Had he not said so? Not that she wished him to marry her. A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. He told me that he was a millionaire. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London.
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