“I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. 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. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. His tongue was hot. “Let us escape,” she said. “Steady on!” he cried. The Leads. She called them back very soon. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out.
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