Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. “Wow, congratulations, Martin. “I can’t endure it,” she said. ‘But what will happen to Lucia? Are we to kill her?’ ‘Of course not. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild. Anna was married. 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 was as lovely in the spirit as in the flesh. I want you to be my wife.
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