"Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Madelaine 2 - In the Face of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

Madelaine de Montalia had donned her new dress, an afternoon frock suitable for early
suppers and garden parties, and as such, unexceptionable for this concert. It was a soft shade of
lavender, with bared shoulders framed by a double row of niched silk. The bodice was fitted and
came to a point in the front over a skirt of three tiers of niched silk spread over moderate
crinolines. For jewelry, she wore a necklace of pearls and amethysts; her coffee-colored hair was
gathered in a knot with two long locks allowed to escape and fall on her shoulders. An
embroidered shawl was draped over her arms, and in one hand she held a beaded reticule. As she
descended from the carriage, Madelaine silently cursed her enveloping skirts.
A Mexican servant, whose angular features revealed a significant admixture of Indian
blood, ushered them into the house and explained in heavily accented English that the host and
hostess were in the ballroom to receive their guests, while bowing in the direction they should go.
"We are not the first, are we?" Mrs. Mullinton asked, afraid that she had committed an
intolerable gaffe.
"Oh, no. There are others here already," the servant assured the two women with a
respectful lowering of his eyes.
"Thank goodness," Mrs. Mullinton said in an undervoice to Madelaine as they went along
the corridor to the rear of the house. "It would not do to have it said we came early."
"Whyever not?" asked Madelaine, who had become more punctual as she grew older.
"My dear Madame," said Mrs. Mullinton in shock, "for women to arrive while only the
host and hostess are present smacks of impropriety, particularly since you are new in town." Her
long, plain face took on an expression of consternation as she considered this outrage.
"Then it would be better to arrive late?" asked Madelaine, trying to determine what Mrs.
Mullinton sought to achieve.
"Heavens, no, for then it would seem that we did not appreciate the invitation," said Mrs.
Mullinton. "I am very pleased that we have made our arrival so well." She raised her voice as she
stepped into the ballroom antechamber. "You may find our entertainment sadly dull, Madame,
after the excitement of London."
"Possibly," said Madelaine. "But as I have not seen London for eight years, I think what
you offer here will suit me very well." She smiled at the couple approaching them-he of medium
height and bristling grey hair; she a very pretty woman with a deep bosom and fair hair, in a
fashionable dull-red afternoon dress that did not entirely become her; she was at least a decade
her husband's junior.
"Mrs. Mullinton," said their hostess. "How nice of you to join us." She took Mrs.
MuUinton's hand and kissed the air near her right cheek. "This must be your new guest." She
turned to Madelaine. "I am Fanny Kent."
"And I am Madelaine de Montalia," she said, curtsying slightly to her hostess before
taking her hand, though they made no other move toward each other.
"My husband, the Captain," added Fanny, indicating her partner. "My dear, you know
Mrs. Mullinton. And this is Madelaine de Montalia."
Horace Kent bowed over Madelaine's hand. "Enchanted, Madame," he declared, and then
shook Mrs. Mullinton's hand in a nominally polite way.
The four other couples in the room were presented, and by that time another pair of guests
had arrived, and Madelaine gave herself over to the task of learning the names of the people in
the room, hoping she would not confuse any of them as their numbers steadily increased.
"I have already had the pleasure," said the latest arrival, some twenty minutes later.
Sherman bowed slightly to Madelaine.
"Yes," said Madelaine, taking refuge in a familiar face. "I met Mr. Sherman on my second
day in the city."
"At the bank, I suppose," said the man accompanying him, another foreigner, with a
Russian accent. He beamed at Madelaine and continued in French. "It is an honor to meet such a