‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine. Winter came at the manor. Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback.
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