of these, Islam had the widest reach, and contacts were consequently the most varied. We have already noted how a far more confrontational attitude to

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  It was a 1½ room kitchenette apartment with tall narrow windows in the narrow, high-ceilinged front room. Across each window, there were built-in shelves at different levels. From these shelves tossed and frothed, hung and leaned and stood, pot after clay pot of green and tousled large and small-leaved plants of all shapes and conditions. Later, I came to love the way in which the plants filtered the southern exposure sun through the room. Light hit the opposite wall at a point about six inches above the thirty-gallon fish tank that murmured softly, like a quiet jewel, standing on its wrought-iron legs, glowing and mysterious. Leisurely and swiftly, translucent rainbowed fish darted back and forth through the lit water, perusing the glass sides of the tank for morsels of food, and swimming in and out of the marvelous world created by colored gravels and stone tunnels and bridges that lined the floor of the tank. Astride one of the bridges, her bent head observing the little fish that swam in and out between her legs, stood a little jointed brown doll, her smooth naked body washed by the bubbles rising up from the air unit located behind her. Between the green plants and the glowing magical tank of exotic fish, lay a room the contents of which I can no longer separate in my mind. Except for a plaid-covered couch that opened up into the double bed which we set rocking as we loved that night into a bright Sunday morning, dappled with green sunlight from the plants in Afrekete’s high windows. I woke to her house suffused in that light, the sky half-seen through the windows of the top-floor kitchenette apartment, and Afrekete, known, asleep against my side. Little hairs under her navel lay down before my advancing tongue like the beckoned pages of a well-touched book. How many times into summer had I turned into that block from Eighth Avenue, the saloon on the corner spilling a smell of sawdust and liquor onto the street, a shifting indeterminate number of young and old Black men taking turns sitting on two upturned milk-crates, playing checkers?

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  “I’ll buy it if you test it,” Anders told Borman. Borman, the old test pilot, put the plane through its paces. Anders wrote a check—and then had an idea. He would start a museum dedicated to preserving—and flying— historic military aircraft. The Mustang would be one of the first pieces in the family’s Heritage Flight Museum, opened in 1996 in Burlington, Washington. It would also be the plane Anders flew in the 1997 Reno Air Races. At age sixty-four, he finished third in the silver race. Along with Valerie and their children, Anders has helped run the foundation and the museum ever since. He still feels young; even in his mideighties, he’s surprised to look in the mirror and find an elderly man looking back. He takes daily walks with Valerie. And he still flies, but not the warbirds anymore. Mostly, he takes a light two-seater, much like a Super Cub, over Washington skies. It’s not a Mustang, or the F-89 he used to challenge Soviet bombers during the Cold War, but it’s a hell of a lot better than not flying at all. And he still cares about the environment. He knows that most people understand that Copernicus and Galileo were right, that the heavens do not revolve around Earth, but he wonders whether, down deep, any of us really believes it. By his estimation, human beings must think, in their reptilian brains, that Earth is flat and infinite; otherwise, they wouldn’t treat it as badly as they do. To that end, the Anders Foundation continues to fight to protect the environment on the only planet any of us has. Even after the fiftieth anniversary of Apollo 8, Anders thinks often of the view he got of his home planet from a distance of a quarter million miles. To him, Earth seemed staggeringly small, little more than a pinpoint in an infinite universe. That feeling has never left him. When he was young, Anders sometimes wondered about his place in the universe, and whether he was special. After the Moon, he didn’t wonder about that anymore. After the Moon, he knew he wasn’t special, and it brought him a kind of peace. — In April 2018, the crew of Apollo 8 joined the author in Chicago at the Museum of Science and Industry to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “The devil you say!” Sebastian cried, sitting bolt upright in his seat. Back in their Oxford days, Haversham had been a friend of his. But when Sebastian had turned into a completely worthless, dissolute, immoral scoundrel, Haversham had quickly put distance between them. Wilson frowned. “Yes, Lord Haversham courted Lady Merrick doggedly for the entire Season. There was heavy speculation that he would be offering for her.” “Hell’s teeth.” Compared to the angelic Haversham, he was Mephistopheles. “But in the end, Viscount Haversham did not pay his addresses. He cast her off quite unexpectedly in favor of Lady Chelsea Markham, the Earl of Radcliff’s youngest daughter. She, in turn, cast him off in favor of Lord St. Martin.” Wilson shook his head sadly. “The scandal that accompanied the very public jilting ruined Lady Merrick. She left London soon after and did not return until she came home as your bride.” He understood now why she had been hiding out in the West Indies and why her father had married her by proxy. Olivia had been running, too. Sebastian was slightly put out to think that perhaps he hadn’t been her first choice in husbands, but he quickly passed over the disgruntlement. She was his now; her past meant nothing. Rising, he headed toward the front door. “My lord! The clippings!” “Burn them. I have what I need. Good work, Wilson. I’ll be in touch. Make appointments to meet with the family stewards over the next few weeks.” Sebastian leapt into his waiting carriage and headed for home. Olivia held a hand to her side and released a deep breath. The baby was beginning to move, tiny flutters of life that awed and amazed her. “Ready, love?” Sebastian asked from the doorway. She dropped her hand quickly. “Is it time already?” She swept past him, collecting her hat and gloves from the butler. “Yes.” Clutching her elbow, he studied her with a frown. “Are you unwell? You looked peaked.” “I’m fine. A bit tired is all.” He flushed, and she hid a smile. It wasn’t fair he looked so rested when she was exhausted. His touch was gentle and solicitous as he assisted her into the waiting carriage. Tucked against his side, Olivia wished the ride to Pall Mall were longer. If only she could convince him to stay with her forever. Against better reason, she hoped that he would. As if he read her thoughts, Sebastian hugged her close and said, “I won’t leave you again. I’ll tell you that every minute of every day until you believe me.” “You may have to do that very thing,” she replied, snuggling closer. “Then I shall, my love. I shall.” And with Sebastian’s heartfelt promise, she felt renewed hope. She rested her head against his chest and smiled. “I’m horribly smitten with you.” “Smitten.” He grunted. “You’re mad for me.” He squeezed her and lowered his voice. “As I am for you.”

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  building model airplanes, some powered by rubber bands, others by tiny temperamental gas engines that screamed like banshees. Frank learned to take responsibility for his creations. Edwin never stepped in and finished the job for Frank, no matter how many times the engines wouldn’t fire—even during model airplane competitions, even while judges were waiting. He just let Frank keep working, keep adjusting, until the Borman plane flew better and farther than all the rest. By the late 1930s, many kids across America had become fascinated by the idea of space travel. Scientists were developing rocket technologies, and the future that these machines promised exploded in color in popular science and adventure magazines, comic strips, and films. Frank couldn’t have cared less. Science fiction bored him. If his friends went to see movies about spaceships, he stayed home and built airplanes, the kind of machines that flew for real. Frank entered high school in 1943, in the midst of World War II. Schoolwork came easily to him, which left him time for deeper pleasures. One day, he wandered over to nearby Gilpin Airport and told the manager he wanted to fly. The man had no problem with Frank’s age— fifteen—but warned that lessons cost nine dollars an hour. Frank knew his parents couldn’t afford that, but he did some quick mental math. By combining the salaries from his three current jobs—bag boy at Safeway, gas station jockey, and sweeper at Steinfeld’s Department Store—he could put himself into the air. He signed up and was taken to a hangar where he met his instructor, who was about thirty years old, had trained very few students, and was dressed not like a pilot but in Levi’s and a white T-shirt, which was unusual at the time for a woman. In the 1940s, only about a hundred women worked as flight instructors in the United States. Bobbie Kroll was one of them. Frank hardly noticed her gender, she hardly noticed his age, and at once they were together in the cockpit. Miss Bobbie was an ideal teacher. She would not yell or panic, and she remained calm when Frank banked too hard or struggled to come out of a stall. After just eight hours of dual instruction, she turned Frank loose to solo. For the next three years, Frank continued taking flying lessons, making good grades, and playing quarterback on his high school football

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Artemis nodded in agreement. “And so you should be, gov’na.” “’Tis not every day one finds service of your caliber,” Hugh muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Are ye bein’ sarcastic?” Artemis asked suspiciously. “Who, me? Never.” “What are you two arguing about?” Charlotte asked as she descended the staircase. Dressed in soft floral muslin that was a few seasons out of style, she looked fresh and young, a vision of ripe innocence that belied her sensual past. “You can ask ’er!” The butler turned to leave without being dismissed. “A man shouldn’t ’ave to deal with this sort of treatment in ’is place of employment,” he grumbled as he shuffled away. Hugh gaped after him. Charlotte laughed, a raw, husky sound that made his cock hard. Damnation! He scowled. He couldn’t go around sporting a constant erection, which is precisely what he’d been doing since he arrived. Coming to a stop before him, she brushed his frown away with the soft touch of her fingers. “Artemis is a good man, and whatever you asked, you shouldn’t have asked him. You know as well as I that no respectable upper servants would ever divulge information about their employers.” Not accustomed to admitting he was wrong, Hugh stewed for a moment before nodding. Charlotte’s green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Now, what did you want to ask?” Hugh released a deep breath. “I’d like to know if Glenmoore still comes to visit you.” A dark red brow rose. “In what capacity?” He snorted. “In any capacity.” “He stops by occasionally,” she said carefully. “But I no longer share my bed with him, if that is what you’re inquiring.” The relief that flooded him was profound and, because of that, disturbing. “Why does he come, then?” “I suspect he simply wishes to assure himself that the duchess remains here and poses no threat to his precious reputation.” She laced her arm with his and steered him toward the drawing room, where tempting aromas made his stomach growl. He was ravenously hungry, and once they were seated, he tucked into the delectable meal with gusto. Consisting of kidney and eggs, honey cakes and plum cakes, the food was delicious. Despite the rather frightening specter the cook presented, Hugh had no trouble admitting that her talent in the kitchen was impressive. She was much better than the resident chef at Montrose Hall. When Katie came in a few moments later, bearing a pitcher of wildly sloshing water and favoring a bandaged hand, he simply smiled, unalarmed. Everything seemed different today. The candlelight that bolstered the dreary morning light seemed more golden, the food more appetizing, Charlotte more beautiful.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Suspecting it was contentment he was feeling, Hugh grinned, savoring the moment. He wanted to feel this way more often, and he knew Charlotte was the cause. Therefore a stratagem was required to convince his lover that having him around could benefit her in more ways than orgasms. Since she’d provided the solution already, he had only to take advantage of it. “You’re in a fine mood,” Charlotte noted, smiling against the rim of her cup. Hugh La Coeur was also in fine form. Dressed in warm shades of brown, he made her mouth water, the handsomeness of his features intensified by a boyish smile. “I am. More’s the pity for you.” He waggled his brows suggestively. She laughed. “A girl could become accustomed to having you around.” “I hope you do.” He pushed away his empty plate and stood, moving to her chair. “Shall we retire to my room and study your map?” Charlotte rose, a sharp tingle of awareness coursing through her veins. She glanced at Hugh over her shoulder and batted her lashes. “I thought studying the map came later?” Her eyes dropped to his trousers, and she watched, fascinated, as his cock swelled before her eyes. “Stop that.” He grabbed her elbow and led her to the stairs. “Stop what?” she asked innocently, biting back a smile. “You know very well what,” he said, his voice a slow drawl that made her toes curl in her slippers. “Drooling while staring at my cock.” “I did no such thing!” she protested, choking back a giggle as they ascended the stairs. He shot her an arch glance. “You did, too, insatiable minx. A man can hardly get any rest around here.” She choked. “Horrid man! You wouldn’t leave me alone. How many times did I roll over and attempt sleep?” “Several,” he said smoothly. “But it wasn’t long before you reached for me again.” Charlotte paused on the middle stair. “Only because your erection was poking me in the spine!” Hugh shrugged in exquisite nonchalance. “You were wiggling.” She stared at him, fighting back laughter, her entire body warming to the sensual amusement she found in his dark gaze. He was so devastatingly handsome, full of vigor and mischief. He was a man who lived life, while she’d spent the last few years in a daze. She was drawn to that energy, to that zest, wanting to absorb the thrill of it into the marrow of her bones. Unable to help herself, she stepped forward and offered him her mouth. With a deep groan, he obliged, gifting her with one of his sensual kisses. Charlotte melted against him, her hands drifting to clutch the powerful muscles of his shoulders. “See?” he murmured, licking her parted lips. “You are doing it again.” Achingly aroused, she laughed breathlessly. “You’re a conceited rake.” “And you’re a brazen wench.” His hands cupped her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples. She pulled back with a grin. “You like that I am.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “Riddleton?” he asked, even as warmth spread from her compliment up to his heart. “My maiden name.” Her eyes sparkled, and Hugh felt great satisfaction in having lightened her worries. It was a feeling to which a man could grow accustomed. Gwen giggled. “It will be fun! Like a charade.” She resumed her seat and rubbed her gloved hands together. “You are an angel sent from above, Lord Montrose. I cannot tell you how happy I am that your carriage was disabled near our home. If you hadn’t come along, I would be studying right now and lamenting my boredom. Instead I am about to enjoy my first social gathering. I do hope there are more handsome men to ogle.” “Good God,” Hugh muttered, arching a brow at Charlotte, who had the temerity to grin. It took a few moments for the other carriages to dispatch their passengers and luggage, but it seemed all too soon that they were alighting by the front steps. Hugh was holding his hand out to Charlotte when a familiar deep voice sounded behind him. “Montrose, we weren’t expecting you.” Looking over his shoulder, Hugh smiled at his brother-in-law. “I couldn’t allow you to have a gathering without me. Can you imagine how dreadfully boring that would be?” Lucien Remington laughed aloud. “We’re delighted to have you. And your lovely companions.” Charlotte stood on the bottom step with wide eyes. Gwen was worse, with her mouth agape. Both women stared at Lucien with obvious appreciation. Scowling, Hugh pulled Charlotte closer. “Remington, allow me to present my very good friend, Mrs. Riddleton, and her companion, Miss . . .” Hugh cleared his throat to get Gwen’s attention. “Sherling,” she blurted out, sticking out her hand. “Guinevere Sherling.” Lucien accepted the offering with a low bow, dazzling the young girl with a charming grin. Hugh began to tap his foot, not at all pleased with the reactions the ladies were having to the attractive former libertine. And then Charlotte took his arm. Looking down at her, he caught her slight smile. “I prefer blonds,” she whispered. Suddenly Hugh’s day was much brighter. Remington gestured for the servants to collect the trunks and then led them inside. Gwen stumbled to a halt as they entered the foyer. A floating dual staircase directly ahead capped an expansive marble floor flanked by several doorways on either side. Overhead a massive crystal chandelier hung from a domed ceiling, featuring a painting of lush fern fronds on a pale blue background. “This is so beautiful,” Gwen breathed, clearly awestruck. Lucien tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Miss Sherling.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “So I gathered. But it was you who said that one of my duties would be to bear your heirs.” Duty. Not pleasure. Heirs. Not children. Suddenly there was a distinction between them, one that irritated him and made him restless. He reached for her hand. “I should like to retire.” Turning, she searched his face. He could feel the air altering around them, shifting even as their relationship did. What was happening? Sebastian stood rigid under her scrutiny. What did she see in him with those dark eyes that bored right through him? He was profoundly relieved when Olivia placed her hand in his and followed him to their bed, where heady pleasure and drugging forgetfulness awaited them. Sebastian stared up at the ruby red velvet canopy and sighed with contentment. Olivia’s heated breath puffed across the head of his cock. “What are you thinking?” she asked. He glanced down to where his wife lay prone between his legs. She’d spent the last hour in studious examination of his member, tracing every vein, caressing every bit of his hard length with her hands and mouth, purring her delight like a cat with cream. She made him feel supremely masculine; a man appreciated completely by his mate, her admiration a welcome salve after a lifetime of feeling insignificant. At least in this one endeavor, that of being Olivia’s husband, he had not been found lacking. “You,” he answered. “This bed. Our marriage.” She crossed her hands on his upper thigh and rested her chin upon them. “Do you have regrets?” she asked in a steady voice, even as her expressive eyes showed her worry. He reached down to caress her tumbled hair. “No. Come closer.” Olivia rose to her hands and knees, her full breasts swaying as she climbed along the length of his body. She’d become quite comfortable with her nakedness over these last weeks, and he appreciated their growing familiarity. She purred with pleasure as she draped her body over his. He reached up and pulled her hair to the side so he could nuzzle her throat unhindered. “Sebastian.” “Umm?” “Tell me about your family.” He sighed. “They are a pack of vultures, sweeting. The entire lot of them.” “Surely there must be some members of your family whose company you enjoy.” “I was quite fond of my brother, Edmund.” She frowned. “What about your mother?” He stared at the canopy again. “There is nothing I can tell you, other than she was very beautiful, and I know this only because I’ve seen her portrait. I don’t remember her at all.” “How did she die?” He slid his hands through her hair and cupped the back of her head. “I don’t know that she is dead. She ran off when I still an infant.” “Oh, Sebastian.” Having caught the bitterness in his voice, hers filled with sympathy. He choked out a laugh. “Don’t pity me, Olivia. I won’t have it. I don’t want it.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Julienne shrugged. “Yesterday he took me to the Royal Academy of Art. He wishes to ask Montrose permission to pay his addresses and asked if I was open to his interest.” Lucien stiffened. Not yet. “What did you say, my love?” She picked restlessly at her skirt. “I asked him if he loved me.” Lucien swallowed hard. “And how did he reply?” “He believes he can grow to love me, given the time.” “Did you tell him you would accept his suit?” Julienne met his gaze with a reproving frown. “You know I would not be here with you if I had. I asked him to wait until the end of the Season, as you and I discussed.” “He must have been curious as to your reasons.” “Of course. I told him there was the possibility that someone I cared for could grow to love me as well, and I wanted to allow the other man sufficient opportunity to do so.” “Bloody hell,” Lucien muttered, with a rueful laugh. “I’ve always loved your honesty, but for Christ’s sake, did you have to be so blunt with him? No man wants to hear he’s running in second place.” He grinned suddenly. “But finding out he’s first is very pleasant.” “I told him he shouldn’t settle for anything less than love either. He admired my honesty and agreed to respect my wishes.” She bit her bottom lip. “He did say he would put up a fight.” Lucien was tempted to reveal his feelings, but feared Julienne would think he was only trying to outmaneuver Fontaine. So instead he rose from his desk and locked the door. He moved to sit beside her and took her hands in his. “Sweetheart, any man would fight for you. I intend to fight for you.” She gave him an arch look. “It’s extremely disheartening to know that the two men who wish to marry me find falling in love with me such a chore.” “Sometimes it takes a man a while to realize he’s found what he didn’t even know he was looking for.” “Ha,” she scoffed. “Pretty it up all you like. It will not change the cold, hard facts.” Lucien pulled her hand to his throbbing erection. “It’s definitely hard, love.” He grinned. “But it’s not cold.” Julienne’s eyes widened just before she laughed with delight. “Lucien Remington, you are without a doubt the most lascivious man I have ever met.” He pressed his lips to her throat. “That’s partly your fault. You tempt me constantly, and it’s been a while since I last found any relief.” “Shall I relieve you, darling?” she asked in a breathless whisper. “I would love to.” She gave his cock a firm squeeze. “Jesus.” Lucien buried his face in her neck with a tortured groan. “You are perfect for me. Surely you see that.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Hugh sketched a quick bow. “I await your pleasure.” [image file=image_rsrc3ZN.jpg] “How long did it take before he started asking questions?” Charlotte sighed. “Longer than I would have expected.” “How did you answer?” “I didn’t.” “But you’ll have to.” Nodding, Charlotte began to strip from her damp clothes. Goose bumps covered her skin, and she stepped closer to the warmth of the fire. “Montrose is very interesting, just as you suspected.” “And handsome.” “Yes, he’s quite gorgeous, and a brazen rake, too.” Smiling, she thought of the way he’d cleaned her hands for her and the concern he’d shown for his injured footman. “But much nicer than I would have thought. A touch vulnerable, too, which I never would have suspected. I took him for the arrogant sort, but beneath that exterior, I think he doubts himself a little.” “Oh . . . he is interesting! Perhaps it’s good he’s come along, then. You’re young and lovely; it’s truly a shame you’ve chosen to dedicate yourself to me. Not that I’d ever send you away. You keep me from going completely mad with boredom.” Charlotte laughed. “It’s no sacrifice, as you well know.” “’Tis far different from the life you knew.” “That is not a bad thing.” Charlotte sank gratefully into the steaming bath. “My former life had its pleasures, to be sure, but I was ready for a change and a bit of equanimity.” A few moments of silence passed. “I studied the map while you were gone.” Resting her head against the lip of the tub, Charlotte closed her eyes. “I’m sick to death of poring over that blasted thing. When the spring thaw comes, we’ll charter a ship and go ourselves. Perhaps then we’ll discover something useful.” “His Grace was very ill when he gave you that map,” came the soft reminder. “Perhaps he wasn’t altogether sane at the time.” Charlotte sank lower into the water. She’d considered that possibility many times. The books Glenmoore had left behind were cryptic at best, and the map, while comparable to others depicting the same body of water, had distinguishing features she could find nowhere else. Still, what choice did they have? The new Duke of Glenmoore was miserly with the trust and— “Have you considered any other possibilities?” interjected the lilting voice Charlotte had come to love. “No,” she admitted. “But I suppose I shall have to, in short order.” “Well, in the meantime, enjoy the earl.” The soft rustle of muslin betrayed movement. “You should wear your red silk to dinner. You’re breathtaking in it. He’ll never be able to resist you.” “He’s not trying to resist me,” she said dryly. She’d never cared for libidinous pleasure-seekers like Montrose, though she’d tolerated them when necessary. Hugh, however, wasn’t at all like his appearance led one to believe. In fact, he seemed almost lonely. Much like she was. “Ah, well, even better.” Charlotte laughed. “I’m certain it’s not proper to discuss this sort of thing with you.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Once they reached the busy thoroughfare, they left the carriage and began to stroll, stopping to window-shop as they made their way to the modiste. “Lord and Lady Merrick.” They both turned. Olivia smiled at the approaching couple. The man, tall and superbly fit, boasted eyes of the most startling color. Somewhere between purple and deep blue, they were devastating. The woman on his arm, slender and graceful, offered a luminous smile. “Remington,” Sebastian greeted, offering his hand. “How are you, old chap? Remington shook it heartily and grinned. “I thought that was you, Merrick, although without the presence of Lady Merrick to confirm it, I would not have said anything. You look positively piratical. You need only an earring to complete the picture.” He brought his companion forward. “Julienne, this is the prodigal Lord Merrick. Merrick, allow me to present my wife, Lady Julienne.” Lady Julienne smiled and offered her hand, shooting an amused glance at Olivia. “So there is indeed a Lord Merrick.” Olivia choked back a laugh. Sebastian didn’t bother—he laughed outright. “Olivia, love. Have you made the acquaintance of Lucien Remington and his lovely wife?” She nodded. “I have.” “I’ve a favor to ask, my lord,” Remington said. “I need some new horseflesh and was hoping I could convince you to join me at Tattersall’s tomorrow.” “Certainly. Is there something in particular you are hoping to find?” With a quick tilt of her head, Lady Julienne motioned her over. Olivia went gladly, leaving the men to their discussion. Julienne Remington was one of the rare, truly genuine people she’d met since returning to London. They shared a small affinity, both having once been ostracized by Society. Julienne, an earl’s daughter, had married the notorious Lucien Remington, the bastard son of a duke. It had caused a scandal of drastic proportions, or so Olivia had been told. But from the looks of it, Julienne had made a wise decision. Remington was obviously completely besotted with his beautiful wife. “I can see why you’ve kept him hidden,” Julienne said with a mischievous smile as they strolled away. “Merrick quite overwhelms a girl, doesn’t he?” Olivia laughed. “Yes, he certainly does.” Julienne stopped before a milliner’s and peered inside. “Look at that! Isn’t it lovely?” Looking at the feathered hat, Olivia nodded. “It is quite fetching.” “I must have it.” Julienne moved toward the entrance of the shop just as a pastry cart passed. Enticed by the delectable scent of peach tarts, Olivia was suddenly starving. Her stomach growled. Loudly. Julienne laughed. “Poor dear. Pregnancy will do that to you.” Olivia’s eyes widened. “How did you know?” “I’ve birthed two sons, Lady Merrick. I recognize the signs.” She waved her hand toward the vendor. “Go fetch your pastry, and I’ll purchase my hat. We’ll meet here when we’re done.” “A wonderful idea,” Olivia said with a grin. She went to the pastry cart and paid for her tart, her mouth watering in anticipation. “Lovely day, isn’t it, Lady Merrick?”

• From Thinking, Fast and Slow (2011)

  is a signal that things are generally going well, the environment is safe, and it is all right to let one’s guard down. A bad mood indicates that things are not going very well, there may be a threat, and vigilance is required. Cognitive ease is both a cause and a consequence of a pleasant feeling. The Remote Association Test has more to tell us about the link between cognitive ease and positive affect. Briefly consider two triads of words: sleep mail switch salt deep foam You could not know it, of course, but measurements of electrical activity in the muscles of your face would probably have shown a slight smile when you read the second triad, which is coherent (sea is the solution). This smiling reaction to coherence appears in subjects who are told nothing about common associates; they are merely shown a vertically arranged triad of words and instructed to press the space bar after they have read it. The impression of cognitive ease that comes with the presentation of a coherent triad appears to be mildly pleasurable in itself. The evidence that we have about good feelings, cognitive ease, and the intuition of coherence is, as scientists say, correlational but not necessarily causal. Cognitive ease and smiling occur together, but do the good feelings actually lead to intuitions of coherence? Yes, they do. The proof comes from a clever experimental approach that has become increasingly popular. Some participants were given a cover story that provided an alternative interpretation for their good feeling: they were told about music played in their earphones that “previous research showed that this music influences the emotional reactions of individuals.” This story completely eliminates the intuition of coherence. The finding shows that the brief emotional response that follows the presentation of a triad of words (pleasant if the triad is coherent, unpleasant otherwise) is actually the basis of judgments of coherence. There is nothing here that System 1 cannot do. Emotional changes are now expected, and because they are unsurprising they are not linked causally to the words. This is as good as psychological research ever gets, in its combination of experimental techniques and in its results, which are both robust and extremely surprising. We have learned a great deal about the automatic workings of System 1 in the last decades. Much of what we now know would have sounded like science fiction thirty or forty years ago. It was beyond imagining that bad font influences judgments of truth and improves cognitive performance, or that an emotional response to the cognitive ease of a triad of words mediates

• From Bright Lights, Big City (1984)

  you talked about. “White or wheat,” Megan asks. “I don’t know. White, I guess.” “You don’t know what’s good for you.” “All right, wheat. Wheat’s better.” From the bakery you proceed to the vegetable stand. Why are all the vegetables in the city sold by Koreans? Boxes of tumescent produce glisten under the green awning. You wonder if they color-coordinate the displays according to secret Oriental principles of mind control. Maybe they know that the juxtaposition of red tomatoes and yellow squash will produce in the consumer an irresistible urge to buy a bag of expensive oranges. Megan buys fresh basil, garlic, romaine lettuce and tomatoes. “Now there’s a tomato,” she says, holding a large red vegetable up for your inspection. Or is it a fruit? Megan lives in a big fifties building on Charlton and Sixth. Two large cats, a Siamese and a calico, are waiting at the door. She introduces them as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern: Rose and Guildy for short, explaining that her first off-off Broadway role was Gertrude in a rock- and-roll version of Hamlet. “I didn’t know you were an actress.” “My first love. But I got tired of waitressing.” The apartment is a studio, not large, but furnished to give the impression of distinct areas. Against one wall is a double bed with patchwork quilt. In the center of the room a floral couch, and matching chairs are grouped in front of the largest window. At the other end of the room a rolltop desk is sheltered behind a row of bookcases. The tidiness of this arrangement is qualified by strident outbursts of plant life. The cats stroke themselves on Megan’s ankles while she hangs her shawl in a closet by the door. “How about a glass of wine?” she says. “Sure. Thanks.” The cats follow her into the kitchen. You read the bookshelves. In the examination of personal libraries is an entire hermeneutics of character