Persuasion

By Martina Boone

Beautiful Creatures meets Gone with the Wind in the spellbinding second novel in the Heirs of Watson Island trilogy that “skillfully blends rich magic and folklore with adventure, sweeping romance, and hidden treasure” (Publishers Weekly, on Compulsion).

Grieving the death of her godfather and haunted by her cousin Cassie’s betrayal, Barrie returns from a trip to San Francisco to find the Watson plantation under siege. Ghost-hunters hope to glimpse the ancient spirit who sets the river on fire each night, and reporters chase rumors of a stolen shipment of Civil War gold that may be hidden at Colesworth Place. The chaos turns dangerous as Cassie hires a team of archeologists to excavate beneath the mansion ruins. Because more than treasure is buried there.

A stranger filled with magic arrives at Watson’s Landing claiming that the key to the Watson and Beaufort gifts—and the Colesworth curse—also lies beneath the mansion. With a mix of threats and promises, the man convinces Barrie and Cassie to cast a spell at midnight. But what he conjures may have deadly consequences.

While Barrie struggles to make sense of the escalating peril and her growing feelings for Eight Beaufort, it’s impossible to know whom to trust and what to fight for—Eight or herself. Millions of dollars and the fate of the founding families is at stake. Now Barrie must choose between what she feels deep in her heart and what will keep Watson’s Landing safe in this stunning addition to a series filled with “decadent settings, mysterious magic, and family histories rife with debauchery” (Kirkus Reviews, on Compulsion).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
• Release date: Oct 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781481411271

Martina Boone

Martina Boone was born in Prague and spoke several languages before learning English. She's the award-winning author of the romantic southern gothic Heirs of Watson Island young adult series, including Compulsion, Persuasion, and Illusion, from Simon & Schuster, Simon Pulse. She's also the founder of AdventuresInYAPublishing.com, a three-time Writer's Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Site, and YASeriesInsiders.com, a site dedicated to encouraging literacy and reader engagement through a celebration of series literature. She's on the Board of the Literacy Council of Northern Virginia and runs the CompulsionForReading.com program to distribute books to underfunded schools and libraries. She lives with her husband, children, and a lopsided cat, she enjoys writing contemporary fantasy set in the kinds of magical places she'd love to visit. When she isn't writing, she's addicted to travel, horses, skiing, chocolate flavored tea, and anything with Nutella on it.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The last miles of the journey stretched eternally, and Watson’s Landing pulled more and more on Barrie’s finding gift. The ache at her temples had never been absent since she and Eight and Seven Beaufort had flown out to San Francisco to retrieve her godfather’s ashes. Now the pain swelled to a pounding pressure.

Seven turned the Jaguar off the bridge from the mainland onto Watson Island. Slitting her eyes, Barrie tried to avoid the afternoon sun slanting through the oaks that shadowed the road along the water’s edge. The blackwater Santisto River surrounded three sides of the island, but the Atlantic Ocean on the Eastern side added a familiar tang of salt to the tannin-scented air and made her more eager still. A few miles later, the car clattered across the smaller wooden bridge spanning the creek that separated the Watson property from the other half of the island, and a historical marker stood at the edge of the high wall that skirted the rice plantation Barrie’s family had owned since 1692. Beyond the bricks lay the Watson woods, with the Fire Carrier’s Scalping Tree at their heart. The thought both drew Barrie and repelled her.

There, you see? Almost home. From the backseat behind her, Eight reached over and lightly touched Barrie’s shoulder. You’ll feel better in a second, Bear.

Barrie smiled absently in the passenger seat, tightening her grip on the boxed urn she held in her lap. She braced herself as Seven swung into the driveway. The car stopped in front of the wrought-iron gate decorated with its ornate gold W and swirling hearts.

Perceptions were fickle things, as formless as smoke and just as dangerous. Weeks ago, when Barrie had first seen the plantation her mother had run away from in her teens, the light clawing through the haunts of Spanish moss along the avenue of ancient oaks had seemed ominous, and the down-at-the-heels mansion beyond the trees had appeared forbidding.

So much had changed since then. The things Barrie had considered safe at first had tried to kill her, and the spirits and the landscape that had frightened her initially were part of what she’d missed the most these past four days.

Leaning forward, she waited for the gate to open. It occurred to her only as the sticky heat blasted into the car from Seven’s lowered window that the entrance shouldn’t have been shut at all—not on a Sunday afternoon in tourist season. Trying and failing to tamp down a twinge of panic, she turned to Seven, who had reached out to press the intercom button set into the thick brick pillar.

Why is the gate closed? Barrie asked.

Seven didn’t answer, and in the backseat, fabric rustled across the leather as Eight shifted and slid his eyes away. Not that their evasions delayed the truth for long.

The Watson gift for finding lost things had continued to grow stronger since Barrie’s mother’s death. A tug of pressure pulled her toward the answer, which was hidden from view by Seven’s shoulder. Craning her head around him, she discovered that someone had taped a sheet of yellow paper over the plaque on the gatepost:

Tearoom and gardens

closed to the public

until further notice.

All right, what’s going on? Fighting to keep her voice level, Barrie skewered Eight with a glare. What happened? Did Pru hurt herself? Where is she?

Your aunt’s okay, Eight answered at the same moment Seven said, Pru’s just fine.

Barrie looked from one to the other, but it was Seven who had spent the most time on the phone with Pru. Out with it, Barrie commanded. What are you hiding?

In the rearview mirror, Eight and Seven flicked each other looks that acknowledged guilt.

There’s been a bit of trouble with reporters and ghost hunters since the story broke about the explosion, Seven hastened to say. Nothing to worry about. Pru and I decided it was better to close up in an abundance of caution.

You and Pru decided . . . , Barrie repeated. Why didn’t anyone tell me?

Seven’s face smoothed into the typical Beaufort for your own good expression that drove Barrie nuts. He jabbed the intercom button again, and Barrie aimed an expectant and disapproving eyebrow in Eight’s direction.

Well? she asked.

A hint of red spilled across Eight’s cheeks. Come on, Bear. You were already dealing with packing up the rest of your mother’s things. Losing his usual confident calm, he waved a hand toward the box on Barrie’s lap. Not to mention Mark.

Grief didn’t make Barrie fragile. She would have told Eight that, but the intercom crackled, and her aunt’s voice came across the wireless system.

Hello? Who’s there? Pru asked.

Seven’s expression softened as it did whenever he spoke to Pru. Just us, he said.

Well, thank God for that. Hold on, and I’ll buzz you through.

It was so good to hear the honey-slow pace of her aunt’s South Carolina drawl that Barrie’s train of thought evaporated briefly. But then the exchange only heightened her sense that the situation was worse than the Beauforts let on. Turning in her seat, she studied them. They were a matched set in their pastel oxford shirts, with their stubborn-jawed faces and their hair lightened by the sun.

She wasn’t sure which of them frustrated her more. They both had the infuriating bossiness that came with the Beaufort gift of knowing what people wanted and being compelled to give it to them. Seven even more so, as Barrie had discovered the past few days. But Eight? He was supposed to be on her side. He shouldn’t have kept things from her. Not about Watson’s Landing.

Technically, the plantation still belonged to Pru, but it was Barrie who was bound to the land by blood, magic, and inheritance. The house, the gardens, the woods where the Fire Carrier disappeared each night, and the spirits of the yunwi that the ancient witch kept corralled on the island with his nightly ceremony of fire on the river were all Barrie’s responsibility.

Responsibility.

The word felt right as Barrie thought it. She was responsible. Because who else could be? Pru barely had the Watson gift at all; she had never been the true heir. As the younger twin, younger than Barrie’s mother, Lula, the gift had touched Pru only incidentally, and she couldn’t see the spirits or feel the land as strongly as Barrie did. And how was Barrie supposed to protect the yunwi or keep Watson’s Landing safe if no one let her know what was going on?

She had every intention of telling Eight exactly why he was wrong and what kind of betrayal it was to keep secrets from her, but before she could open her mouth to speak, he leaned closer with his uncanny green eyes intent on hers.

You’re right, we should have told you, he said, echoing her thoughts the way the Beaufort gift so often let him. But what was the point of worrying you? You couldn’t do anything while we were away.

Can’t do much even now. The Santisto’s a public river, Seven said.

Barrie swung her attention back to him. What does this have to do with the river?

There are a few boats using it to watch what’s going on here. Reporters and people hoping to see the Fire Carrier. Seven pushed the car back into gear. Don’t worry. The excitement will die down after your cousin’s hearing and Wyatt’s funeral. Everything will go back to normal.

In front of them, the black iron gate trembled and began to slide. A dozen or more knee-high figures with mischievous, childlike faces rushed through the opening toward Barrie’s side of the car. Their shadow-shapes were hard to see because of the daylight and the speed with which they moved, but their eyes etched dim trails of fire and gold into the air behind them. Barrie smiled and rolled down the window to stretch out her hand.

A movement on the six-foot wall beside the gatepost made her pause.

There was a man sitting up on top. He was dark from head to toe, dressed in a black suit with a sheen that blended into his skin and an aubergine silk shirt, and he was reading a newspaper so casually, he could as easily have been sitting at home on his sofa. He turned and looked dead at Barrie. Thick rows of dreadlocks swung past his shoulders, and when he lowered the newspaper, something white flashed in sharp contrast against his wrist.

Barrie shaded her eyes, and he smiled . . . and vanished. Between one blink and the next, the top of the wall was empty except for a large raven sitting in the spot where the man had been. The bird peered at her with its head tilted considerably.

Bear? Are you all right? Eight grasped Barrie’s shoulder. What happened? You’ve gone as white as a sheet. He managed to avoid the five-day-old stitches where a piece of her uncle’s exploding speedboat had sliced into Barrie’s muscle as she’d tried to swim across the river, but she flinched anyway, and shivered.

There was a . . . , she began, but before she could mention the man she had seen, she couldn’t remember what she had meant to say.

Eight’s forehead creased into worried lines. There was a what? A person? Another reporter? Someone snooping around?

Barrie tried to focus. She was supposed to remember something. . . . Her thoughts were sluggish, as if she were trying to think through quicksand. What had she been looking for? Why was she staring at an ordinary raven on the wall?

Sorry. Nothing. She shook her head to clear it. It was nothing.

The look Eight threw her was as sharp as it was reproachful. One of your ‘nothings’ usually means there’s something. You’re not going to start keeping secrets again because we’re back, are you?

Pot, kettle, black, baseball guy. You’re the one keeping secrets.

She watched the raven fly away until it was only a smudge of receding darkness. She was going crazy; that was all there was to it. Not that it was any wonder, with everything that had happened and the migraine that hadn’t let up in days.

Seven had stopped to look around instead of driving through the gate, which wasn’t helping any. Rubbing the ache at her temple, Barrie nodded toward the entrance. "Can we please just go?" she asked.

The relief was instantaneous. The moment the car tires crunched on the white oyster shell and gravel of the avenue between the oaks, the Watson gift released its grip, as if Barrie had merely been another lost object that she was compelled to return to its proper place.

She sagged into her seat and filled her lungs with air scented by jasmine and magnolia. Fingers of moss hanging from the oak canopy overhead swayed in the breeze from the river, and the graceful old mansion at the end of the drive glowed white and gold in the waning sun. For once, all the dark green shutters hung straight and properly in place.

Ghost hunters or not, it was a relief—a joy—to be back. Barrie took in the wide lawns and the maze of hedges between the house and the Watson woods where the ground sloped gently toward the river that formed the boundary between Watson’s Landing and the Beaufort and Colesworth plantations on the opposite bank.

But a blue-canopied speedboat and two smaller craft marred the view.

Barrie wasn’t prepared for the way the sight felt wrong. The boats staked out beyond the rippling expanse of marsh grass made her muscles tighten as if her whole body had turned into a charley horse and needed to be unclenched.

She wasn’t afraid; the claustrophobic feeling wasn’t one of her usual panic attacks, which, thank goodness, were becoming rare. This was something different, an anger that came from an urge to protect Pru and Watson’s Landing. Barrie wasn’t even sure how much of that emotion came from a natural sense of violation on hearing about the intruders, and how much stemmed from the magical binding that connected her to Watson’s Landing more strongly day by day.

With a glance at the yunwi running alongside the car, she drew the box with Mark’s urn closer to her chest. Those are the boats you were talking about, the ghost hunters? How does anyone know the Fire Carrier was involved? Eight and I never told the police—or anyone.

You didn’t need to mention it. Seven’s voice and eyes had both grown cold. Enough people have claimed to see the flames on the river over the years, or at least they’ve heard the legend of the fire at midnight. Someone was bound to put two and two together when Wyatt’s boat exploded at that time of night—

He broke off abruptly, but it was too late. Tears pricked Barrie’s eyes, and the memories swept in before she blinked: the face tattooed on the back of Ernesto’s skull, the strength of his grip, the ache of his booted feet connecting with her ribs. None of it had faded from her nightmares yet, but it was her uncle’s voice that haunted her. Wyatt’s voice ordering her into the boat so they could take her out to kill her.

She couldn’t be sorry that he and Ernesto were dead.

She refused to be sorry.

A muscle ticked along Eight’s jaw as he read her, and he leaned toward her in concern.

She shook her head and turned back to Seven. There isn’t anything you can do about the boats? There has to be some way to get rid of them.

The instinct to protect Watson’s Landing was so new, she didn’t understand it herself. She didn’t expect Seven to mirror her outrage, but his eyes flashed, something real and raw sparking behind them before he seemed to get hold of himself. Then he rubbed his head with an exhausted wince, as if Barrie’s migraine had been contagious.

Better to let the interest die down on its own, he said. Anything we do is only going to create more publicity. Your aunt’s put up NO TRESPASSING signs around the dock and shoreline, and so far that seems to be working. She hasn’t seen anyone coming ashore here the way the treasure hunters have done at Colesworth Place—

Treasure hunters? Barrie’s voice was sharp. I thought we were finally done with Cassie’s imaginary treasure.

Seven swerved to avoid the white peacock and pair of peahens that had strayed too close to the road. The treasure might not be so imaginary after all. One of the reporters found an old newspaper article while he was snooping around. Alcee Colesworth took up the family tradition of privateering during the Civil War—

Piracy, Barrie said. Call it what it is.

"Privateering sanctioned by the Jefferson Davis government, Seven corrected, at least in this instance. Although, in typical Colesworth fashion, Alcee never shared his last prize with anyone. His ship sank outside Charleston Harbor, and by the time they managed to raise it, the gold had disappeared. It’s not a stretch to assume he kept it for himself."

Not long ago, Barrie would have argued Seven’s assumption. She would have said it was unfair to jump to conclusions merely because of the feud that had existed between the Colesworths and the Watsons and Beauforts for three hundred years. Barrie was, after all, a Colesworth, too, on her father’s side. But she had learned the hard way that the feud existed because the Colesworths weren’t capable of being honest with anyone, or of accepting a hand offered to them in friendship. Why her mother had ever run off with one of them, Barrie would never understand. But Lula had spent the remainder of her life paying bitterly for that mistake.

The idea that Cassie had actually told the truth about the treasure . . . about anything? Barrie didn’t believe that, and what her finding gift had sensed at Colesworth Place hadn’t felt like gold or money.

She stared through the trees to the dark water of the Santisto, gleaming with the dull sheen of tarnished silver. On the opposite bank, the jagged columns and shattered chimneys that were all that remained of the ruined Colesworth mansion stood atop a shallow rise. As always, the sight made Barrie thankful that Watson’s Landing was still intact. A little frayed at the edges, like one of her aunt Pru’s well-worn sundresses, but perfect and beautiful and familiar.

Only the boats were wrong. Barrie shivered as she remembered the last boat the Fire Carrier had encountered, and her breath came easier once the river was out of sight.

The Jaguar crawled to a stop in the circular drive below the columned portico. At the top of the wide front steps, one of the double doors flew open, and Barrie’s aunt hurried down to meet them. Barrie was barely out of the car before Pru was there, flinging her arms wide and then squeezing hard enough to make Barrie’s stitches groan.

Lord, I’ve missed you! It seems like a month since you left. Pru stood back to look at Barrie critically before giving Seven a baleful frown. Didn’t you feed this child while you were gone, Seven Beaufort? She’s likely to disappear on us. Leaning forward, she kissed Barrie on the forehead. Now, don’t you worry, sugar. We’ll get you straightened out in no time. I’m making a beef roast with sweet potatoes for supper, and I’ve got bourbon chocolate cake for dessert. That’s the only upside to having the tearoom closed: there’s plenty of time for cooking.

Barrie shifted the box to her other arm and gave a reluctant nod.

Pru eyed the box a little wildly. Is that . . . Oh, honey, have you been holding him all this time?

I couldn’t put him in the luggage. Barrie was pleased her voice didn’t tremble.

Do you want any help finding a place to put . . . him? Pru turned helplessly to Seven, but he was watching her as if she were a slice of his favorite whoopie pie cake and he wanted to eat her up.

Barrie couldn’t help an inward smile. You and Seven go do whatever you need to do in the kitchen. She held her hand out to Eight as he popped the trunk to get the suitcases. Eight can come and help me.

Apart from needing to find a safe place for Mark, she and Eight hadn’t had a moment all day to be alone.

CHAPTER TWO

The box slipped in the crook of Barrie’s elbow. It grew heavier the longer that she held it. How was it possible that with all the rooms at Watson’s Landing, all the Sheraton cabinets, Hepple-white sideboards, and Chippendale tables, there didn’t seem to be a nook or cranny where Mark would fit? None of the antiques were as too-perfectly preserved and off-limits as those that Barrie’s mother had collected, but none of them felt like Mark.

The library wasn’t any better. Pausing on the threshold, Barrie took in the new bowl of flowers Pru had put on the table between the wingback chairs and the new chintz curtains hanging in the windows. It was a beautiful room, but no amount of cleaning or redecorating could erase the fact that it had been the inner sanctum of a man who had murdered his own brother. The fog of his sins seemed to fill the room.

Murder. The word was still impossible to process. Barrie was related to murderers both on her Colesworth side and on her Watson side.

Maybe we should try in the front parlor again, she said, turning to go.

Bear, we’ve been in there twice already. Gently, Eight folded her free hand into his. The rough baseball calluses were familiar and comforting against her skin, and his grip was steadying. You have to let him go, he said.

I can’t. Barrie wanted to scream the words.

She had thought she was doing all right, surviving the blows one at a time. Discovering the skeletons of Luke Watson and Twila Beaufort in the tunnel and being locked in the tunnel herself by her cousin Cassie, that had shaken her. But she had held herself together. She had managed to escape when Ernesto and her uncle Wyatt had tried to kill her after she discovered their drug smuggling operation. The same smuggling operation that years before had made Wyatt set the fire that had killed her father and left her mother scarred.

With Eight’s help, Barrie had survived the whole long, awful night and finding out that Mark had died. She had made it through the trip to San Francisco and sorting through the last of Mark and Lula’s things. But how was she going to survive saying good-bye to Mark? How was she supposed to let him go? She didn’t have the strength for that.

Let me do it. Dropping a kiss on her nose, Eight removed the box from her hand. After he set it on the corner of the desk and took the urn out, a piece of paper fluttered to the Oriental carpet.

Barrie stooped to pick it up, but she knew what it said by heart.

Isn’t this a hell of a thing, baby girl? The damn cancer is growing faster than I thought, so I better write down everything I don’t have the courage to tell you on the phone.

Don’t you ever, ever forget that I love you, all right? Raising you is the best thing I’ve done. You’re my legacy, so remember your promise to put mileage on those fabulous shoes for both our sakes. And if that number Eight of yours is what’s going to make you happy, go after him with a pitchfork.

Now, baby girl, here’s the hard part. I’m leaving it to you to decide what to do with my ashes. You’ll probably hate me for that awhile, but you’re the one who is going to need the ceremony. I’ll be okay with anything you decide, and anyway, I’m planning on sticking around to watch what you make of yourself. Make it interesting for me, would you?

Make me proud.

There was no salutation or signature. No closing. No closure.

I need to find the right place. It’s the one last thing I can do for him. Barrie smoothed the crumpled paper and put it back into the box. You don’t have to wait with me.

I’m not going anywhere. Eight studied her with his eyes drawn and worried. Then he caught both her hands. Bear, I’ll be here for however long it takes you to find the perfect spot for Mark. You know that, but this indecision isn’t about a place. You couldn’t find anywhere that felt right in San Francisco, either.

"Mark deserves respect. He deserves everything."

Of course he does. Eight’s jaw grew even more square and stubborn, and he held his palms out, the rolled-up sleeves of his oxford slipping down to catch at the crooks of his elbows. What about putting him in the glass case here for now, where he’ll be safe? At least, until you find someplace permanent that speaks to you. Do you know where Pru put the key?

It’s probably on the key ring in the center drawer. Barrie pointed to the desk.

Eight gave her the kind of grin that always made her heart catch against her ribs. There. That wasn’t so hard, right? It’s a good spot, and you have to admit, from everything you’ve told me about Mark, he would have gotten a kick out of invading your grandfather’s space and giving Emmett a big up-yours.

Smiling when she wouldn’t have thought it was possible, Barrie picked the urn up from the desk while Eight retrieved the key. She traced the seams of gold in the dark blue lapis. They had reminded her of the kintsugi pottery she and Mark had seen at a museum once, simple vessels repaired with gold so that they were all the more beautiful for having broken. That was Mark. He had been the gold that ran through her life and made it whole.

She moved to the cabinet as Eight fitted the key into the lock, but raised voices from down the corridor behind her made her pause. The kitchen door creaked open, and determined male footsteps echoed on the mahogany floorboards. Barrie listened for her aunt’s kitten-heeled tread escorting Eight’s father out, but Pru didn’t leave the kitchen.

Barrie clutched the urn to her chest and blinked at Eight. You want to go see what they’re fighting about?

Not even a little bit. Stop trying to distract me. He unlocked the cabinet door and held it open.

Barrie instructed herself to move, to place the urn on the shelf, but her muscles seemed to belong to someone else.

The problem was, Mark couldn’t be gone.

Bear? Eight’s voice was gentler. Do you want me to do the honors?

I can manage. She succeeded in pushing her feet forward, raising her arms. Each of the mechanical motions that should have been automatic required thought and force. She set the urn in position, stepped back to study it, and moved it one shelf up before putting it back again where she had originally set it.

Eight waited to see if she would change her mind again. Then he shut and locked the cabinet and stood jiggling the keys in his palm as if he couldn’t decide what to do with them. As if he were contemplating appropriating them to save Barrie from herself.

That would be exactly like him.

You can put the keys back in the drawer, she said. I’ll stop being neurotic.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep. With another teasing smile, Eight leaned in and kissed her. A light kiss, that was how it started, but she cupped his face in both hands to hold him close. He pulled back and gave her a searching look, and then his lips met hers with the kind of hunger that sent goose bumps up her spine and made her cling to him while she still could before he left her.

She wished he weren’t going to school in California. She wished he would stay, because then she might have a chance to make things work with him. At USC, he would meet lots of girls. With his looks, and charm, and baseball scholarship, they would be all over him. How could she compete?

He pulled away, and she felt lost again. His expression was dark and serious. This is a pause, not a halt. I don’t want to start something more when Pru might come in, so I’m putting a bookmark right here. He tapped her lip with his index finger. I refuse to wait until after dinner to tell you what I need to say.

I want to talk to you, too. About the boats and what’s going on.

Eight’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. Me first, he said.

CHAPTER THREE

A whisper of wind down the oak-lined avenue cooled Barrie’s cheeks as Eight led her out the front door and around to the right side of the house. The shadow shapes of the yunwi crowded around her, surging ahead and darting impatiently back. She struggled to keep her footing in the strappy high-heeled sandals she had chosen that morning because they were a perfect match to her dark denim jeans.

Where are you dragging me, caveman baseball guy? Barrie asked, forcing a smile because Eight was taking her somewhere, and because she was home, and because she hadn’t truly felt like smiling since the night Mark had died.

Haven’t you been to this side of the house? Eight paused, his head tipping as he considered that. I guess I keep forgetting that you haven’t had time to just wander around this place.

I’ve been a little busy.

Well, come on then. It’s out of sight of the river, and we won’t be interrupted by Pru or anyone else.

There is no one else. The tearoom’s closed.

Eight shook his head at her, took her hand, and started walking. They cleared the side of the house and crossed the lawn toward a row of ruined outbuildings covered in vegetation. Although Barrie had seen the slave cabins and restored kitchen, icehouse, and chapel at Colesworth Place, she hadn’t so much as asked herself whether any of those structures still existed at Watson’s Landing. They weren’t visible from her room, standing as they did level with the main house, away from the path to the river.

There weren’t any slave cabins, thank goodness. The closest building was a stable. A laced web of wisteria, resurrection fern, and Spanish moss decorated the bricks, making it eerily beautiful, an impression that was only intensified as a shadow flew over Barrie’s head and a raven landed in a nearby oak.

At first glance, the stable complex looked neglected. Closer up, though, the masonry stood solid, and there was a structured harmony to the moss and vegetation that wasn’t truly wild. Even the wooden floors inside appeared intact when Barrie peered through a window. A heavy, heart-shaped iron padlock barred her entry, and the wooden door barely budged on its hinges when she shook it.

Is there any way inside? she asked Eight across her shoulder.

Leave it for now. There’s something else I want you to see.

He bypassed the stand-alone kitchen and some other structures. The chapel was the only ruin. Charred by fire and roofless, it stood at the center of a fenced cemetery, with a congregation of angels, crosses, and tombstones of every possible size and shape, rank after rank of them, mourning above the silent graves outside its walls. Inside the chapel, an oak tree had taken root and spread its branches wide overhead to create a living ceiling.

Eight paused beside the fence. Beautiful, isn’t it? In the winter, when the leaves are off the trees, it’s visible from my room. I’ve always wanted a chance to come over and poke around.

So basically, wanting to kiss me was only an excuse?

Other way around. Eight stepped closer and his eyes focused on her lips. I’ll use any excuse to kiss you.

Instead of kissing her, though, he grinned and took her hand again to help her clamber over the waist-high fence. His touch lingered on her skin as he led the way through the empty arched entry into the chapel, where light

Reviews for Persuasion

[underthebookpile · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Persuasion is a classic, and a charming one! It follows twenty-something Anne as she navigates the path to almost certain spinsterhood. She had a love once, but gave it up due to the expectations of her family and their certainty she could get a "better match." Fast forward: she didn't. But...she might have a second chance.Anne's "late in life" (for the time period) love story is the main plot driver in the book, however my favorite part was her observations, and the comments of, her family and friends. The book is quite savage toward the stuffy upper crust and it was actually laugh out loud funny at parts. It is partially set in Bath, England, where Austen did live, and I think a lot of the author's own feelings toward the people around her were coming out here in a thinly veiled way. Great, short read!

[twileteyes · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Read through dailylit.com and kept clicking the "send next installment" over and over--was supposed to take 6 weeks (I think) instead I read it in two days.

[bookconcierge · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This was Austen’s last novel, and one would think it would be the ultimate work of a mature author who had honed her craft. But it isn’t. It’s not Austen’s fault. She grew quite ill and was not able to finish it.There are still many of the elements of a treasured Austen classic here. She is able to turn a critical eye on the social mores of the time and expose the frustration and angst of the young women who were captives of their class and station in life. But the sparkling dialogue of her earlier works is missing in Persuasion. I found the plot bogging down in places, and I was confused by the cast of characters. Neither Captain Fredrick Wentworth nor Miss Anne Elliot came to life for me the way (for example) Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennett did in [Pride and Prejudice]. Even so, I enjoyed reading this classic comedy of manners, a romantic story where all ends well. And why shouldn’t it?

[mrsdanaalbasha · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It's funny really, but Persuasion was my least favorite book I read by Austen when I was young. But after maturing, I found that I loved this book more than all of them. Anne Elliot grew on me, and I found myself disciplining myself to be more sensible like her at times.

I love Anne Elliot's character, she might have made a mistake by letting others change her mind and she regrets it for 8 long lonely years, but her love never altered, you see how much she loves Wentworth even in her silence, even when he was intending to marry another, I love how she describes their first encounter after 8 years, and I love Wentworth letter to Anne at the very end, when he asks her if he still has a chance to win her heart once again because his love never changed for it was always her and no one else that captured his heart.

I love how Anne silently answers many questions and accusations about herself, her silence became her companion after years of neglect, after years of being the least loved, the least favored in her family. She lost her voice but regained it when she felt she could have another chance at happiness.

The story is filled with hope that the pages could hardly hold the ink in.

My favorite adaptation is the 2007 film.

[jdifelice-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

my second favourite jane austen novel. i love how after several years, anne still loves captain wentworth and how they reclaim their love together :)

[comfypants · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A woman still loves the man she dumped years ago.Good. This is the first book from this era that I've read, and it was pretty hard at first to care about a story from such an alien culture. You wait for most of the book for one of these two characters to just tell the other one they like them already. It's weirdly satisfying when they finally do.

[adjustable · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

it is a great book, really recommended it!

Der eckschreibtischlädt auf jeden Fall zum Platznehmen ein. Aber wenn Sie die Art sind, die übermäßig in die Arbeit vertieft ist, hat es auch ein sitzendes Warnsystem, mit dem Sie sich auch daran erinnern können, hin und wieder aufzustehen.

https://fezibo.de/collections/hoehenverstellbarer-schreibtisch

[debicates · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

"...if you please, no reference to examples in books. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything." --Miss Anne Elliot

I have enjoyed many TV series and movies based on Austen's novels, some viewed multiple times, snuggly cozy entertainments. That explains why I'm not entirely sure I haven't read her until now; I feel so familiar with her work. But I am pretty sure this my first legitimate Austen.

Her writing is amazing! Witty, snarky, precise, observant, perfectly controlled, and done so as woman of her time and within great limitations. That last bit is surely our loss.

If she could create stories that are eagerly and frequently read continuously 200 years after she wrote them, that is a testament to her genius talent! I cannot help but wonder what her pen might have also included if she had traveled, had received a formal education, had "a room of her own" and a modest financial foundation.

Certainly not all is lost. She told us her story, a fabulously entertaining but clear-eyed portrait of a woman's life, its limitations back when women had few options, few rights, and little education. It's good to never forget that state of affairs that lasted eons before now. And, remarkably, like Virginia Woolf insisted that any great work must not do, she didn't grind her axe.

Instead, she illuminated. With greatness.

P.S. Why just 4 stars? I rate those books 5 stars that I would love to read again. Honestly, I don't have that desire with Persuasion. There are many more works, 20th and 21st century works, that I prefer, that invoke stronger feeling, stronger connections. I, too, am a woman of my own time. I will continue to happily stream Austen-based films on my big screen TV on cold rainy Sundays with a hot mug of coffee.

[spoko_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This is the first Jane Austen book I’ve managed to finish. And unless I’m very much mistaken, it will be my last. I wanted to finish one, because I refused to accept the stereotype that they’re all about a bunch of worthless, hoity-toity British twits with nothing better to do than sit around whinging and meddling in each others’ relationships. I learned something valuable from finishing this—I learned that sometimes stereotypes are absolutely dead on. Austen spends most of the book subtly mocking this class of people, which I suppose might feel transgressive and radical to some of her readers. But of course she never comes anywhere near mentioning the very existence of the other classes who make this ridiculous existence possible.

My biggest complaint about the book, though, isn’t about class or anything along those lines; it’s a straightforward literary one: the book is entirely populated with detestable characters. Even the very few who are not simple mockery fodder are nevertheless completely disingenuous (even with themselves), and pathetically subservient to the arbitrary pretenses that rule the lives of everyone around them. I can’t see how anyone would have any attachment to them, or concern about the fate they bring entirely upon themselves.

I will grant one thing: Austen is a skilled writer. She does an effective job portraying the very subtlest hints of action or exposure of emotion in her characters. It’s a shame her skill isn’t applied to anything more interesting or substantive than this.

[astrologerjenny · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Austen is funniest when she’s dealing with social snobs, and this novel starts out that way. But the heroine is the daughter of the snob in question, and she is a modest and sensible young lady. Her main fault is that she’s been too easily persuaded to turn her back on the man she really loves. This novel brings her back to him. It’s a perfect antidote after you've read anything depressing.

[kristysp · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Reading Jane Austen is like drinking a perfectly made cup of tea, late in the afternoon. Her prose is so smooth and comforting and perfectly elegant. I really enjoyed Persuasion, more than I expected to. Austen seemed to really explore the motivations and interactions of her characters. The breathless and romantic ending was delightfully swoony as well. :)

[emmakendon_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Loved the lampooning of Anne Elliot's family, and everyone fainting and being useless at Louisa's jumping the steps on the Cobb at Lyme. I especially enjoyed the Admiral's need to remove all Sir Walter's mirrors. But I didn't go for Captain Wentworth's letter - it felt like the kind of thing we girls want our men to write, but they don't write those things. Maybe JA never really worked out how to manage it either, bearing in mind there is more than one reconciliation device.

[shanaqui_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book seems rather more subdued and serious than Austen's others -- that I've read, anyway. I was half-expecting some silly conclusion in which everyone marries and everyone is reconciled and whatever. By the time I was halfway through, I didn't really know where it was going to go, and I'm not sure I cared that much. Persuasion wasn't bad to read, I just didn't really care that much.

Anne, as a main character, is very nice. Kind of bland, really. Just nice. She bears her lot remarkably calmly, is all self-sacrificing all the time, doesn't seem to have any great passions. She's comfortable and unchallenging. I didn't really get to know or care about her paramour, either, so I was just vaguely glad when they got together. The lack of real feeling made the book lack any urgency, too.

The characters in general didn't seem as lively and interesting in general as, say, the Bennets, and were therefore not as endearing for me. Mary reminded me of Mrs Bennet, but at least with Mrs Bennet, I felt a little fond of her.

Mind you, I can say what I like but I probably read Persuasion in a couple of hours, all told, and I don't exactly think those hours wasted. It wasn't the most gripping, life-changing book in the world, but I enjoyed it well enough.

[bookishjojo · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

hmm, now that i have finished this read, i am wondering if i like it more than pride and prejudice???late in the book there is this quote:"Minutiae which, even with every advantage of taste and delicacy which good Mrs. Musgrove could not give, could be properly interesting only to the principals."and when i read that line it made me think of the details in austen's writing and how, in fact, the minutiae present with her manner of storytelling sucks me right in every time. but...with persuasion i feel this is very much a novel of anne's restraint and resolve as much as it is a tale of different persuasions. so given anne's nature, though we aren't privy to her inner workings in great detail, i was seeing everything through her eyes and completely immersed in her world.i am so glad i had saved a few austens to read and so had this novel to be experienced for the first time. i now, of course, want to re-watch one of the bbc adaptations!!

[teaswirls · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

While I love Jane Austen and her characters I'm at a stage where I want to be so much more invigorated by a book and I just cannot (to use an awful phrase) "get into" this kind of novel at the moment. Time to spend a while reading other genres and then come back to these. Ahhh, feels good to say that and not feel guilty.

[jenneb_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Reread because I ran out of things to read and was looking for free ebooks.
A few things:
1) nobody writes annoying people as well as Jane Austen.
2) so, many, commas,
3) OMG Captain Wentworth's letter. I. DIE.

[amandamay83 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I tried to read this book, really I did. We read it for my book club and it came highly recommended by a woman whose taste in books I share. I wanted to like this book. But a month later, and I'm still only 38% done with what is a very thin book.

It's puzzling to me...I like the story line. I like the characters. But something about the writing... I just can't make myself finish it. It's a slow read. It's not something I can sit down with and relax at the end of the day. It takes a level of focus that I am apparently incapable of. Reading it just felt way too much like high school.

I appologize to all the Austen fans, but I just can't do it.

[beabatllori · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

3.5 really. I don't know what to make of this one. I know it's usually regarded as Austen's most mature novel. Sure, the main character is 28 and there's lots of autumnal references, as well as political symbolism - but I didn't find it all that deep and full-fleshed.

It's the story of Anne Elliot, a gentleman's daughter who had become engaged to a captain Wentworth 8 years before the novel begins, but broke the engagement due to family pressures. She has never stopped loving him, and now she encounters him again and hopes that he will still have feelings for her.

Now, as I see it, there's two ways one can take this premise. One, you can explore how these two people have changed. Are they still the people they fell in love with in the first place? Will they still love each other, and if so, will it be for the same reasons? Two, you can use the tension created by this background to write an otherwise standard romance, which is what happens here. The result is a succesion of scenes along the lines of "OMG, he found me a place in the carriage so I won't have to walk home - he LUUUUUUVS me!".

Of course, this is all superbly written, and the book is by no means an average romance, but it's still a pretty conventional one. Which would be fine, if it wasn't full of hints dropped to remind the reader that this oh-so-mature and more adult and complex than, say, Pride and Prejudice. It probably is, but Pride and Prejudice works much better as a comedy of manners than Persuasion does as a character study.

[alcracka · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I was actually thinking about going for three Austen books, 'cause I dug Pride & Prejudice so much, but when I got into Persuasion I realized there are an awful lot of familiar elements. The well-mannered guy can't be trusted, the shy, dickish guy can, the heroine's the most perceptive character in the book, her family is near-fatally mortifying...if this is just what Austen does, that's fine, but it means one should maybe not read her books back-to-back.

Anne Elliott is a great character, though. More complicated than Elizabeth. She, like this book, is a little ambiguous. Even the novel's theme, laid out in the title, is a slippery one; Anne herself seems unable to come to terms with it, concluding - maybe half-heartedly and a little defensively - that one ought to be persuaded by one's elders instead of one's heart, because if they turn out to be wrong one might get a second chance eight years later. It's possible that I read that defensiveness in myself because I want to like Anne more than that; as it stands, that moral is an awfully conservative one, and one that doesn't sit well with me.

The version my wife had on hand, which she hates so much that this is still the only Austen book she's never read, is the Longman Cultural Edition, which comes, Norton-style, with about a hundred pages of supporting material. Some of that was terrific; I loved reading Austen's letters, chosen (wisely) from when she was Anne's age, not from the period in which she actually wrote the book. Unsurprisingly, they sound just like her books: funny and charming. It's particularly neat to read her account of a ball, and her own very recognizable trepidation and elation at being asked to dance (or not). Some of the contextual reading is also nice, including some well-chosen passages from Byron. The contemporary reviews weren't nearly as interesting as I'd hoped; they focus on her recent and posthumous identification as the author, rather than on the book, which sounds cool but turns out to sorta not be. I hated the introduction - too many big words, not enough thought - and the footnotes were superfluous. I'm not under the impression that Austen requires footnotes. Four stars for the edition.

[nalis7 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Jane Austen does romance like nobody else. The tension and the anticipation, drawn out for a novel's worth, perfectly balances the convention of her day with the impatience of the modern reader. Jane Austen is the only author of her day that does not try my patience. And she's one of the few who don't mess up a good romance with embarrassment. This, of all Jane Austen's books, is the one I find the most influenced from her life. And it is for that more that the story that I liked the novel. On the pages of the book I found myself more rooting for a scenario where Jane was thrust into society with the man she had wanted to marry but was not of influence enough to be accepted with the tables now turned and her in every position to say yes. I wanted Jane to relive her life as a small part of her did on the pages of her novel.

Of all the characters in the book Ann was the only likable one and while it would have been better for her if Captain Wentworth had saved her from her selfish family 8 years prior, late is better than never. The interactions full of blushes and meaning had me wanting to shake both of them to swallow their pride and take the first step. It's hard once you've been rejected, had your heart broken, to admit to being vulnerable again, but they were obviously both miserable with just the thought of each other and if they missed connecting with their love this time around, they wouldn't have the meddling of other to blame.

Which brings me to the statements about society Austen made. Two kind souls perfect for each other are torn about because circumstance is not favorable. To make the statement that money and position are not good judges of character, Austen surrounds Anne with characters one more deplorable than the next: a father spending his family into bankruptcy, a cold emotionally void sister, a selfish competitive sister who whines until things fall in her favor, silly cousins, a gold digger, a power/money hungry man who cares not who he ruins in his climb. And these are the people who are supposed to be good blood and therefore good people. But we all know riches more often than not buy spoiled self-centered shallow personalities, not better ones. I wanted to despise the characters more than Austen allowed because they are presented through the eyes of a loving relative.

And then we get to the topic of persuasion itself. Modern society cares not for the influence of the elderly nor the advice it imparts, but throughout history and other cultures, the elder reign with too much power. There must be a happy median where one listens to the counsel of those who have lived through it and respects older generations without letting such opinions stand supreme. Nobody makes decisions for one's life better than that person and all well-meaning meddling should be taken and considered, but not let it overpower ones own persuasion. When one makes decisions to please others and not with the best at heart, it is the wrong decision. It's not even just a young/old problem. It's a personality issue too where the shy or insecure let the out-spoken run their lives for them because it's easy to go along than fight sometimes. I say if you get what you want too easily from someone, be careful because it's not given whole-heartedly and your tactics may come back to hurt you in unexpected ways when that person finally breaks. I suppose I related more to Anne than I initially realized.

There are a few parts that dragged just slightly but overall I once again loved Jane Austen's work. Although I enjoyed this one more for the picture it gave me into Austen's mind and soul than for the story itself, the story is good too.

[princess0starr · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I have a soft spot for Persuasion. I think that it has the more epic and tragic romance, and I’m constantly rooting for Anne and Wentworth to get back together. It’s an interesting study of the class system, since now the heroine is from the upper class and it’s her love interest who’s low-class and struggles with that prejudice. Love this book.

[sly_wit · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is my favorite Austen, probably because it is her most mature and thoughtful heroine.

[missjomarch · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This was a good read but I didn't like it as we'll as Pride and Prejudice. A nice romance between Anne Elliott and Captain Wentworth, their lost love and journey back to each other. Falling in love with reading is made easy when Jane Austen has written the book.

[hopingforchange · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It's no Pride and Prejudice, but it's good. I have a hard time connecting emotionally to Ann Elliot. I feel like she is a little less present in the text than, let's say, Elizabeth Bennett. She just lacks personality, and, somehow, Austen never lets us into the work. I don't know how else to explain it. The novel is guarded. And, while we get some social commentary, especially surrounding Charlotte and the Baronet, it is trite and obvious. We are missing the cutting remarks and lovely verbal play that distinguish so many of Austen's other works. The novel just leaves me wanting more.

[fhudnell-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I don't care for romance novels, Victorian or otherwise. Other than "Lady Susan", I've never been fond of Jane Austen and this book didn't do anything to change my mind. Constant gossip, vanity, obsession with getting married, snobbery, the women's fiction litany goes on and on. It's not my style. The narration of the audiobook by Juliet Stevenson was generally fine, although her male voices weren't particularly good.

[jedijane_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I suppose its because it was my A-level English text almost 20 years ago, but Persuasion still remains my favourite Austen novel. It is Austen at her extremely respectuful, almost apologetic, yet satirical best. Indeed, rather than point her acerbic wit in the direction of the characters, Austen allows them to speak for themselves and thus expose themselves. In short, Persuasion is a brilliant novel and even with its condundrum over which one is its preferred ending, it succeeds in capturing the essence and contradictions of the Regency Period.

[smiler69 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

At the head of the Elliot family is the baronet Sir Walter, a widower and a vain man who lives beyond his means and makes up his mind about people solely based on their appearance and station in life. His eldest and his youngest daughters take after him, to great comical effect, but Anne Elliot, his middle daughter, is quite different. She's a great reader of poetry and has never forgotten her first romantic attachment to Captain Frederick Wentworth, a romance which took place eight years before the story begins. But like all well bred young ladies of her day, she let herself be persuaded by a close friend of the family, Lady Russell, to break off the engagement because of Wentworth's apparent lack of fortune and prospects. But Wentworth is back, now having acquired great wealth and looking for a wife, and anyone will do, as long as she is fond of the navy. Anyone that is, but Anne. This, the last novel Austen wrote as she was dying, is a story imbued with a sense of loss, missed opportunities and regret, but of course in the end, love must conquer all and hope wins the day. I can't say now how much or how little I would have enjoyed this novel if I hadn't read it with the help of Liz, my devoted tutor, who patiently explained to me all the subtleties of the story and various conventions of the time which helped me to appreciate it as only dedicated Jane Austen fan could. Thoroughly enjoyable. The audio version by the ever-perfect Juliet Stevenson was quite a treat too.

[_________jt_________ · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The problem with Persuasion is that for a novel named Persuasion, it is not, at its heart, too concerned with persuasion. (Yeah, I know, Austen died before she could officially name the novel. Whatever. The word appears about five hundred times, and the title was always going to be Persuasion.) Here's the backstory: Anne Elliot is a bookish, milquetoasty middle child who screwed up her chance to get with hunky Freddy Wentworth, an up-and-coming sailor, eight years ago because of the interference of harridan Lady Russell, who told Anne that Wentworth was and would always be a loser. Now Anne has the pick of three hunky suitors: the aforementioned Wentworth, who against expectations has succeeded, now a captain with a chunk of change and a jones for his old sweetheart; William Elliot, a cousin who can make her the lady of her family house, which due to her father's financial profligacy is now being rented out; and Captain Benwick, a poor geek after Anne's own heart. What should happen now to best suit the implied themes of the novel? Anne ought to make her choice between these suitors without the help of outside agents, taking the decision into her own hands; whereas she was persuaded against her better judgment to ditch her beau, now she ought to choose freely, disregarding all meddling. Instead, here's what happens: Captain Benwick is taken off the market by some ditzy chick completely unsuited to him, an unlikely and abrupt match for which Austen makes a point of apologizing. Then Anne's old spinster friend (no, not Lady Russell, another old spinster friend) shit-talks William Elliot, persuading Anne to quit bothering with him. The only bachelor left is Captain Wentworth, who conveniently had the highest aggregate hunkiness/richness score all along. So what's wrong with that? Well, that Anne had every important choice made for her. Eight years ago, Anne let herself be directed by the actions and wishes of others in rejecting Wentworth, and she hardly shows more agency in the present day. After Benwick's spoken for, she must needs only between Elliot and Wentworth, a decision made too easy by Mrs. Smith's revelations about Elliot's subprime personality. In order to show personal growth, Anne needed to make a tough choice. She needed to choose Benwick. Now, although Benwick is the best suited to Anne's personality, he's the least hunky/rich (in Austen these two words are synonymous). Austen couldn't have her heroine choosing a life of relative privation, though; she needs her protagonist well set up by book's end. So she takes Benwick out of the rotation before things come to a head. The book's message ends up being: choose the rich guy you like the most. Though I disliked the way Persuasion turned out, it got there really nicely. I loved the note-writing between Wentworth and Anne, maybe because I related to it personally, having been a prolific note-writer in high school. And things ended decently, though not so satisfyingly as I think would have been if it had ended my way. Well, these are the complaints that make writers write; maybe I can sublimate my dissatisfaction with Austen's ending into some work of my own.

[qofd · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I found this book painfully slow, nothing really happened the whole way to the end and then the inevitable happened.

[jalenv_2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

My sister gave me the 1998 Penguin Classics edition of Persuasion because my old copy threatened to fall apart if ever opened again. I'm very pleased with her choice because of all the chapter notes that explain what some of the words meant at the time Miss Austen wrote this novel, as well as what some terms no longer used mean. I love that kind of information! It made me appreciate the story as never before.