’ ‘How do you know?’ Lucilla repeated, almost as sceptical as her intended spouse. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. Lucy spoke once they had turned the corner. They mean something. No, don’t interrupt me. No one seeing you together could doubt that she is your granddaughter. But Jack was too nimble for him. He had. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon.
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