The Painted Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

the newspapers, but I wish you to look at the woman, not me. Stand closer, man, and look straight at her. Now tell me, does she speak to you?”
    Ayers studied the portrait, as ordered. “Aye, she talks all right. She’s telling me I can’t afford a fancy piece like her.”
    “She told you that?”
    “Not in so many words, a’course, but a chap can tell, even without her clothes on. The way she holds her head, for one thing. Dignified, she is. No serving girl has that kind of pride.”
    “She is a scheming, interfering bitch.”
    Ayers whistled. “Gor’blimey, but you made her look a lot nicer than that. You were, uh, trying to do that, weren’t you, Your Grace? Make her look pretty?”
    “I have no idea what I was thinking when I painted her. You might say the deuced canvas painted itself.”
    Wasn’t that just like an officer, spouting fustian? “Who is she anyway, Your Grace? Nobody what’s been here on my watch. A fellow’d have to be half drowned to forget a face like that.”
    “She’s just a ... a lady.”
    Ayers slapped his thigh. “I was right, then. She comes by that pride natural-like, along with the title.” Titled ladies were not the duke’s usual fare, not at Lonsdale Street at any rate. There was something havey-cavey about the whole business and Ayers thought he knew what: “Has a husband, does she?”
    “Lud, I’d pity the poor sod if she did.”
    Ayers kept studying the portrait. “I don’t know, Your Grace. I can think of a lot worse things than waking with the likes of your lady alongside.”
    So could Kasey. Waking up with the painted lady inside was a whole lot worse. “You’re certain you don’t hear anything?”
    Ayers cocked his head to the side, listening. “Mice in the wainscoting, Your Grace. I’ll call in the rat-catcher in the morning.”
    “He’s not allowed on this floor, remember.”
    “Fine, I’ll tell the mice they’ve gots to go below.”
    Kasey wasn’t listening. That is, he wasn’t listening to the old tar. He was staring at the painting, straining his ears to hear a sound that never should have been heard in the first place. “Thank God, she’s gone.”
    “What’s that, Your Grace?”
    “I, ah, said, you can get going. I’ll be wanting my bath in a moment.”
    Ayers bowed and walked out of the room. Kasey followed, looking back for one final glance at the woman in his masterpiece.
    She winked back at him.
    Kasey passed his man on the stairs. “Ayers, forget about the bath. I cannot stay here. I do not know when I’ll return, either. Urgent business at Caswell House, don’t you know. It just came up.”
    No messenger had arrived. No letters were shoved under the door. Alfie just shook his balding head.
    “I am sure you can be depended on to keep the place in Bristol fashion. Carry on, man.”
    The duke was halfway out the front door when Ayers cleared his throat. “You might wish to consider getting dressed first, Your Grace.”
    That noise was the mice, laughing in the attic, Kasey swore to himself. Wasn’t it?
     

Chapter Four
     
    “‘Tell me, Aunt Maeve, Aunt Mirabel, has insanity ever run in our family? In either branch, that is?”
    Kasey was in the parlor of Caswell House, sharing a pre - dinner sherry with his maiden aunts. He had already admired their evening ensembles, his father’s spinster sister Mirabel Cartland in watered gray silk, pearls, and a scrap of lace for a cap; Maeve Wyndgate, Kasey’s mother’s unmarried sister, in pink satin with a purple turban, and strands of glass beads. Aunt Mirabel had the Cartland height, while Aunt Maeve shared the blue-green eyes Kasey had inherited from his mother. The pair had absolutely nothing in common except their love of gossip, brangling, and their two nephews, in that order, their shared residence at Caswell House, and their pug dog, That’s the Ticket.
    The dotty old dears did not need to hear voices, Kasey reflected from his position near the window, as far from the