Editorial Reviews. Review. “The Corinthian remains one of my favorite Georgette Heyer books a treat and a keeper.” – Lesa’s Book Critiques “hilarious. Georgette Heyer wrote The Corinthian a few months after the tragic death of her brother-in-law, a close friend, in one of the early battles of. Book Source: Digital Library of India Item : Heyer, ioned.

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Someone was climbing out of a second-storey window of one of the prim houses on the opposite side of the street.

The Corinthian by Georgette Heyer, A Review | Jane Austen’s World

Sir Richard stood still, and blinked at this unexpected sight. His divine detachment still clung to him; he was interested in what he saw, but by no means concerned with it. His somewhat sleepy gaze discovered that whoever was escaping from the prim house was proposing to do so by means of a knotted sheets, which fell disastrously short of the ground. By the time he had reached the opposite kerbstone, the mysterious fugitive had arrived, somewhat fortuitously, at the end of his improvised rope, and was dangling precariously above the shallow area, trying with one desperate foot to find some kind of resting-place on the wall of the house.

Sir Richard saw that he was a very slight youth, only a boy, in fact, and went in a leisurely fashion to the rescue. The fugitive caught sight of him as he descended the area-steps, and gasped with a mixture of fright and thankfulness: Could you help me, please? I didn’t know it was so far. I thought I should be able to jump, only I don’t think I can. The fugitive’s feet were only just above his reach, and in another five seconds the fugitive descended into his arms with a rush that made him stagger, and almost lose his balance.

He retained it by a miracle, clasping strongly to his chest an unexpectedly light body. Sir Richard was not precisely sober, but although the brandy fumes had produced in his brain a not unpleasant sense of irresponsibility, they had by no means fuddled his intellect.

Sir Richard, his chin tickled by curls, and his arms full of fugitive, made a surprising discovery.

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He set the fugitive down, saying in a matter-of-fact voice: You see, I had to tie my bundle on my back, and now I can’t undo it. And where is my hat? I can’t think how it worked right round me like that. I am truly grateful to gdorgette A chuckle, hastily choked, greeted this. I couldn’t manage a bandbox, so I had to tie all my things up in a shawl.


The Corinthian (Regency Romances): Georgette Heyer: : Books

And now I think I must be going, if you please. You cannot, my good child, wander about the streets of London at this hour of night, and dressed in those clothes.

I believe I ought to ring that bell, and hand you over to your – aunt, did you say? Only hdyer me the way to Holborn! It’s my belief you are a dangerous criminal. I am escaping from the most odious persecution. Let us remove from this neighbourhood. I have seldom seen a street that depressed me more. I can’t think how I came here. Do you feel that our agreeable encounter would be improved by an exchange of names, or are you travelling incognita? I hadn’t thought of that.

My real name is Penelope Creed. My cousin tries to tie his cravat in coirnthian Wyndham Fall. At least, that is what he says it is, but it looks like a muddle to me. My cousin tries to be a dandy, but he has a face like a fish. Heye want me to marry him. We had better repair to my house to discuss this matter. How old are you? Miss Creed worked this out. Let it suffice that Corinthia have not the slightest intention of making love to you.

You carry your wine very well. My cousin becomes excessively silly. Where are we now? I live in St. Why do they want you to marry your cousin?

You see, my father had no other children, and I believe I am most fabulously wealthy, besides having a house in Somerset, which they won’t let me live in. When he died I had to live with Aunt Almeria. I was only twelve years old, you see. And now she corinthhian persecuting me to marry my cousin Frederick. Corinthkan I ran away. I haven’t seen him for nearly five years, but we used to play together, and we pricked out fingers – mixing the blood, you know – and we made a vow to marry one another when we were grown-up.

And say it was your duty? And plague your life out? And cry at you? So I stole Geoffrey’s second-best suit, and climbed out of the window.

He is at Harrow, and his clothes fit me perfectly. Is this your house? You need have no fear. A lamp was burning in the hall, and a candle was placed on a marble-topped table, in readiness for Sir Richard.


He kindled it by thrusting it into the lamp, and led his guest into the library. Here there were more candles, in chandeliers fixed to the wall. Sir Richard lit as many of these as seemed good to him, and turned to inspect Miss Creed. She had taken off her hat, and was standing in the middle of the room, looking interestedly about her.

Her hair, which clustered in feathery curls on the top of her head, and was somewhat raggedly cut at the back, was guinea-gold; her eyes were a deep blue, very large and trustful, and apt at any moment to twinkle with merriment.

She had a short little nose, slightly freckled, a most decided chin, and a pair of dimples. Sir Richard, critically observing her, was unimpressed by these charms.

She raised her candid eyes to his face, and said: Never mind; sit down, and let us talk this matter over. My recollection is none of the clearest, but I fancy you said you were going into Somerset to marry a friend of your childhood. And you propose to undertake this journey as a passenger on an Accommodation coach? You cannot interfere in my affairs merely because you helped me out of the window.

Something tells me I ought to restore you to the bosom of your family. There was a pause. Sir Richard unfobbed his snuff-box with a flick of one practised finger, and took a pinch. Miss Creed swallowed, and said: I see now that you are drunk. Moreover, I don’t like them.

Either you will travel to Somerset in my company, or you will go back to your aunt. If you went with me, no one would know what had become of you.

Info Who is she? Heyer’s bio Heyer’s bio Who am I? The Corinthian by Georgette Heyer Someone was climbing out of a second-storey window of one of the prim houses on the opposite side of the street.

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