A tall elegantly dressed woman, followed by a maid, came down the broad staircase. ‘Because,’ said Lady Bicknacre in the confidential manner of all matrons when passing on a tidbit of scandal, ‘Nicholas married against his father’s wishes and ran away. We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me.
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