Jacques kissed her cheeks back and winced. "Ah, now you chide me for being a poor correspondent! I admit I deserve it, but this country...." He trailed off to look around him broodingly. "I must confess, Lucrète, I expected England to be very different from what it is. I expected my father to be...."
What, exactly? Jacques knew his father to be almost a traitor to the Revolution (why else had he invited Lucrète?) and a distant, implaccable figure incapable of approval or affection. It was ridiculous to expect anything else. He shook his head.
"The less said of him the better. I feel I should apologize for forcing an introduction on you. But still! You seem to brighten this dull place." He squeezed her hand. "Yes- you have half of the rooms on the third floor."