Her skin, the soft almost immature curves of her small breasts, her tiny heart-shaped face, her enormous green eyes and above all the glowing richness of her red hair tumbling over her shoulders and falling in silken waves well below her waist.
Just for a moment Druscilla stared at herself and then turned away. Even now she was still afraid of her own attractions.
For too long they had been something that she had feared almost to the point of loathing because when men looked at her they turned into swine.
But there was no sign of anything else except youth and excitement in her face when she came down to dinner.
Once again there had been a question to her great-aunt of what she should wear and the Dowager had counselled her wisely.
“Surprise them,” she advised. “Last night you were so
