The signal of distress was evidently understood. She almost sprang to her feet. I had that coming. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. ‘Typical. “Please have a seat. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. “I will not be drawn into a conversation with Mr.
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