F. I had been about as foolish and selfish as a girl could be. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. 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. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. ‘Quickly! You must get up. Someone ought to be with him until the doctor arrives.
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