The Strange Case of Finley Jayne Read Online Free PDF Page B

and shoulders. When she opened her eyes she found herself staring at a portrait of Phoebe and Lord Vincent.
    No, wait. That wasn’t Phoebe. Finley didn’t have to move closer to view the portrait in detail, but she did anyway. At this moment she didn’t trust her own eyes—which had become uncannily keen over the past few months. The improvement to her sight had been so gradual that she often forgot she could see much better than the average person. She walked toward the large, gilt-framed canvas, her eyes widening with each step.
    It was a portrait of a much younger Lord Vincent—she’d been correct, he had been quite handsome in his youth—and the woman with him must have been his first wife, or at least a betrothed. The woman wore a large sapphire ring on her left hand—the same hand that covered one of Lord Vincent’s.
    She looked so much like Phoebe it was eerie.
    Of course, on closer examination it was easy to pick out the differences—Phoebe’s eyes were not quite as dark, her hair a bit more red, but the shape of her face was a perfect match, and her features so close they could have been twins, or at least sisters.
    It was unsettling. Disturbing. And Finley wondered if Phoebe knew. She was also overwhelmed by the need to find out just what had happened to this woman.
    “Robert, I said no!”
    The cry came from outside, carried to her keen ears by the breeze through the open window. It was Phoebe’s voice.
    Portrait forgotten, Finley quickly crossed to the window. From there she could see into the garden below. Flickering torches cast soft golden light over Phoebe and her companion—a young gentleman. Neither of them looked very pleased.
    “I have to go,” Phoebe said. “Mama and Finley will be looking for me.”
    The young man grabbed her by the arm. “You can’t leave. Not yet.”
    Perhaps it was guilt that she hadn’t been doing her duty that flicked the switch inside Finley, or perhaps it was the way he grabbed Phoebe like he had a right to. Maybe it was a little of both. Regardless, one moment she was watching them from the window and the next she vaulted over the sill and dropped two floors to the grass below.
    The two gaped at her as though she had just fallen from the sky—which she supposed she had.
    “Let her go,” she told the young gentleman. He was tall and slim with thick dark hair and rosy cheeks.
    He scowled, his amazement clearly faded. “This is none of your business.”
    “Wrong.” Finley clapped her fingers around the wrist of his hand holding Phoebe. “My friend wants to leave and you won’t let her. Not very mannerly, Robert.” As she spoke she tightened her grip, stopping when his handsome face began to contort in pain. She let go as soon as she felt his fingers release Phoebe.
    Robert cradled his arm close to his chest. Phoebe immediately brushed past Finley to stop at his side. Her hands touched him as though he were precious or fragile. “Robert, dearest. Are you all right?”
    Dearest? Finley scowled. She’d been this close to giving Robert the thrashing she thought he deserved when he’d let go. She had seen Phoebe try to pull free of his grip, and now the girl was all over him wondering if he was all right?
    “What did you do to him?” Phoebe demanded, glaring at her.
    Finley raised her brows. “I heard you tell him no and then I saw him grab you. I thought he was trying to do you harm.”
    “I would never hurt Phoebe,” Robert informed her indignantly. “I love her.”
    “Love her?” Finley repeated dumbly, before pressing a hand to her head—which had started to ache again. This job was beginning to take on more twists and turns than one of those “sensation” novels.
    Lips tight, she looked from Robert to Phoebe. “Someone had better explain to me just what exactly is going on here.”
     
    The explanation was truly the stuff worthy of Mr. Dickens—simple, but oddly convoluted. Phoebe loved Robert, and Robert loved Phoebe, but Robert had yet