’ ‘What, Madame Valade?’ demanded Gerald. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. 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. “Rubbish!” he answered. ” He stood quite silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon her face. ‘I find this was excessively clever of Gérard. I know what I am doing better than you do.
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