She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. Was he your natural father? Did you know him?” “No, I didn’t. That is why I have dyed my hair, that is why I have abandoned my rôle of ingenuèe and altered my whole style of dress. ” She lifted her eyebrows. 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.
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