"That woman, as nature has created her and as man is at present educating her, is his enemy. She can only be his slave or his despot, but never his companion. This she can become only when she has the same rights as he, and is his equal in education and work."
- Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, Venus in Furs
"I have decided to return to England." She was glad to hear that her voice, controlled and even as always, did not quiver. It would not do to give any external indication of her worries. He had brought her here. He had given her everything she had in this strange new life. Would he let her go?
Lord Drenson had been basking in their post-coital bliss with her legs on his lap, languidly stroking the delicate arches of her feet. He abruptly ceased his ministrations. "When?"
The slight note of panic, desperate yet resigned, in his voice soothed her worries. He would not attempt to make her stay. Nonchalantly, Lizzy shrugged her shoulders. "In one or two months, perhaps. I will travel with Lord Sarry."
"I see." And then, after an interminable pause, with a note of concern: "You are not thinking of taking on an exclusive arrangement with him, are you, my dear?"
She laughed. "No, of course, not, your Lordship. I have learned well. From you, and Carolina, and my new Parisian friends. I know full well what a dangerously heedless thing it would be to put my livelihood in the hands of one man."
From the genuinely relieved expression on Lord Drenson's face, Lizzy wondered not for the first time how much the older man cared for her beyond their weekly trysts. Could he have developed a tendre for me? No, impossible. Lord Drenson, the Dom Juan of London, perpetual bachelor? Perhaps instead he views me as the daughter he had never had.
She announced her favorable verdict to Lord Sarry in a much different manner.
"Come here, my pet." His Lordship left the table where he had been so eloquently displaying his recently thrashed behind, lowered himself onto all fours, and made his way to kneel before her. "My, my, someone is an eager pet!" She exclaimed, stroking her slippered foot up and down his prominent erection.
"Please, Mistress, please may I have a release?" He begged so prettily, that Lizzy smiled.
"Hmmm. Do you think you deserve one?"
"Yes, Mistress! I have been a good boy."
"Why do you think so? Tell me all the good things you have done, my pet."
"I – I did not touch myself for the past seven days, Mistress. I have been attentive and obedient, and took my discipline well. And I have brought you the sapphire earrings. They cost me over two hundred pounds."
That was a large sum indeed. Lizzy's usual patrons did not gift her more than a hundred pounds per month, often less. Lord Sarry had been exceptionally generous. In that, as well as in his proclivities, he was an eccentric. Fortunately for his Lordship, a title and an enormous estate were enough to make any eccentricity deemed "charming" and "fashionable." Lord Sarry liked to frequent an imperious Italian courtesan? Why, that only made her more popular among the other men. Lord Sarry liked the courtesan to thrash and demean him? Lizzy was amused at the frequency with which her other visitors began to demand similar services after his Lordship's arrival in Paris six months prior.
"You have been a good boy indeed, your Lordship," Lizzy praised in a singsong voice. "I believe you have truly earned a reward. Which would you like –"
"A release, please, a release, my Mistress!"
She laughed. "I have not even finished reciting your options, my dear."
He grinned. "But nothing is sweeter than a release from your hand, my Mistress."
"Truly? So you would rather have a release now than see me travel back to London with you?"
The excited widening of his eyes pleased her. "You will go with me?"
"Well, that depends. If you still prefer a release…"
"No, no, please! I can wait another week, month even. I would be delighted to show you London." He had been begging her to come back to England with him for the past two months, ever since he decided that his absence had been long enough and he had to return to his homeland to manage his estate's affairs. In truth, Lord Sarry's sojourn to Paris had been meant to last only two or three months, had it not been for his encounter with the lovely Signorina Caraggio.
"Well, then, to London I shall go." Delighted, her lover began placing feverish kisses on her knees, imbetween ardent exclamations of gratitude. To be safe, Lizzy felt compelled to offer the clarification: "I will not be going to England as your exclusive mistress; I hope that much is clear, your Lordship. We can continue the relationship we have established here, but I will also continue to accept other protectors."
He lifted his head and offered her a cheeky grin. "I wouldn't have it any other way, my Mistress."
Lizzy heaved a sigh of relief, and allowed herself to enjoy her time with Lord Sarry. He was an exceedingly handsome man, not particularly tall but very well built, with a luscious mop of copper-colored her and piercing blue eyes. He was wealthy and influential, raucous and jolly in company, and he adored dominant women. The first time he had seen Isabella Caraggio scan the room with an imperious gaze, he had been sold. The first time he had offered her a hundred pounds to serve as her slave for three days, she had been sold on him. He had been the first gentleman whom she had thrashed since Nana's Chevalier. Until then, she had exercised her penchant on her dear Johnny, and Claude, a boy she had hired in Paris.
Lord Drenson came to see her two weeks prior to her planned date of departure. He gave her a neatly wrapped parcel, but refused the invitation to ascend to her bedchamber.
"I have come to take my leave, Miss Bennet," he stated formally, but she noted a certain warmth infused into her old name.
"Already, your Lordship? I am not to depart for another fortnight!"
"Aye, but I will be departing tonight."
She raised a questioning brow. He slimed softly, and elaborated:
"Since you will be traveling back to London and there will not be much holding me in Paris, I have decided to return to the palazzo."
She tried to make sense of his words. Until he said it, she had not even thought to remark on the fact that he had not, to her knowledge, taken any other lovers during their nearly three years together. Yet remarkable that fact most certainly was. Lord Drenson, the man who was known to change his mistresses more often than other gentlemen changed their gloves – had he really been involved only with her all these years? Lizzy did not like the feelings this notion produced in her, so she chose not to dwell on it.
"I hope you enjoy your time back in the palazzo, your Lordship," she responded politely. "I have fond memories of our stay there with Carolina." That much was true; however painful some of the recollections of her early transformation might be, she had genuinely liked and admired Carolina.
Lord Drenson smiled. "I will be sure to pass your regards to her. She will be coming to stay with me."
Lizzy's eyes widened. Now that is unexpected! "Truly, your Lordship? I cannot pretend not to be surprised, but I am certainly glad for you both."
"Indeed. We had reestablished a connection of sorts during your training, and I cannot think of a better fit for the role of my companion in old age."
Lizzy was pleased. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to indulge in a genuine feeling of affection. "I am so very happy for you both, your Lordship! I hope you find every manner of comfort, happiness, and contentment."
"I hope so too." He regarded her thoughtfully, then offered more: "Do you know why I never married, my dear? No, of course, you do not. I am sterile, unable to produce offspring. In a society like ours, that is the sole purpose of marriage. Companionship is better sought among courtesans and mistresses, who are encouraged in some ways to be our equals, not our subordinates. I could never bring myself to settle down with a single woman whom I would then, for all intents and purposes, own. I chose instead to engage with women that remained free, or as close to free as our world would allow. They left me. I left them. We were, in some ways, equals. As I grow older, however, I cannot help but yearn for a more committed relationship. I still despise the institution of marriage, and thankfully Carolina and I are in agreement on that. But a constant companion with whom to share my life in the Italian countryside does sound… agreeable. I hope I can make her happy, and be at least content in return."
Lizzy smiled and nodded, unsure of how else to respond. She felt that there was something else his Lordship was not saying, but he had shared enough and she did not wish to probe.
He gave her one piercing last look, so full of sorrow and longing that Lizzy knew not what to make of it. He bent over her hand, and with a soft "Farewell" he quit her townhouse.
After Lord Drenson's departure, Lizzy firmly instructed her butler that she would not be seeing any gentleman callers that evening. Nor did she ask for Johnny or Claude to attend her alone in the evening. For the first time in years, Lizzy Bennet decided against sexual pleasure as the antidote to her sorrow. In the solitude of her study, she attempted to sort through the conflicting emotions within her.
Is his Lordship correct?
In some ways, yes, he most certainly was. As always. He had made her into an independent woman. He had, indeed, effectively saved her from becoming the chattel of another man. Was that not why I came to him in the first place? To avoid being shackled to the first stranger willing to take me with my ruined reputation?
She was self-sufficient now, and wealthy beyond anything she could have imagined in her humble life as a country gentleman's daughter. She regularly interacted with some of the highest nobility in Europe. She kept an impressive staff of servants, including a hand-picked group of footmen eager to be used for her pleasure. She set her own rules, and whipped and commanded some of the most influential men. She set her own prices, and chose her own clients.
Yet a price was always set. Every crisp note of francs or pounds, every ruby or sapphire, served as a painful reminder of what she had become: a woman for sale.
A small idealistic part of Lizzy Bennet still yearned for a different kind of companionship. It was impossible, she knew, for as Lord Drenson had said, wives were even less equals than courtesans. But when had impossibility ever deterred humans from yearning?
Two weeks later, aboard a grand ship in Lord Sarry's solicitous company, Isabella Caraggio firmly extinguished these last vestiges of Lizzy Bennet. She would return to England a conqueror, not the naïve little girl she had been when she left.
Her first opportunity to conquer the true object of her invasion arose three weeks after her return. At the grand box of Lord Sarry in the Opera house, she felt her breath catch. In the box right next to theirs, she beheld the man whom she despised as ardently as she had once loved him.
Fitzwilliam Darcy looked as dashing as she remembered him, but even more somber, his face set in even grimmer and harsher lines. She mentally calculated that he must be seven and twenty years of age, and remarked that he was the most severe man of twenty-seven she had ever set eyes on. His hair was just as full, his nose just as straight, his height just as impressive, and his eyes just as dark as she recalled, however. He was a fine specimen, and Lizzy yearned to have him under her control. All those other men she had bedded and pleasured and whipped and ridden seemed to recede into oblivion as she beheld the one man whom she had wanted for what felt like forever. Did she still want him? She did not know. But the desire to conquer him, to own him, to show him all that he had been missing because of his own callous actions, was ingrained into her every cell.
During the intermission, when Lord Sarry left to procure her refreshments, she noted Mr. Darcy and his companions, an older couple, three other gentlemen, and a young lady, stand to leave their box. She did not know what madness possessed her, but she felt the overwhelming temptation to throw herself into his path.
She barely had a chance to step out of her box, however, when she felt the very man who had been occupying her thoughts for the duration of the first act collide into her. The shock caused her to drop the elaborate fan she had been holding.
Practiced, experienced, controlled, Lizzy immediately collected herself. "Excuse me, sir," she addressed him in a cool tone.
He gave her a quick, disinterested glance, and made a move to continue walking.
Incensed, Lizzy lifted her chin, and raised her voice slightly. "My fan, sir?"
"Madam?" His gaze full of confusion, he gave her a longer look now.
"In your hasty steps that nearly swept me off my feet, sir, you appear to have dislodged my fan from my hand." She looked down, indicating the fan on the ground. For added emphasis, the slim tip of her right foot left the confines of her resplendent gown to point to the object.
She expected him to bend down and retrieve her possession. It turned out, however, that Mr. Darcy's manners were as abominable as she remembered them to be. He frowned, and dismissed her with: "You should keep a firmer hold on your possessions in future, madam."
She felt her eyes widen slightly in indignation, but did not give any other outward signs of the fury building slowly within her. Instead, she merely raised an elegant brow, and was about to chastise the insufferable man, when one of his companions, a handsome man in his mid thirties, bent down elegantly, and retrieved her fan.
"I apologize profusely for my cousin's rudeness, madam! Duke of Montegue at your service." He gave her an exaggerated bow.
She gave the Duke a brilliant smile. "I thank you profusely for your assistance, sir, but I would request that in future you refrain from offering your services before they are requested. I was attempting to teach your companion some manners, and you have entirely spoiled the lesson." She saw the Duke's eyes brighten with pleasure, and his mouth open to respond, but she did not give him a chance. "Enjoy your evening, gentlemen." With that swift dismissal, she returned to her box, missing the look of perplexed interest on Fitzwilliam Darcy's face.
She did not see Mr. Darcy for over a month after that first disastrous re-encounter, but the Duke of Montegue called on her two days after the Opera. She had by then learned that the Duke of Montegue was the brother of Lady Amelia, who had recently married the eldest son of the Earl of Matlock. The very same Earl of Matlock who had a certain despicable Mr. Fitziwlliam Darcy for a nephew.
She descended the stairs in her usual regal manner, and greeted her caller coolly: "Sir? I did not expect to see you here."
The Duke of Montegue gave her a charming smile. "Did you not? After the way you bewitched me at the Opera the other night, what could I do but call on you?"
"I do not believe we have had a proper introduction, sir," she remarked sternly.
"Aye, the introduction was entirely one sided. You left before I had a chance to learn your name. But your presence in my friend Sarry's box that evening proved most fortuitous for my attempts at learning your identity."
"You enquired after me to Lord Sarry?" Now she was mildly intrigued.
The Duke laughed brightly. "Oh yes! Ever since he returned from the continent, good old Sarry has been buzzing the ears off of anyone willing to listen about the delightful creature he brought back with him! I see now that he was not exaggerating."
Lizzy wondered at what exactly it was that his Lordship had told his friends about her. Knowing Lord Sarry's jovial and open nature, she guessed that he did not keep much hidden. Emboldened, Lizzy decided to probe: "His Lordship has been boasting about me? That is a very poor-mannered thing to do! I shall have to discipline him most severely the next time I see him."
She noted the Duke lick his lips, his eyes a fraction darker. Ah-ha! So he does know everything about me and Lord Sarry! And it seems that that only adds to my appeal in his eyes. She gave her visitor an appraising look. He was by no means an ill-looking man. While not as handsome as his Lordship, he was taller, more refined and stately, which she found appealing in a man. Yes, he would do very well indeed. I wonder what his particular penchant is.
Before he had a chance to form a response, she decided to reel him in further: "On second thought, it is even more rude to come barging into a lady's house on the pretext of sordid tales exchanged at a gentleman's club. Shame on you, your Grace, for contributing to the spread of such rumors! You, too, are in dire need of correction."
He caught her meaning immediately, and came right up to her, taking her hand in his. "Oh yes, Signorina. I am in most dire need of discipline, indeed. Would you be so kind as to administer it?"
Oh yes, I will, your Grace. For the right price, of course.
"Mmm, do you think there is a chance that a simple girl's discipline would restore you to behave properly?" She quirked a teasing eyebrow.
"A simple girl's discipline – no, absolutely not. But an experienced lady like yourself, I am sure, can teach even a naughty boy like me to behave."
"And what discipline works best on a naughty boy like you, your Grace? Lord Sarry responds well to the whip and occasionally to the cane. His behavior improves markedly when he is made to serve me tea in the nude and when I ride his manhood."
From their close proximity, she could see the Duke swallow hard. It appeared that her words were producing the desired effect.
"A naughty boy like me, madam, is best disciplined by the use of his tongue to pleasure his corrector's womanhood and to worship her lovely feet. You have no idea how much I yearned to place a kiss at the tip of your beautiful slipper when I bent to retrieve your fan the other night."
She smiled. "Oh, I think I do have a very good idea, your Grace. I hope you are aware that a boy as terribly naughty as you will need to pay quite handsomely for anyone to take on the tremendously difficult task of his correction."
His eyes were burning into her with their intensity. "How much?" She liked his directness.
"How often would you like to serve me?"
"Twice weekly, at the least. Aside from these intimate meetings, I would like to see you socially at least once a week."
"No more than an hour at a time for the intimate meetings, and no more than three times per week. Social events will be at least once a fortnight, but I will do my best to accommodate you once per week. You will also have a standing invitation to any events I will host. One hundred pounds per month would do."
"A hundred pounds? Is that not rather steep, madam?"
She gave him a cheeky little smile. "That is for you to decide, your Grace. I have named my terms, you may take or leave them."
She was smiling and she spoke lightly, but there was an edge to her tone. She would not bulge. The Duke appeared to like her confidence. "Very well, Signorina. I look forward to learning proper behavior at your feet. When shall we commence my training?"
"I will be delighted to provide the discipline you require, your Grace. Please speak with my butler to arrange the meetings; he should know my calendar."
And with a brief curtsy, she dismissed him.
Lord Sarry's wagging tongue indeed proved a boon. Once both he and the Duke of Montegue showed their preference for her, Lizzy had no shortage of gentleman callers. She took on two others, the Earl of Palsy and Baron Duffenger, as constant clients. Both were delighted by her coolness and confidence, though neither had the penchants for female discipline that Lord Sarry and the Duke of Montegue displayed. The Earl preferred being ridden by her and taken into her mouth. The Baron seemed to enjoy their intimate encounters agnostically. Without a marked preference for any particular position, he loved her sumptuous breasts and delighted in all of their passion, but especially preferred their discussions of French and Italian literature.
With each of her patrons, Lizzy shared her bed and her study alike. She teased them, she debated with them, she pleasured them. They seemed, on the whole, quite pleased, and insisted on her company outside of her abode. Lizzy accompanied each man to social gatherings every one or two weeks, but she was especially attentive to the Duke of Montegue's invitations. She refused to admit to herself the reason behind this preference: his relationship to Fitzwilliam Darcy and the chance that she might see her former tormentor at one of those events.
A month after she and the Duke had reached their agreement, she did indeed behold the insufferable man at Montegue's dinner. She noticed the way Darcy frowned and narrowed his eyes in displeasure when he beheld her. She returned his gaze with a challenging one of her own, allowing all of her distaste for the man to surface in that one eloquent look. He appeared taken aback and dropped his gaze.
Lizzy thought it was in consideration of her that the Duke chose to forego the customary separation of the sexes. Indeed, it would have been a torture to tolerate the disapproving company of the righteous ladies, Lady Matlock and Lady Amelia. Lizzy was grateful to his Grace for sparing her this discomfort and made a mental note to reward his consideration later. Sensuous strokes of my toes on his manhood until his release should do the trick.
She went in search of the Duke, who appeared to have quit the room some minutes prior, to apprise him of his impending reward in a sensual whisper. She was smiling at the anticipation of his reaction, and was too distracted to note the two men stood right outside the door in the hallway.
"What were you thinking, Montegue, by bringing that woman here? Are you out of your mind, to be subjecting your sister and my aunt to her presence?"
"Darcy, you are being ridiculous! It is perfectly acceptable for men to host their mistresses together with their relatives and friends, and Isabella Caraggio is a very accomplished young lady."
Incensed, Lizzy recalled another time when she had overhead Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy comment on her person. Back then, she was young and inexperienced and in love. She had forgiven him the moment he had injured her, never needing an apology. She had been stupid enough to change herself after his criticism.
Well, no more. She had had enough, and she snapped. She walked right up to them, and addressed her lover in the coldest, most imperious tone she could muster:
"Mr dear, Mr. Darcy is absolutely correct. I do not know what you were thinking – inviting the two of us to dinner together. Indeed, I cannot be pleased to see you associate with men as poorly behaved as he is. After all the time I spend on disciplining you, it displeases me to see you associate with a boy as naughty as him."
She did not know whether it was her scathing tone, or her scandalous words, or her blazing look of fury that produced the reaction. But she was sure that she did not imagine the blush on Mr. Darcy's cheeks or the confused yet curious look in his eyes. She did not deign him with anything more than a cursory glance.
"I am taking my leave, your Grace. And I expect never again to see this man at future social engagements at your home."
With a nasty look at his cousin, the Duke of Montegue extended his profuse apologies and helped his mistress don on her coat. As she was departing, Lizzy passively noted that Fitzwilliam Darcy had not moved from the place where he had stood. She was astonished to realize how little she cared.
True to his word and her command, the Duke of Montegue did not invite her to events where his cousin was also present. Unfortunately, the rest of the world had not received the same decree. By some ironic twist of face, she found herself seated next to him at dinner at the Whiterose Annual Ball, the very place where she had first met him four years prior. She was in a foul mood, the memory of her past life too vivid and painful to ignore. So instead she ignored him, or the few attempts at conversation he had deigned to make.
She spoke instead to Lord Sarry, who had brought her to the event, and the Baron Duffenger, who occupied the seat across from her. They were discussing literature, and in her ill temper, Lizzy decided to throw out the most preposterous opinions:
"Romance novels? Indeed, your Lordship, I find that to be the most ridiculous notion! I do sometimes wonder who first discovered the efficacy of writing in driving away love."
"I have been used to consider romantic writing as the food of love," Darcy remarked seriously from her left.
Sighing in frustration at once again being addressed by the insufferable man, Lizzy forced herself to quirk a brow and put on a cool yet teasing smile.
"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a young, idealist sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good love letter will drive its object entirely away."
She was pleased to note his face clouded at the veiled reference. She had no fear that he recognized her, but she wondered if perhaps, right at this moment, he was remembering the girl she had once been. What does he think of the poor Elizabeth Bennet? What did he think four years ago? Did he rejoice in his escape? Did he mourn, even for a moment, her presumed death?
She felt herself grow even angrier, and she did not like it. She tried to remember Carolina, and all that the older woman had taught her. Master your emotions, Lizzy!
"Is there not a single romance that you have enjoyed, Signorina?" The Baron enquired politely. She knew how much he enjoyed her literary opinions.
"Oh, on the contrary, there are several of which I am quite fond. Love letters do not serve to grow affection, and romance novels are quite frivolous, ridiculous things. But humans are frivolous, ridiculous creatures, and I do not believe there is a single one among us who does not enjoy a good love story."
"Which is your favorite, Signorina?" The question came from Lord Sarry, and she took a few moments to gaze into his clear blue eyes, comforted by their softness of familiarity. Slowly, her irritation ebbed away.
"I have always been partial to L'Histoire du chevalier des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut."
"That is a tale of vice, not love." Apparently, the insufferable Mr. Darcy continued to take part in their conversation.
She was provoked enough to continue to respond to him. "How so?"
"The male protagonist gives up every pretense of duty, self-respect, and propriety, only to engage in a sordid affair with an unfaithful woman. His name, his reputation, his familial pride – everything is ruined for the sake of passion out of wedlock."
She laughed. "Precisely. That is what I call love. I am bored to tears by the customary romantic tales: the powerful hero saves an innocent maiden and makes her his wife. What is so special about that? Only a man devoid of feeling would not love a young, naïve, kind-hearted girl. Only a monster would hurt an innocent."
She saw his eyes narrow, studying her. Did I say too much?
Fortunately, he stayed on the topic of the book they were discussing.
"And yet, in those tales you so despise, the hero at least marries that maiden. In your preferred treatise, the Chevalier takes Manon without the protection of wedlock."
She laughed harshly. "As you have said yourself, Mr. Darcy, he sacrifices everything for her. He is young and devoted and hers, and would marry her if she so desired. Instead, he sacrifices his own family, reputation, and honor, to be hers on her terms. He even recognizes that he cannot provide for all of her needs and forgives her indiscretions. That is how a man loves."
She turned away from him then, and refused to speak to him for the rest of the evening.
The next time she saw him, they were both out riding in Hyde Park. He slowed his horse and tipped his head in greeting. She remembered the day, so long ago that it felt like it had not happened to her, when he had not slowed his horse on time. She did not return his greeting. She cut him. Overtaken by sorrow and anger and pain at her recollection, she spurred her horse on with a wide flick of the riding crop that landed firmly on Darcy's taut thigh. Her horse picked up speed immediately, and she did not get a chance to note the gentleman's burning gaze after her.
Two days later, at the weekly soiree she hosted for her patrons and other prominent gentlemen, she was surprised to see him, uncertain and uncomfortable, nursing a glass of brandy in the corner and regarding her with an intense gaze.
"Your Grace," she approached the Duke of Montegue, her tone harsh. "What is your cousin doing here?"
The Duke seemed confused. Scanning the room, he noticed Darcy and blanched. "I do not know, madam. I swear that I was not the one to have invited him."
Mr. Darcy had approached upon noticing their interaction, and supplied:
"Please do not be cross with my cousin, madam. He was unaware of my coming here. I had asked Duffenger for the direction." Before she had a chance to protest his presence, he extended a neatly wrapped package towards her: "Of course, I have not come empty-handed."
She felt an urge to tell him that a present was not enough to gain admission to her parlor without an invitation. She wished to throw him out. But she did not want to cause a scene, and she felt an even more overwhelming urge to drive him out in a more subtle manner. She decided to shock him.
Turning a saccharine smile onto the Duke, she pronounced: "I am very relieved to see that you have not disobeyed me, your Grace. If you wish, I would be delighted to reward you. Come."
She had the Duke sit on the footstool next to her place on the settee, and, slipping off her satin slippers, extended her feet to his lap. Obligingly, Montegue thanked her and began to massage and kiss the offering.
What do you think of this, Mr. Darcy? Is that what you expected to find in my drawing room – your stately cousin, the Duke, caressing my feet?
As Lizzy had expected, Darcy regarded the spectacle with a severe, displeased expression. He excused himself shortly thereafter. She felt both relief and disappointment at his departure, and sincerely hoped not to see him again. For years, Lizzy Bennet had wished to meet Fitzwilliam Darcy again and have her revenge. Now that she felt herself close to cracking him, now that he had come, for whatever mysterious reason, as far as her courtesan drawing room, she realized that he was more trouble than he was worth. No victory could be grand enough to compensate every pang of hurt she felt in his presence. No revenge could be sweet enough to make up for the unpleasantness of feeling hatred. Nana had been right: it was best to let go of the past and of this man.
Oh dear sweet Lizzy, what have you become? And what does that former flame of yours think of it all? We shall see some of his perspective in the next chapter...