Cordelia lingered by the cocktail cart to watch the post-meal socializing--or rather, politicking--get underway; she suspected a truly skilled Barrayan-trained kinesthesiologist wouldn't need to hear any of the conversations to know what was going on.
In one corner of the room, Mark had a young Vor lordling virtually pinned against the window, as he counted off on his fingers the no-doubt highly-researched benefits of his new investment opportunities; and Byerly Vorrutyer lingered subtly downwind of the newly-married Lady Petronella VorCaisson, whom Cordelia had reason to suspect was either suspiciously intimate with a broad range of shadowy financial figures, or was stultifyingly naive about basic math.
And then, by the fire, she could see the Ivan clutching a half-empty glass; his face had that fixed, semi-desperate look that only meant one thing: Miles was putting the pressure on, and poor Ivan was going to get yanked into whatever-the-hell-it-was that Miles was up to now.
Vorkosigan, Cordelia, Ivan wants a quiet life but Miles won't let him
In one corner of the room, Mark had a young Vor lordling virtually pinned against the window, as he counted off on his fingers the no-doubt highly-researched benefits of his new investment opportunities; and Byerly Vorrutyer lingered subtly downwind of the newly-married Lady Petronella VorCaisson, whom Cordelia had reason to suspect was either suspiciously intimate with a broad range of shadowy financial figures, or was stultifyingly naive about basic math.
And then, by the fire, she could see the Ivan clutching a half-empty glass; his face had that fixed, semi-desperate look that only meant one thing: Miles was putting the pressure on, and poor Ivan was going to get yanked into whatever-the-hell-it-was that Miles was up to now.