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 smiled. But he didn’t marry her. She was silent. He turned the water off and handed her a towel. What were your findings?” Lucy asked. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. But a woman’s life is all chance.
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