’ ‘What?’ gasped Gerald, shocked. And then—this sudden thrust. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. ’ ‘But it is a very good English name,’ she protested. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. You must be misinformed, Mr.
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