To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. He neither attempted to prevent his nephew's departure, nor to follow him. But it was hopelessly hard to put. ‘Like a vision she were. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes.
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