“You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said. Anna had told me that he carried always with him this bogus marriage certificate. ” Sir John breathed a long deep sigh. And then I came here. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. She sat perfectly still, however. 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. She could tell that he was leering at her. ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death.
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