In a moment they were in the street outside. If you do not find your aunt, my people will take you under wing until you can stand on your own. It was the bitterest moment of her life. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. I could not hear his heart beat. “It is a hateful story.
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