“Feels like an age already, and Mama is determined we suffer this purgatory for a whole year. A year! I shall lose what little there is of my mind. Only this morning I overheard the Lindsay-Brown girls discussing a fabulous ball being planned for March and when I asked why I had not been invited I was told there was no point as I would still be unable to accept. March, Lilith. That’s next spring.” He smokes energetically, and his left leg has begun to jiggle. The thought takes hold in my mind that Freddie might actually be right. Being in mourning means he has even less to do than usual. He could not be persuaded to take an interest in Parliament, and he is a social outcast, and will continue to be so for months yet, because of the death of our father. An idea comes to me.

“I will strike a bargain with you,” I tell him. He raises an eyebrow and waits. “If you agree to spend the winter at Radnor Hall … no, hear me out.” I hold up a hand to fend off his interruption. “If you leave London and return home for the next four months, I will see to it that Mama agrees to have us officially out of mourning in time for the ball in March.”

“She’d never agree to it,” he scoffs.

“She will. I promise.”

He hesitates, clearly tempted by the idea.

“I’d have your word? I swear if you make me endure a winter of Radnorshire weather and all that dangerously fresh air for nothing I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“If you go, and stay there, just until the end of February, I’ll accompany you to the wretched ball myself.” I watch his face closely. “Well? Do we have a deal, Your Grace?”

“Only if you promise never to call me that again. Makes me feel like a bally bishop,” he says, laughing as I throw my arms around his neck.

Chapter 8

8.

On this morning it occurs to Bram that his life has never contained so many women, and that those he encountered when he lived in Yorkshire were altogether more straightforward than the ones who now challenge him. He has tried, and failed, to paint two flower girls and a barmaid, with mixed success. One thought herself rendered plain, another objected to the color of her hair, and the third thought he had invited her to his studio for an entirely different purpose altogether. Then there is Gudrun, who has become even more prickly than is her habit since he rebuffed her advances. And now he is faced with painting Charlotte and must not fail, as he sorely needs the money he anticipates her delighted parents handing over for a pretty portrait.