The Painted Lady (12 page)

As per Sir Osgood’s routine, everyone went to bed after the tea tray was removed. Kasey could not waylay the girl on the stairs, nor could he accost her in her bedroom. Tempting fate a second time was more than His Grace was willing to do, not even to get the burden of guilt off his shoulders. So he stayed in his room, stayed up late, and stayed bent over his painting until his eyes were nearly closed.

He gave up trying for portraits in watercolors; they were simply not the correct medium. He settled instead on small scenes: Miss Bannister among her roses, at the dining table, spinning. Then he painted her eyes, endlessly. Kasey thought he could make a decent wage at a country fair, painting lovers’ tokens, if his investments ever failed. He also painted Lady Edgecombe in her azure gown with her new parasol. Catherine adored the painting and made him swear to have it framed for her when he returned to London.

Caswell was counting the days. For three more of them he failed at finding Miss Bannister alone. Instead, he hiked, he hunted, he cleaned the stables and whitewashed the henhouse. He taught Little Henry naughty songs, and taught Lady Edgecombe how to fence. He knitted.

Since Miss Bannister had never taught Kasey another stitch, or how to end a piece of knitting and get it off the needles without its unraveling, he kept on. In another sennight, he thought, he’d have Penelope’s shroud. But he did not have another sennight. He should not be here now, with no reason to stay and every reason to go. Unfortunately, his honor refused to let him leave without making that apology, and his pride refused to let him leave without making Lilyanne smile at him once more.

“My horses need exercise,” he announced to Sir Osgood the following day at luncheon. “And your grooms are either too old or too young to handle such a high-bred pair, especially when the bays have been standing around for so long.”

Sir Osgood, like most other Englishmen, had a reverence for fine horseflesh. “True, true. They are liable to go sour without activity.”

“Quite. Since I have barely been off the property, however, and never on a road except the one I took to get here, I will, naturally, require a guide.”

“Little—
”

Kasey raised his hand before Miss Bannister could continue. “The Henrys are both taking the afternoon off to attend the funeral of Mrs. Henry’s aunt.” Mrs. Henry did not have an aunt, but she was delighted with the portrait of her son.

“Surely one of the stable men is capable of attending you,” Lilyanne suggested. “They would be the most knowledgeable if something went amiss with one of the horses.”

“Ah, but would they ensure I do not go too fast or too far, destroying the peace of mind Sir Osgood’s system of care has brought me? I fear your employees see me as a duke, not as a patient.”

Sir Osgood was nodding. “You would need a firm hand, Your Grace, to see that you were not seduced by the speed and the open vista. I would worry you might not return to finish your course of treatment. That would be a great shame, sir, after you have come so far.”

Kasey nodded right back. “Then you will come with me, sir? Give me the benefit of your wisdom?”

Bounce around in an open curricle over rutted roads? Sacrifice his afternoon’s nap? “I fear not, Your Grace. I cannot give up a day’s work on my journal. Discipline, don’t you know. Lilyanne can go with you. You do respect her authority, don’t you?”

“With all my heart. And her maturity and practiced habit of moderation that I strive to emulate. I would not go against Miss Bannister’s dictates for anything, no, not even for the opportunity to visit the fair I understand is taking place in Lower Lytchfield.”

“A fair, you say? Why, that is quite unacceptable.” A fair was no longer in the range of Turbulence; it was an outright Typhoon for the senses, certain to give an ordinary man a palsy of the brain. Thinking what it might do to his susceptible patient, Sir Osgood shook his head vehemently, causing his spectacles to slip down his nose. “There are deplorable influences at such events, I do believe, from hearsay, you understand: alcoholic spirits, food of uncertain origin, women of easy virtue, games of chance, machines that raise men above their natural altitudes, only to make them dizzy. There might even be Gypsy divinators. No, no, you must not place yourself in such a risky environ, Your Grace.” He turned toward his niece. “You will have to accompany the duke on his outing, my dear, to ensure he is not tempted past endurance. Such a stimulation to the senses might bring on a recurrence of his mental instability.”

“Lady Edgecombe
...
?” Lilyanne started to offer as a substitute.

Sir Osgood clucked his tongue. “Is more likely to insist on going in that direction, I fear.”

Catherine was already at the fair, with the Henrys and her maid, lest Lilyanne try to enlist the abigail as chaperone. Kasey smiled, closing the noose.

“There would be nothing improper about such a carriage drive, you know. Even in London, it is permissible for a young lady to drive out with a gentleman in an open carriage,” he said, without adding that they had to stay to the public paths of the park. “But if you would be more comfortable, Miss Bannister, we can take Cosgrove’s nephew, the youngest stable boy, along as tiger.”

A mere boy? Lilyanne fumed. What match would Teddy be for a man of His Grace’s stature and sinew? Besides, she well knew the duke could wrap the servants around his fingers without half trying. She did not know what he and Little Henry did most of the time, but Caswell usually returned with the back of his breeches muddied—not that Lilyanne was wont to notice a gentleman’s posterior!—and his hands stained with colors.

Caswell was painting, the cad, besides eating rich foods and not sleeping at night. Lilyanne had not told her uncle about the dastardly duke’s untouched desserts at dinner, because she’d always felt somewhat underhanded putting a sleeping draft in an unsuspecting patient’s pudding. She had not reported Caswell’s painting, either, for she had not seen any peril in it. What if His Grace liked to play at being an artist? Lilyanne herself enjoyed knitting and spinning, making something out of nothing. She even made dyes from her garden flowers, on occasion, for the caps she stitched. Those poor-house children’s lives could use a little brightening, instead of plain dreary boiled wool. If Caswell got the same satisfaction from his little pastime, toying with colors, where was the harm? From her own few frustrating attempts to draw, Lilyanne did not think painting could be any more over-invigorating than Uncle’s readings.

If His Grace had gone into a decline, Lilyanne would certainly have informed her uncle. Instead, Caswell looked healthy, tanned, and without the dark shadows under his eyes of his arrival. He smiled more—like now, the demon!—and appeared to be much less bothered by his strained sanity. In fact the devilish duke was positively enjoying himself, at her expense, of course.

Before Lilyanne had the chance to protest his latest scheme, the scoundrel dragged out his heavy guns, sinking her defense.

“Miss Bannister,” he said, his blue-green eyes wide with innocence, “I came to your uncle with a troubled mind. I have made what is to me a miraculous recovery, under Sir Osgood’s program of healthful exercise, nourishing foods, and improving works. Please do not deny me your guidance now. I need to consult with you as to how I can maintain this hard-won calm when I return to my ordinary, hectic life. You have managed to make your uncle’s teachings part of your very being, and I would learn how.”

“Quite so,” Sir Osgood proudly seconded. “Quite.”

Quite the actor, Lilyanne thought. What of her own life, her own peace of mind, her own well-being? Avoiding the duke’s presence had been the only thing keeping her from falling deeper down the well of his charm.

Every late-night bite of pastry reminded her of what he represented, what Lilyanne could never have. Oh, the turmoil Caswell caused in her poor mind with a simple turnover! How much worse it would be to sit beside him on the curricle’s driving bench, his thigh, perhaps, pressed against hers. How torturous to feel his hands at her waist as he helped her up to the seat. How painful to listen to his deep voice, or see the wind ruffle his bright curls, or be warmed by his smile. How could she live through all that, knowing she would forever after have to live without all that?

Moonstruck, that’s what she was. Lilyanne felt like a silly schoolgirl besotted with her dancing master, a totally indecent and improper and impossible infatuation. She could not, would not, let herself be any more bewitched. “I cannot ride in His Grace’s curricle,” she said. “I... I am afraid of heights.”

“You are?” Sir Osgood seemed dubious. “I recall having to discipline you and your sister for climbing trees when I first arrived. Highly improper. Highly, hm?” He was the only one who smiled at his joke.

Kasey’s silent reproach seemed to label Lilyanne a coward—and they both knew it was not heights she feared. Of course she was lily-livered, Lilyanne admitted. She would have left her uncle’s dreary house long ago if she were not so craven, even if it meant leaving her sister behind. Lisbet was a competent young woman now, one who could make her own choices.

Kasey was trying not to think of Lilyanne as a laughing girl, her skirts hiked up so she could scamper in a tree. He could never give her back those carefree days, but he was determined to add color to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eye, if only for a few hours. “I should think a newfound fear is best overcome by confronting it, not avoiding it. Otherwise fears become magnified. Why, soon you might be anxious about climbing stairs. What do you think, Sir Osgood?”

“Oh, I quite agree,” Lilyanne’s traitorous uncle said. “You have to go with His Grace, Lilyanne.”

Lilyanne was furious. Why couldn’t the diabolical duke be content with rendering her witless with a kiss? He did not have to force her into his company, besides, not unless he absolutely required every woman he met to fall in love with him before he could move on to the next. The dastard had already stolen her peace of mind. Must he also steal her heart?

Chapter Thirteen

Lilyanne was correct: Her head was spinning and they hadn’t left the carriage drive. The curricle was too high, too fast, too unsteady. No, that was her heartbeat. What was a plain, poor country girl doing in a fancy equipage like this, behind two horses whose pedigrees were likely longer than hers? She was shivering, that’s what.

Kasey sent the boy Teddy back for hot bricks and another carriage blanket. The gudgeon. Did His Grace really think she was cold? When they were under way again, she clutched the railing on her side, as far away from the duke as possible. That was still too close.

“I am sorry, but I’ll have to let the twins run a bit, to settle them down.”

“The twins?”

“Castor and Pollux, the bays. Half brothers, actually, sharing the same sire.”

By the time he was finished explaining, the bays were past the gatehouse and on the road in front of Bannister Hall, and flying. Lilyanne had changed her mobcap for a black bonnet that tied under her chin, but she still held on to it with one hand. She clutched the railing with the other.

“Are you really afraid?” the duke asked. “I never meant to make you miserable, I swear. If you are too nervous, I can turn back, but I do promise not to overturn us into the ditch.”

The bays moved as one, and His Grace kept a firm grip on the reins. He looked more handsome than ever, with the wind of their passing ruffling his hair. He was in his element, relaxed, competent as she’d never seen him with an ax or a shovel in his hand, when she’d peeked out the windows. Lilyanne unclenched her fingers from the rail. The bays settled down, and so did the butterflies in her stomach.

The duke was too busy concentrating on the horses to practice his wiles on her, she told herself, so she could savor this new experience. She hadn’t been able to avoid the curricle ride, so she might as well enjoy herself while accepting the inevitable. She’d never traveled so fast, not even when her parents were alive. She’d never been aboard the Royal Mail or a post chaise, never been out of the county, for that matter, and Uncle never drove anywhere faster than a walk. Her own mare was too old to remember trotting, much less galloping. This was
...
exhilarating. That was the word. Like the old mare, Lilyanne barely recognized such a sensation. Uncle would be having fits if he knew.

The corners of her mouth started to turn up. Yes, he would.

She thought for a moment of removing her bonnet to feel the wind in her own hair, but then she remembered who she was, and where. Miss Bannister had to be above reproach at all times, if she was to be entrusted with young ladies, and the curricle was now on a public lane. Besides, if Lilyanne forgot who she was, if she lowered her guard, she just might turn into the type of female who succumbed to a plausible rake.

Just when Lilyanne was becoming comfortable with the speed and motion, and the notion of sitting beside a handsome duke on a drive, which her wildest daydreams could not have imagined, His Grace slowed the horses for an approaching gate. Teddy got down to open the bars, but the duke did not immediately drive through. He held the horses in check and cleared his throat.

“I... I wished to make amends for the other night,” he said, out of Teddy’s hearing, “when my behavior went beyond the pale, treating you like a light skirt. I can only claim a midnight’s madness, not lack of respect. You must believe that I would not have ...”

“Would not have
...
?” Lilyanne prompted at his pause, despite her embarrassment at the conversation.

“I started to say that I would not have kissed you if I were in my right mind, but I fear that nothing could have stopped me from tasting your lips that night.”

Oh, my, Lilyanne thought, feeling her resolve dissolve like sugar in the snow. She gave herself a mental shove, then said, “I should have. Stopped you, that is.”

“You? An inexperienced young woman who has led a life even more sheltered than the average London miss? No, I was entirely at fault. It will not happen again. But I promised that already, didn’t I?”