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corridor.
    The room that the footman showed Eugenia into was enormous. She had never seen so many books. Leather and gilt spines filled shelves almost to the ceiling. The room smelt pleasantly of beeswax, and every piece of furniture gleamed. She began to inspect those books within reach, although steps offered access to those above. Discovering the entire collection of Shakespeare’s plays, she drew out a copy of Romeo and Juliet and sat on a leather sofa to read it. Her mother had read to her from her much-thumbed edition of Shakespeare’s sonnets, which now had pride of place on the bureau in her chamber. Eugenia had often asked how she came by it, but Mama had refused to tell her.
    Even though Eugenia had long wished for access to a library such as this, she found she couldn’t concentrate on the words. Lord Trentham kept entering her thoughts. He might die if they bled him. She gave up on the play and jumped up. Returning the book to the shelf, she hurried from the room.
    Vanessa had told her that Lord Trentham’s bedchamber was in the west wing on the first floor. Eugenia crept along, listening at doors. A door opened farther down the corridor, and men’s voices grew louder. She slipped into the nearest room, relieved to find it empty, and left the door ajar to listen.
    “Tomorrow, I’ll apply leeches to suck the bad blood out,” came a man’s voice she assumed was the doctor’s. “And if we have little result, I’ll bleed him.”
    “I shall advise Lady Beale when she arrives,” Barker said.
    Eugenia waited for the men to pass on their way to the stairs. A few minutes later, she emerged into the empty corridor.
    She hurried to the door the men had just left and peeked inside. The bedchamber was in deep gloom, the curtains drawn against the light. Heavy breathing came from a bed even bigger than her own, with ornate, carved oak bedposts. She took two steps into the room but found it was too dim to make out the earl’s face.
    “This won’t do,” she whispered. She hurried to the window and pulled open the curtains. The rain clouds had cleared, and the sky was a benign blue. Warmth and light flooded in, revealing a room of grand proportions, richly decorated in a masculine style.
    She sucked in her breath, distressed to find him sicker than yesterday, and came to the bedside. She leaned over him. He was fast asleep, his face pale against the pillows. 
    Eugenia dragged up a heavy gilt chair and sat, determined to wait for him to wake. Minutes ticked by. She eyed the mantel clock. It was almost time for luncheon. She would be missed. Someone might find her here, and she wouldn’t want to upset his lordship.
    While she was deliberating whether to leave, Lord Trentham began to move restlessly. His heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes opened and focused on her. “Miss Hawthorne? What are you doing in my bedchamber?”
    She leaned forward and touched his long-fingered hand resting on the counterpane. “My lord. You must not let them bleed you.”
    He groaned and attempted to sit. “And you must not be found in my bedchamber. Please leave.”
    Annoyed at the absurd rules these peopled lived by, she huffed out a breath. “Why? Would they suspect you’d had your way with me? You can’t even sit up.”
    A smile tugged at his lips. “You’re right, Eugenia, but still...be an agreeable young lady and leave, please. Have patience; my sister will arrive soon. She will advise you how to go on.”
    She warmed at his use of her first name. “And am I to be told what that might be?”
    “You are to be prepared for a London Season.” He lay back and closed his eyes.
    Her heart beat faster. “I am to go to London?”
    “Indeed you are. Now, will you please go?”
    She leaned over him and placed a hand on his forehead, pleased to find it dry and cool. “I will. But first you must promise me not to let them bleed you. And no leeches neither.”
    “Either.” His fingers coiled around her wrist as he removed her hand.