CHAPTER SEVENComte Gustave de Cloude was becoming insistent and Sheena, feeling it was more and more difficult to keep him safely at arm’s length, slipped away from him through the formal gardens.
She was escaping at the same time from the gay crowd of revellers who were dancing under the light of the summer moon augmented with one thousand Fairy lights hung amongst the trees and bushes.
It was a sight such as Sheena had never dreamed of seeing in the whole of her austere quiet life in Scotland. Here music and the chatter of voices seemed only part of the magic of flashing jewels, gowns of silk and satin and lace and gentlemen so resplendent in their velvet doublets and glittering sword-hilts that Mary Stuart had declared they were so ‘like peacocks parading before us to show off their f
