‘But if there is one, how in the world did this mystery lady of yours know of it?’ ‘That, Lucy, is precisely the point that has been exercising my mind,’ Gerald said, turning his eyes once more to the group of French exiles in the alcove. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. 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. “The twins were left with his sister, Cris.
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