at some time. He seemed very amiable, making frequent jokes, but in repose there was a watchfulness in his face which belied hisoutward ease. Monk wondered if he might be a great deal cleverer than he pretended.
His wife, the Countess Evelyn, was one of the most charming women Monk had ever seen. He found it difficult not to watch her across the glittering table for longer than was seemly. He could happily have forgotten the rest of the company and simply delighted in speaking to and listening to her. She was slight, although her figure was completely feminine, but it was her face which enchanted. She had large brown eyes which seemed to be filled with laughter and intelligence. Her expression made it seem as if she knew some delightful joke about life which she would willingly share, if only she could find someone who would understand it as she did. Her mouth was always smiling and she behaved as if she wished everyone well. She was quite candid about finding Monk intriguing. The fact that he knew no one she did was a source of fascination, and had it not been unpardonably discourteous, she would have questioned him all evening as to exactly who he was and what he did.
Brigitte—according to Rathbone, the woman Prince Friedrich should have married in order to please their country—sat beside Monk. She spoke very little. She was a handsome woman, broad shouldered, deep bosomed, with exquisite skin, but Monk had the sense that there was a sadness in her for all her wealth and reputed popularity.
The remaining guest was Florent Barberini, a distant cousin to Friedrich, half Italian. He had all the dramatic dark good looks Monk would have expected from such a lineage, as well as an ease of manner and total self-confidence. His thick, wavy hair grew from his brow in a widow’s peak. His eyes were dark, heavily lashed; his mouth full of humor and sensuality. He flirted with all three women as if it were a habit. Monk disliked him.
Their host, Lord Wellborough, sat at the head of the table in the magnificent French blue and rose dining room with itstwenty-foot oak table, three oak sideboards, and a blazing fire. He was a man of very average height with fair hair which he wore rather short, springing up from his head as if to give him extra height. He had very good eyes, clear gray-blue, and strong bones, but an almost lipless mouth. In repose his face had a hard, closed look.
The first course was served, a choice of soups, either vermicelli or bisque. Monk took the bisque and found it delicious. It was followed by salmon, smelts or deviled whitebait. He chose the salmon, delicate, pink, falling from the fork. He saw how much was taken away untouched and wondered if the servants would be offered any of it. Every other guest would have come with the proper complement of valets, lady’s maids, and possibly footmen and coachmen as well. Stephan had very smoothly explained Monk’s lack of a manservant by saying that he had been taken unwell. Whatever thoughts might have crossed their minds, no one was impolite enough to ask for further enlightenment.
The fish was followed by entrées of curried eggs, sweetbreads and mushrooms, or quenelles of rabbit.
Evelyn was the center of much attention, and this gave Monk an excuse to look at her himself. She was truly enchanting. She had the wholesomeness and the innocent mischief of a child, and yet the warmth and the wit of a woman of intelligence.
Florent flattered her shamelessly, and she parried it with grace, laughing at him, but not with any displeasure.
If Klaus minded there was no reflection of it in his rather heavy features. He was apparently more interested in discussing certain mutual acquaintances with Wellborough.
The entrée plates were cleared away and the removes were served, which that night were iced asparagus. The table sparkled with crystal, the facets reflecting the myriad candles of the chandeliers. Silver cutlery, condiment sets, goblets andvases gleamed. The
His wife, the Countess Evelyn, was one of the most charming women Monk had ever seen. He found it difficult not to watch her across the glittering table for longer than was seemly. He could happily have forgotten the rest of the company and simply delighted in speaking to and listening to her. She was slight, although her figure was completely feminine, but it was her face which enchanted. She had large brown eyes which seemed to be filled with laughter and intelligence. Her expression made it seem as if she knew some delightful joke about life which she would willingly share, if only she could find someone who would understand it as she did. Her mouth was always smiling and she behaved as if she wished everyone well. She was quite candid about finding Monk intriguing. The fact that he knew no one she did was a source of fascination, and had it not been unpardonably discourteous, she would have questioned him all evening as to exactly who he was and what he did.
Brigitte—according to Rathbone, the woman Prince Friedrich should have married in order to please their country—sat beside Monk. She spoke very little. She was a handsome woman, broad shouldered, deep bosomed, with exquisite skin, but Monk had the sense that there was a sadness in her for all her wealth and reputed popularity.
The remaining guest was Florent Barberini, a distant cousin to Friedrich, half Italian. He had all the dramatic dark good looks Monk would have expected from such a lineage, as well as an ease of manner and total self-confidence. His thick, wavy hair grew from his brow in a widow’s peak. His eyes were dark, heavily lashed; his mouth full of humor and sensuality. He flirted with all three women as if it were a habit. Monk disliked him.
Their host, Lord Wellborough, sat at the head of the table in the magnificent French blue and rose dining room with itstwenty-foot oak table, three oak sideboards, and a blazing fire. He was a man of very average height with fair hair which he wore rather short, springing up from his head as if to give him extra height. He had very good eyes, clear gray-blue, and strong bones, but an almost lipless mouth. In repose his face had a hard, closed look.
The first course was served, a choice of soups, either vermicelli or bisque. Monk took the bisque and found it delicious. It was followed by salmon, smelts or deviled whitebait. He chose the salmon, delicate, pink, falling from the fork. He saw how much was taken away untouched and wondered if the servants would be offered any of it. Every other guest would have come with the proper complement of valets, lady’s maids, and possibly footmen and coachmen as well. Stephan had very smoothly explained Monk’s lack of a manservant by saying that he had been taken unwell. Whatever thoughts might have crossed their minds, no one was impolite enough to ask for further enlightenment.
The fish was followed by entrées of curried eggs, sweetbreads and mushrooms, or quenelles of rabbit.
Evelyn was the center of much attention, and this gave Monk an excuse to look at her himself. She was truly enchanting. She had the wholesomeness and the innocent mischief of a child, and yet the warmth and the wit of a woman of intelligence.
Florent flattered her shamelessly, and she parried it with grace, laughing at him, but not with any displeasure.
If Klaus minded there was no reflection of it in his rather heavy features. He was apparently more interested in discussing certain mutual acquaintances with Wellborough.
The entrée plates were cleared away and the removes were served, which that night were iced asparagus. The table sparkled with crystal, the facets reflecting the myriad candles of the chandeliers. Silver cutlery, condiment sets, goblets andvases gleamed. The
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