CHAPTER THIRTEENThe music was playing softly, its melody no more obtrusive than the ripple of water or the wind blowing through the leaves of the trees.
The lights were growing rather dimmer in the bower of flowers. but all night the petals from the ceiling had come floating down until now Cornelia was covered with them.
Very, very softly, so as not to disturb the man who slept by her side, she slipped from the couch, the rose petals scattering before her in a shower of pink and white beauty.
Silently she gathered together her clothes and slipped them on.
She could remember Renée saying,
“Ivan thinks of everything. There is always a carriage and horses waiting at the door in case anyone is bored or wishes to leave early.”
At the time she had thought it a strange thing to say, but now
