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mystery!”
    The vein of humour caught Eugenia off guard.
    Well,” she whispered.  “I am sorry all the same.”
    â€œNo more of that then,” said the Marquis brusquely. “Now.  May I hope that you will reconsider the invitation to the ball?”
    Eugenia’s head shot up.  “That’s not possible!  Mama would have to sell her jewellery and – oh!”
    Her hand flew to her mouth as she realised what she had divulged.
    The Marquis was frowning. “Sell her jewellery?”
    â€œNo, no, I should not have said it! Mama would be so distressed – “
    â€œI shall say nothing, Miss Dovedale. But you do realise – this now makes two secrets that we share?”
    The Marquis’s tone was teasing but this did not reassure Eugenia. Reminded of the recent unpleasant encounter in the gardens she became agitated. The Marquis knew too much about her altogether!
    Her fingers closed nervously over each other in her muff.
    â€œYou will excuse me now, my Lord.  I must return and see how my mother is faring.”
    â€œMiss Dovedale, my carriage is at your disposal.”
    â€œThank you, I shall walk.”
    â€œMay I call on you and your mother tomorrow?”
    Eugenia dreaded her mother using such a visit to further entertain notions of a romance between her daughter and the Marquis. Yet she did not feel it proper to decline on her mother’s behalf.
    â€œI suppose – you may,” she replied.
    She turned towards home. Bridget sprang to her feet and trotted after her.
    Eugenia was puzzled by the Marquis. He seemed genuinely interested in the fortunes of herself and her mother.  Perhaps he really did want to help them. On the other hand, he had wealth and that meant he had power. People enjoyed power and often used it to entertain themselves. Perhaps having power over his late High Steward’s family gave him pleasure.
    â€˜Well, I shall not allow him to have power over me ,’ Eugenia decided.
    Reaching home, she threw off her coat and hat in the hall and bounded up the stairs, anxious to check on her mother.  Bridget picked up the coat and scowled after her.
    Mrs. Dovedale was not in her room. Perhaps, feeling better, she had gone to see Great-Aunt Cloris.
    Eugenia hurried towards the next flight of stairs.
    Half-way up, a piercing whistle startled her.  Hand on the banister, she halted and raised her head. 
    A young man stared down at her from the landing above.
    Eugenia felt her heart lurch in her breast.
    The eyes that surveyed her were unlike any she had ever seen. Green as agate, blazingly intense, they compelled her gaze. The face in which they were set was striking with its large nose and wide cheekbones.  White-blond hair flopped untidily over the young man’s face and hung to his shoulders.
    Tossing the hair from his brow, the young man began to descend the stairs. All the while his eyes seemed to burn into Eugenia’s.  Slowly and one step at a time he came, murmuring to her all the while.
    â€œI was thinking, how can I paint here, in this old house? There is no light, no light! Everything is brown. Then you appear.  You are like the sun!  You bring this gold, gold hair.  Is it really gold? May I touch it? I must touch it!”
    Eugenia – lips parted, eyes wide – found herself nodding. This was obviously Gregor Brodosky the painter.
    One step above her, he halted and plunged his fingers into her hair. 
    â€œWhat are these pins? They are like spears. Out, out!”
    Eugenia began to tremble as Gregor tore pins from her hair and tossed them aside.
    â€œNow.  See. It falls. It is gold, melting over you. Ah, what a face! You I could paint! But my fate is to paint the old gorgon upstairs!”
    Shocked, Eugenia pulled her head away.  “Oh, you must not speak like that. Great-Aunt Cloris appears cross but underneath she is good and kind – ”
    Gregor roared.