Clotilde flew into a rage, crying, “How dare you lay claim to my children! I am their mother! This is a Godless house!” She accused. “—but this cannot be. The young ladies in the somewhat mixed society amongst which he moved neither satisfied his taste nor appealed in any way to his affections. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. “You are late,” she murmured. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. ‘You can if you like. She told us that it was a disguise.
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