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. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. She was furiously angry. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. And if you treat me in this way, you will have my death to answer for, as well as the deaths of my husband and child. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. Wood will be intercepted. Know that I love you, that I will always love you. ’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last. This was occasioned by Jonathan Wild, who was seen to mount his horse and join the train. “My Mom never gets a good night’s sleep.
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