I don't think. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. 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 acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy. " "I declare I don't know what to do," said Wood, burned by conflicting emotions.
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