Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. 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. “Forty guineas a week. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. The future was not so black. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. Chapter Eight For an instant in the silence that followed, shocked into immobility, Melusine stared in horror at the body lying there so still. “Love should be enough, John, but it never is.
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