CHAPTER THREEThe Countess Mordhile had retired to her bed by the time Konstantina reached The Castle.
On the next morning when she came down from her room and called for a cup of tea, Konstantina waited with bated breath for some reference to her solitary stroll.
But the Countess seemed otherwise preoccupied.
She read her letters, tapped her spoon on her teacup and stared at Konstantina, but said not a word.
It was therefore easy for Konstantina to keep her promise to the Prince and not mention that she had met him at the pavilion.
But if his name did not pass her lips in Mordhile’s presence, it was murmured often when she was alone.
She found herself replaying every moment of her encounter with him as if it was a romantic novel, laid out and illustrated in a book before her.
She co
