‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. . What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. ‘I assure you it suits her as Mary would not. "Bess wouldn't bear a rival.
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