She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. “Please don’t,” she said. ‘I suppose this is the cavalier you had with you when you—er—attended the ball the other night?’ ‘Jacques is very useful to me,’ Melusine confirmed, bestowing that same radiant smile on the young man, whose features were instantly suffused with scarlet. 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. " "Not quite, I hope," rejoined Sheppard. " The doctor was forced to admit the truth of this.
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