Page 6 of The Viscount’s Forgery (Bluestocking Book Club #4)
Eugenia knew she ought not to be out of the ballroom alone, but the noise of the music, laughter, and multiple conversations had left her feeling a little weary.
Promising Lady Isobella she would return very soon, she had stepped out of the crowd and into the quietness of a hallway where, as often happened, a painting on the wall caught her attention.
She took it in, trying to come to a decision as to whether she liked it or not.
That was a little unusual in itself, for usually, her decisions were very clear indeed.
This, however, was one that she could not seem to decide on.
It was a country scene, a dilapidated house in one corner with the fields streaming out to the left of it.
There was no sunshine, however, no sunset nor sunrise.
Instead, it was all rather grey, with the mist coming in to hug itself around the stalks of wheat that grew.
Indeed, as Eugenia considered it, it appeared as though the mist were approaching the house, threatening it in a most frightening way as if it sought to tear it down completely.
Tilting her head, she decided inwardly that though she did not like the painting in itself, it was a masterful piece of work.
It had made her think, had invoked a reaction within her, and that, certainly, was impressive.
A noise caught her attention and she jumped, her skin prickling as she looked to her right, seeing a gentleman walking along the hallway towards her. His head was lowered, and he was pushing one hand through his hair, only to lift his gaze and see her there.
Eugenia’s mouth went dry, suddenly very afraid indeed. She was standing alone and quite without company, and there were, she knew, a good many roguish gentlemen here at the ball. If this were one, then she might well be in danger.
The gentleman stopped, looking straight at her. The candlelight in the hallway was strong enough for her to make out the copper in his hair, though his dark eyes made her stomach twist sharply with fear.
“I presume, my lady, that you do not have the intention of making your way to the card room?”
His voice was clear and crisp as he stood where he was, not approaching her nor moving away. The steadiness of his eyes gave her pause as she shook her head, not at all certain that she should say anything.
“It is a trifle unusual for a young lady to be standing alone in the hallway,” glancing over his shoulder. “Are you waiting for someone, mayhap?”
Understanding his meaning, Eugenia drew herself up straight. “I most certainly am not. There is no gentleman come to find me, if that is what you think.”
A small quirk touched the side of his lips, though it faded quickly. “I see.”
“I was taking a moment,” she declared, firmly, “then became a little distracted by this painting, that is all. I should take my leave now.”
“Yes, I think you should,” came the reply, as he strode towards her.
Eugenia caught her breath and took a few steps back, but the gentleman did not approach her.
Instead, he came to stand directly in front of the painting, clasping his hands behind his back and looking up at it, just as she had been doing.
Eugenia, not sure what she should do, stayed precisely where she was.
If she made to step around him, then would he reach out to grab her?
Take a hold of her and do whatever he pleased?
She could not run in the opposite direction, for that would lead her to the card room and, no doubt, to gentlemen who were so deep in their cups, they would not know what they were doing.
“You need not think that I will behave improperly towards you,” the gentleman said to her, glancing towards her out of the corner of his eye.
“I can see that you are fearful, but I assure you, you need not be. If you wish to return to the ballroom, as I think you should, then I will do nothing to prevent that.”
Still a little uncertain, Eugenia nodded and then stepped slowly around him, relieved when he did not reach out to grasp her. It seemed, then, that he was a gentleman of his word, and for that, she was grateful.
“Might I ask, before you leave, what it was about this painting that caught your attention?” The gentleman tipped his head, studying the work but not looking towards her for even a moment.
“It seems a little dull to me, and I have a good many works of art upon my walls. The very best, in fact, though I should never have something such as this upon them.”
Eugenia’s mouth was still dry, but she spoke as clearly as she could, relieved now that there was no threat hovering over her, though she did think the gentleman a little arrogant in the way he spoke. “I could not decide whether I liked it or not.”
“That is all?” The gentleman’s eyebrow lifted as he looked back at her. “That is the only thing that drew you to it?”
“Usually, I have a very clear idea as to whether something is to my liking or not,” Eugenia answered, a little embarrassed.
“With this painting, I could not be sure. The subject matter is a little dull, as you have said, but the more I looked at it, the more I realized that it does evoke a sense of concern, of worry that the approaching mist is more fearsome than it appears. In that sense, I think that it is very well painted. The skill it takes to use a brush in that manner is one thing, but to bring out a sense of concern from the admirer is quite another.”
The gentleman blinked, ran one hand over his chin, and began to nod slowly, his dark eyes lingering on her. “You are quite astute, are you not?”
A little surprised at the compliment, Eugenia flushed and looked away. “I could not say, my lord.”
“And shy with it,” he answered, a lightness about his expression that gave Eugenia pause.
“Then again, I suppose it is not quite the thing for young ladies to speak so eloquently about art. You should be keeping such opinions to yourself, yes? All that should be said is whether one prefers this artist or the other.”
This made Eugenia’s shoulders slump, the fire that had begun to burn within her when she had begun to speak about her passion burning away to nothingness. “That is true, of course. Forgive me.” She turned away from him. “I should take my leave.”
“But of course. Thank you, Lady…?”
Eugenia glanced back at him. It was not the proper thing to introduce oneself to another, but then again, what difference would it make? “Miss Eugenia Sherwood,” she said, as the gentleman bowed.
“And I, the Viscount Suffolk.” With a small smile on his face, he rose to his feet, looking back at her. “An interesting way to meet you, Miss Sherwood.”
No response came to her lips as she looked back at him, aware of the heat in her face as she turned to make her way back to the ballroom.
It was, she had to admit, an unexpected encounter and a most unusual way to be introduced to a new acquaintance!
Aware that she ought never to have let herself become distracted by the painting in the first place and that things could have been very different had she met a rogue instead of a true gentleman, Eugenia hurried back into the ballroom, determined not to do such a foolish thing again.