The Nut Doesn’t Fall Far from the Tree

My last name at birth was Hepburn.

My grandfather used to tell me, when I was too little to be suspicious or question what he meant by it, that I was “a true Hepburn.”

I also really, really like books.

How do these facts relate to one another, you ask?

Well, I was re-reading ‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Brönte the other day (because the last time I read it, I was seven…and funnily enough, a lot of it didn’t really stick with me).  And guess what???

One of my ancestors is mentioned in it!!!  (My Great-Uncle Firth keeps track of the family tree, and this dude is on it – and up until now I was marginally ashamed to be related to what seemed to be a long line of witches, murderers and horse thieves…BUT NOW I THINK IT’S AWESOME!)

Here it is (and if you don’t believe me, click here to go to the actual text):

“I like black Bothwell better: to my mind a man is nothing without a spice of the devil in him; and history may say what it will of James Hepburn, but I have a notion, he was just the sort of wild, fierce, bandit hero whom I could have consented to gift with my hand.”


So it’s hereditary.


Bad Boy, 16th Century-Style

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