Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. Kneebone nodded.
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