CHAPTER EIGHTAll along the driveway, torches burned. Servants had spent a great part of the afternoon driving in the staves. Now the flames flickered in the night breeze like so many glow worms dancing in the dark.
Throughout the ground floor of the house, candles flared in their sconces. Only in the upper storeys were oil lamps lit for the evening.
Downstairs the rooms were fragrant of roses and cedar from great bowls of pot pourri and from huge logs burning in the many hearths.
Supper was in progress. Lord Shelford sat at one end of the table, Davina at the other. In the candlelight, her cheeks bore the gleam of marble, her hair the sheen of silk. Her eyes seemed huge, the irises of a deep and almost mysterious hue. Many a gaze was drawn to her.
Only two men failed to look her way.
