Fans of Eloisa James & Julia Quinn discussion
Monday Puzzler
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09/23/13 - Hatfields & McCoys
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Janga, I also have a galley of book three on my TBR pile and I'm looking forward to the ebook that continues the feud storyline.
Phoenix, I'm enjoying this series too, but Something about Emmaline and Mistress by Morning remain my favorites by Boyle.
Charlene, this is the answer Elizabeth Boyle gives:
"And why is the series called Rhymes with Love? Because the titles of the first three books are all taken from nursery rhymes: Along Came a Duke, And The Miss Ran Away with the Rake, and If Wishes were Earls."
I think the confusion enters because Boyle is using "Rhymes" as a noun, but a reader may think it is a verb.
"And why is the series called Rhymes with Love? Because the titles of the first three books are all taken from nursery rhymes: Along Came a Duke, And The Miss Ran Away with the Rake, and If Wishes were Earls."
I think the confusion enters because Boyle is using "Rhymes" as a noun, but a reader may think it is a verb.

"And why is the series called Rhymes with Love? Because the titles of the first three books are all taken from nursery rhymes: Along Came a Duke..."
Thanks, Janga, for the noun part! Now I'll try to puzzle out the rest!
Charlene, I think the idea is that the titles are takes on nursery rhymes.
Along Came a Spider=Along Came a Duke; And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon=And the Miss Ran Away with a Rake; If Wishes Were Horses=If Wishes Were Earls. But since the books are romances, they are not rhymes for the nursery set but rather rhymes with (or about or referencing) love. It's forced, but I think that's the reasoning.
Along Came a Spider=Along Came a Duke; And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon=And the Miss Ran Away with a Rake; If Wishes Were Horses=If Wishes Were Earls. But since the books are romances, they are not rhymes for the nursery set but rather rhymes with (or about or referencing) love. It's forced, but I think that's the reasoning.
“Overly simple?”
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “Ever so much so.”
This time, when Lord Hero straightened, he let his apple fall to one side. “And you like that?”
“Of course. A simple man will not overrun me or attempt to deceive me. I think he sounds the perfect husband.”
“Doesn’t sound so to me. Not if he’s the sort to pass off schoolboy lines.”
“Not everyone can have your dash and polish, Lord Hero.” She smiled at him, met his gaze and waited.
There was a moment when neither of them spoke. “I have dash and polish?” he managed.
“Yes.” Again waiting for some sort of inspired declaration from the man.
Instead, he leaned back against the tree, his hands behind his handsome head. Heroine wasn’t in the mood to let him preen for long. “Oh, you needn’t be so proud of the fact. That is also one of your faults. Hatfield pride.”
“I’ve always thought the McCoys possessed the lion’s share of that trait, leaving hardly any for the rest of us.”
“I’ll admit we are a prideful lot,” Heroine told him, “but then again, we have much to preen over.”
“Bah! McCoys!” he mocked.
“Harrumph! Hatfields!” Heroine met his gaze with an arrogant one of her own, and before she knew it, they were both laughing uproariously at the ridiculousness of it all.
“How long have our families been at each other?”
She shrugged. “Forever.”
“Over a litter of mongrel pups.”
Heroine looked aside and blushed, for she wasn’t supposed to know that, but of course she did.
“Foolish, isn’t it?” He looked at her, his glorious eyes filled with something that was far from mockery, far from the usual Hatfield disdain, and Heroine’s heart skipped and tumbled as it always did when he looked at her that way.
“Very much so.”
He thrust out his hand. “Then a truce is in order!”
“A what?” she managed, looking down at his hand and willing herself to take hold of it. For as much as she bemoaned his unwillingness to declare himself, now she was just as hesitant to take what he was offering.
“A truce, minx. Yes, a Hatfield-McCoy truce. I declare all hostilities between our families hereby null and void.” He pressed his hand closer, and Heroine took it.
What else could she do?
And as his large palm wound around her smaller one, she felt as she always did around him—engulfed.
She looked down at their intertwined hands. “I don’t think I shall be counted as a McCoy after this.”
He laughed and let go of her, leaning back again in that lord-of-the-manor way of his. “I suspect the seventh duke will haunt me to the end of my days, but it is a fate I am willing to risk.”
He was? Willing to risk the censure of his family for her? Was that what he was saying?
“Why?” she asked.
“Because, Miss McCoy, you and I are alike.”
At this she laughed.
“We are,” he insisted. “Whether you approve or not.”
Heroine stilled, for she was quite convinced he was about to haul her into his arms and kiss her. He was, she just knew it.