“Look, see there?” He pointed with his prosthetic hand, unwilling to put down his glass. “That buxom wench she’s embracing.” Ravencroft moved in closer, peering down to observe the outrage to which he was referring. Lady Anstruther stood grasping the hands of a voluptuous woman with a stunning wealth of auburn hair. “The countess is barely dressed and receiving guests in her garden. And that other woman, she’s obviously a wanton.” “Aye, that she is.” Something in Ravencroft’s tone prompted Cole to glance up at the man. “You say that like you know her.” “I do. That buxom, wanton wench would be
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