Apart from going to the kitchen to prepare herself some food, she spent the rest of the evening before the fire. She read, dropped the book onto her lap, took up some sewing and dropped it as well. Nothing could take her mind off the sorry tale that Bridget had told her.
It was getting on for midnight. The fire had begun to die, for she had not fed the flames for nearly an hour. The dying embers seemed to reflect her mood and she sat staring at them as if in a trance.
Only gradually did she become aware that someone had entered the cottage. Had Bridget returned from her quest?
“W-who is there?” she called fearfully.
The Marquis stepped into the room from the corridor. Eugenia rose with a cry.
The Marquis apologised. “I am sorry to have startled you,” he said. “I knocked but you did n
