She wore a necklace of gleaming topaz, stones of a rich amber set in gold filigree, with matching earrings so long they brushed against her shoulders.

Berthilde was still fussing around her, following and straightening folds of the skirt, rearranging one of the ribbons that streamed down the back, tucking another flower into the mass of curls atop Ginny’s head, clucking under her breath when she was finally told to stop.

“Enough,” Ginny said, tugging at an elbow-length glove, “the ribbons will only be crushed in the carriage. You may have the rest of the night off, Berthilde. We’ll no doubt be quite late returning.”

“Oui, madame.” Berthilde looked pleased, and pursed her mouth primly.

Ginny seemed to sparkle. When they reached the sprawling mansion that was brilliantly lit, even in the gardens where Chinese lanterns dangled like fireflies above neatly clipped yew hedges and overflowing urns of fragrant flowers, she stood out vividly in the sea of more sedate gowns. As usual, Ginny received admiring glances from the men as they entered the house and were announced in dulcet tones. They made their way down the receiving line, where the Prince of Wales greeted them with gruff good humor.

“Ah, Ambassador Morgan, it is pleasant to see you again, as always. Will you be visiting the racecourse tomorrow? I hear Lord Hartsfield has a prime bit of horseflesh entered.”

Bowing slightly from the waist, Steve reminded the prince that he was leaving for Mexico in two days.

“But I am certain you will be back, Ambassador Morgan! You cannot deprive us of your beautiful wife’s company for too long. Or is she remaining here, perhaps?”

The profligate prince regarded Ginny with an avid admiration; it was no secret that he conducted many affairs, not bothering to be discreet despite his wife’s chagrin. It did not matter to Prince Edward if the object of his desires was married, as long as the husband had the good sense to look in the other direction.

Steve Morgan gave no indication of being that kind of husband, and Ginny had no intention of being another Alice Kepple. She tactfully rejected the prince’s suggestion that she accept English hospitality while her husband was away on business, and moved gracefully along as those behind her moved forward.

Then Steve felt her falter, heard the strained note in her voice as she greeted the man standing next to the prince in the line.

“General Ignatiev, I see you did not return to Russia after all.”

“Not yet.” Tall and spare, with vigorous mustaches that swept out to the sides, the Russian general who had helped arrange Ginny’s flight from Stamboul regarded her with icy eyes that held no hint of welcome. “And I see that you did not go to Saint Petersburg though you professed such eagerness to see the tsar again.”

“Plans change, or are changed by fate.”

“And did you find Colonel Shevchenko…efficient?”