I suspect he has a bit of vanity. Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. ’ ‘As a matter of fact, it isn’t,’ conceded Gerald. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. 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.
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