The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. Now do not make me any more arguments, but tell me at once where that pig is gone. Spurling? Why, if Captain Sheppard should get off, it 'ud be fifty guineas out of my way. It had not tasted good since 1350. 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. My heart misgives me.
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