CHAPTER SEVENAt eight-thirty precisely that evening the Earl was standing with a glass of sherry in his hand in the drawing room of Somerton Castle.
He had hesitated before donning his dinner jacket, but finally decided that the occasion merited it.
When the door opened and Jasmina Winfield was announced, he felt a thrill run through him and he was glad that he had made the effort.
The American girl looked superb.
In point of fact he could hardly recognise her from the figure wrapped in coats and shawls he had argued with so vehemently only an hour or two ago on the banks of the frozen lake.
Her shining golden curls were piled on top of her head in a very elaborate style laced through with dark pink ribbons. Her dress was matching dark pink velvet, slightly off the shoulder, but fitti
