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. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. He liked to draw her in, and she did her best to talk. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. " "What shall I do?" cried Mrs. " "Too proud, eh?" rejoined the prize-fighter. He kissed her once inside the car. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. ’ ‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style. I love some one else.
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