It was Sebastian’s fault for slapping her face and letting the baby out. 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. “My parents left for Vail on a plane this morning. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. Or else I would have finished him.
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