Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers. ” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. 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. Traps, set with peculiar cunning; she had encountered them everywhere. Thus died Jack Sheppard.
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