Bronte Novels & Stories

“But, my Lord… Elspeth is the eldest daughter, she should be Queen.” “She knows her place, don’t you Elspeth?” Elspeth who stood beside me after I blew her away responded only with a nod. “Very well,” Father sat back on his throne and announced, “I declare your coronation, Veronica Lorraine Glaiza Elizabeth Vane, be held a week from now, where the moon shall blanket the sun, and darkness spread like wild fire.” A smile curved to my lips, “thank you, Father.” He smiled back at me and said to us both, “you may now go back to your chambers, and celebrate this day… My decision is final.” The two of us gave a bow and left the chamber.

"Clancy's grandson bought that mansion over on Bakersridge." "What nonsense are you saying? The man's a biker; for heaven's sake, where would he get that kind of money?" Natalie took a sip of the water the waitress had placed in front of her as she savored the look on Jen's face. Oh, this was going to be good.

“So, how did you two meet? I want to know more about your love story for my next novel.” Brynne felt ill at ease. She couldn’t correct her in Luke’s presence. Theirs was no love story. It was all about desire, obsession, and fake deals. Luke, however, chuckled, not in the least perturbed by his relative. He turned to hold Brynne’s gaze. “This is my aunt, Marianne Swift. She’s an award-winning New York Times best-selling romance author.”

Benton’s attention. “Have a seat, please,” the woman said finally. Ava gladly did as she was told. She was so tired from the trip and hiding her real emotions that sitting was welcome. Mrs. Benton didn’t have a smile on her face as she pushed some paperwork in front of her. “Name?” Mrs. Benton asked. “Ava. Ava Morgan.” A folder appeared in front of the older woman, making Ava almost jump out of her seat. Mrs. Benton stopped in the middle of opening the folder and raised her brow at her in question. She tried to calm her heartbeat as she gave an overly bright smile.

I admit. “I’m taking you to brunch,” he insists. I follow him out the entrance and into his car and he drives off. We arrive at the brunch place he mentioned. I had no idea a place like this existed in the city. It is well hidden, but packed wit people when we walk in. “Right this way, sir,” a waiter says as soon as he says us. He takes us to a table at the far end of the large space, with a card that says ‘reserved’ sitting on it.

The Russell family estate in northern Kent, four miles east of the village of Hexby, was in an uproar. Jane, the Marchioness of Rochester, was on the verge of strangling her second youngest child, one Linus Winston Russell. Despite her own knowledge that she had birthed that troublesome boy twenty-one years before, sometimes she swore he hadn't matured past the age of eight.

Emily Warner The loud knocking and my cat meowing in my face woke me up. What the damn hell? “Emily Anne Warner, if you don’t open this damned door in a minute, I swear to god I will knock it down with a bulldozer. I am not kidding you. You haven’t replied to any texts or calls in a week. At least before that you answered my texts. I am not going to leave you alone now.” I sat up straight in my bed as I could hear Danika yelling.

mess. Maxi's brow furrowed involuntarily when he saw the sender's name. "Viscountess Hambris Florence"

Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed. This was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:

Bronwen Wednesday morning has dawned snowy and freezing. Alec raps on the door with his open palm, banging on it like he's the police! “Bronwen Elizabeth James. Open this damn door, right fucking now!” He demands in a deep, annoyed voice. “Alec Kinkaid James. You sound like a damn lunatic!” I shout, pulling open the door. “It is five-thirty in the morning! What the hell is wrong with you?”