She pulled a few strands of her hair from her head to leave with Michelle’s. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. ” “He seems like such a nice boy.
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