I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. I know my son's voice too well. And you see, I don’t turn my back, and I am looking at you and thinking about you from top to toe. Her face expressed nothing. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. This was good. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. “You are beautiful, Lucy. . “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. ’ ‘Dear me.
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