I’m so glad you’re not angry. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. As if it were she, and not Melusine, who had been hurt by the imposters. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so.
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