Chapter Two ‘Our French friends are beginning to form quite a little coterie,’ remarked Gerald, covertly studying the group gathered in an alcove at the other side of Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. “Yes, I know. ” He stood up with his legs parted in an inverted “V”, puffing up, trying to make himself look bigger. “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother.
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