The other man, leaning back comfortably, his arms spread out to support him, was a heavily built middle-aged man.
He was speaking to the Officer next to him and Vasila could see him full-face.
He was old, there was no mistaking that, as there were lines on his face that could only have come with age.
There was also, she felt, something that revealed him to be if not exotic then certainly raffish.
She could not explain it, but she knew instinctively he was what the Ambassador who taught her French called a ‘roué.’ The marks of it were clearly to be seen if one was at all intuitive.
This man she knew without being told was Prince Gadelov whom they were expecting.
The man she was to be married to because she was British.
She did not need to see the eight Cavalry Officers following in
