The Painted Lady (22 page)

“I said, I am looking forward to her visit quite a bit.” Then Kasey added, “You would not hurt her, would you?”

The lady’s chest seemed to expand slightly. “Me?” She gasped. “Would you?”

“Hurt a woman? Of course not.”

“There you have it, then.”

“What are you saying, that you are me? That is, that my thoughts are your thoughts?” Kasey did not want to share anything with the specter, not even the attic space. Especially not his mind.

“Not so close. Not so far, either.”

“Dash it, that’s no answer. I know I am wasting my time, but Lilyanne thought I ought to ask you again what you wanted from me.”

“Hmph. Better she ask what you want from her. She’s not the only one hanging on that answer, I can tell you, bucko.”

Kasey did not wish to discuss his intentions with an illusion. Between what he’d told Dimm, his aunts, and Lilyanne herself, he was not sure that he did know his own aspirations in that direction. First he had to rid himself of this made-up mistress. “For now, I only want to know your desires.”

“You already asked, you dithering D
ü
rer.”

“And you answered by asking what I want, by Jupiter, but all I wish is for you to go away!”

“Tsk.”

She actually clicked her tongue; Kasey almost bit his.

“You are as bacon-brained as ever, my boy. What if I left, and so did all of this, the painting, the passion, the talent?”

“You are my muse, then?” Kasey wished he could recall if there was a Muse for two-dimensional art. He knew Erato was supposed to inspire love poems, but rather thought Thalia, the Muse for comedy, must be having a good laugh at his expense.

“Isn’t that just like a man, always trying to put labels on what he cannot understand? Think, you gapeseed Gainsborough, think for once about what it is you really, truly, want!”

“I have everything, blast you! Honor, respect, funds, good health, if we do not discuss my wandering wits. I shall have a family of my own someday, sons to carry on after me.”

“Faugh.”

“What more could I want, dash it?” he cried. “What more is there?”

“What is it you do here, bucko? What is all this? What am I?”

“My artwork? But I already paint,”

“You call this painting?” she shouted at him.

For a moment Kasey wondered if Dimm could hear her. The officer would be tapping the walls for sure, to find where Kasey’d hidden the missing girls. He whispered back, “Yes, it is painting. What else could you call it?”

“I’ll tell you what else, by the bones of Hieronymous Bosch! I call this hiding! You’ve taken your talent and made it into a hole-in-corner affair because you are ashamed of your art, afraid to face the critics, loath to expose yourself to gossip. You are petrified no one will love your work.”

“No, no, that’s not it. I am a duke, with a position to uphold.”

“I’ve seen you with paint on your poker, Caswell, you cannot lie to me. Your lofty title is the excuse you’ve given to cover your fear. You are trembling in your high-polished, tasseled boots right now. Do you know why you are so craven? Because what you are missing, what you have always wanted, what everyone always seeks, is love. No, not just for or from a woman, although if you could bring yourself to trust a woman you could accept her support. But if you truly loved your work, you would share it. If you loved the world enough, you’d give it your gift of beauty. Hell, you do not love yourself enough to face a little gossip. Why, you’d rather people thought you an assassin than an artist!”

“It isn’t done, I tell you.”

“Who says? Besides, nothing worthwhile is ever done by someone unwilling to throw his heart over the fence. For a woman, for a passion, for a place in posterity. Until you do, you’ll never be happy.”

“I...”

“Go ahead, Caswell, turn me to the wall. Hire another woman’s favors. Paint another pretty picture. Put a higher barricade around your heart. I give up.”

Kasey stood and looked over his left shoulder, where she was staring now, instead of at him. The wall was empty, from where he’d taken a painting down to show Dimm. “Should I hang something else there for you?”

There was no answer.

“Answer me, damn you!” he shouted, knowing he’d wanted nothing more than to silence her.

“I didn’t know you was calling, Your Grace.” Dimm wheezed from the doorway, having made the trip up the narrow stairs in a hurry. “Did you find that picture of Dolly, then?”

“No, I... That is, I thought I heard Ayers come back and wanted him to make us some tea.”

“Tea would take the chill off,” the officer agreed. “It’s a lot colder up here than downstairs, though.” Dimm came to stand behind where Kasey sat on the stool, looking at the portrait on the easel. “Damme if I didn’t think she was looking right at me afore. Now she’s not. Amazing how you can do that. They say that Mona-something picture has the same effect. It’s a rare gift you’ve got, Your Grace, I swear.”

Or a curse.

* * * *

While Dimm’s nephew made the tea, the officer asked Kasey to follow him to Ayers’s rooms.

“Seem empty to you, Your Grace?”

Kasey had not been in his man-of-all-work’s rooms since he’d bought the little house. Why would he? Ayers was entitled to his privacy. The duke saw that the bed was neatly made, the small sitting room was tidy. He could not tell if anything was missing.

“I told you, I gave him a holiday. Of course he would have taken his clothing and such.”

“He didn’t leave so much as a piece of paper behind.”

Kasey shrugged. “He’ll show up. Charles Warberry will have an address if Ayers does not come back soon.”

“I thought Ayers lived here?”

“Yes, but I frequently visit my various estates or attend house parties, so Ayers has free time to himself for travel. He always leaves an address with Warberry, so he can be notified of my return.”

Dimm scratched his silvered head. “Seems like there’s a lot of folks gone missing lately.”

“But I told Ayers to go.”

“And I told him to stay till we were done asking questions.”

“Surely you are done suspecting me of those disappearances? I mean, you’ve seen what I do upstairs. There is nothing sinister about my painting.”

“Nothing except what a mystery you keep it. What if one of those girls was to go prying where she had no business? Some men might be willing to kill to guard such a secret.”

“Devil a bit! I had only to pay them off, if they’d seen anything. I could have threatened to have them arrested on some spurious charge, or to tell my friends they had the pox.”

“Maybe so, maybe so.”

Dimm did not sound convinced.

“Furthermore,” Kasey persisted while they walked back to the parlor, where Dimm’s nephew poured out the tea, “my painting is not as great a secret as all that. Ayers knows, of course, and my cousin Warberry. Miss Bannister knows, too. So does her uncle and some of their servants. I did a great many watercolors while I was visiting with them.” He accepted a cup and wrapped his hands around it, trying to warm them.

Dimm took his cup of premium bohea and sat back in a wide stuffed chair, sighing his contentment.

Kasey did not think the Bow Street man would be so comfortable if he knew why the seat was big enough for two. The duke kicked a footstool in the officer’s direction.

“Ah. Lovely, Your Grace, lovely. And your honesty with the young lady does you credit, too. I always said a man should start his marriage the way he means to go on. You give your trust, and you strive to be worthy of hers. Otherwise you’ll be dividing the house down the middle. Or the bed. I’ve seen many a marriage without trust, and it’s like two armies in separate camps, waiting for the next skirmish. A’course, I forget swells like yourself don’t share chambers with your wives. Rich folks need two beds, it seems. Damme if I can figure that one out, when you toffs marry to beget heirs in the first place. They ain’t going to come from separate bedrooms, I can tell you that.”

While Dimm went on about matrimony, mattresses, morality, and family members, Kasey wondered if he ought to confess that he did not, actually, intend to make an offer for Miss Bannister’s hand. He had invited her to London to divert suspicions, and to let her see something of the world in exchange for her kindnesses to him. He did trust Lilyanne, and he did admire her, to say nothing of how his temperature rose at the mention of her and a bed in the same sentence. No matter what anyone thought, though, Dimm or the eidolon upstairs, Kasey was not courting the young woman, of course. And he was not not-courting her because he was afraid she’d reject him, either. It would be an unsuitable match, was all. Lilyanne would not be happy in the haut monde, not with her love of simple, earthy pleasures. She would not know how to go on in his world, and he could not become a rustic squire. Their backgrounds were too dissimilar, their experiences of the world too disparate. He was a womanizer; she was an innocent. He was crazy; she was the most perfect woman he’d ever met. Their children would be perfect idiots.

That’s why he bought another nosegay of flowers to put in her room.

* * * *

Kasey did not stay long at his club that night, not when he was the main topic of conversation. Everyone wanted to know if he was truly bringing Edgecombe’s want-witted wife to London, along with her keepers. Caswell’s brother had been in before him, it seemed. The sooner Jason was established in Devonshire, the better.

On the other hand, perhaps Kasey’s brother had done him a service. With everyone thinking his interests were focused on the soon-to-be widowed woman, they would ignore Lilyanne. That is, until they saw her. Then the bucks and beaux would be like bees at a blossom, the bastards, especially if they thought Caswell bent on having Catherine. That was what the duke wanted, of course, and what was best for Lilyanne: the opportunity to meet marriageable gentlemen. She should not have to work for a living, catering to crotchety old women or schooling stubborn chits. She should be cherished.

That’s why he gave the cut direct to the first man who asked if the Bannister female was presentable.

The other major topic of discussion this night was the disappearances among the ranks of courtesans. No one dared speculate in Kasey’s presence that he might have something to do with the missing mistresses, but he could sense their curiosity.

That’s why he sat in a quiet corner of the room with Lords Stivern and St. Claire, art collectors and self-styled connoisseurs. Kasey had advised both of the older men on some of their previous purchases, and usually enjoyed talking about recent acquisitions and showings at the Royal Academy.

Tonight the gentlemen were enthused about some new artist just burst on the scene with a handful of oils at one of the more exclusive galleries. Stivern wanted Kasey to go with him on the morrow, to get his opinion on a fair price when the paintings came up at auction. St. Claire was filled with praise over the unknown’s brushwork, his use of light, the emotion he’d managed to infuse in the work. The fellow would be famous by next week, both gentlemen swore, whoever he was, and they were determined to own one of his pieces before the prices rose with his reputation.

Kasey had to decline because he had company arriving, but he did promise to take his guests to the gallery before the auction, and consider possible bids. He might purchase one himself, if the chap was as good as St. Claire promised. But then, while the two older men debated which of the new paintings they deemed most worth possessing, Kasey sipped at his brandy and thought that he could be the artist they were discussing. According to the painted lady and Dimm, neither of whom was an expert, of course, his own work could, and should, be hanging in a gallery somewhere. Perhaps at the Royal Academy itself.

That’s why he went home and went to bed.

* * * *

Despite Lilyanne’s impatience, they were late leaving Lytchfield.

Uncle Osgood needed to pack all of his notebooks and nostrums.

Lady Edgecombe required extra trunks for her clothes and cosmetics.

Lilyanne had only to gather a handful of drab dresses, and a lifetime of dreams.

Chapter Twenty-four

Kasey was ready two hours before the carriage from Lytchfield could possibly arrive in London. The coach he’d sent was two hours late. Somewhere between, his aunts begged Caswell to go off for a ride or a drive or a drink at his clubs; he was making Ticky nervous, they said, with his pacing.

Deuce take it, he was not about to step on the beast, Kasey muttered to himself. Ticky was likely upset because he couldn’t accost Kasey’s boots while Kasey was wearing them. Either way, the duke took the dog to the park across the square, where they could both use up some excess energy. He waved to Dimm, but did not stop to talk.

Ticket was still dog enough to chase squirrels, thank goodness. Kasey thought if he exhausted the creature, perhaps the pug would not embarrass them all with his overabundance of inappropriate affection. As for Kasey, he prayed he’d not give in to his own impulses, which were to kiss a great deal more than the tips of Lilyanne’s fingers. Lud, with the improper notions going through his head, he was liable to mortify his aunts and Lilyanne worse than the amorous pug, unless he kept his greatcoat on.

When the guests finally arrived, the duke behaved quite properly, of course. He greeted Lady Edgecombe first, making the introductions in form, asking Sir Osgood about the journey over tea, then escorting that gentleman to his room, while the aunts showed Catherine and Lilyanne to theirs.

By Jove, she was more beautiful than Kasey recalled. He meant Lilyanne, of course. Lady Edgecombe was, as always, an attractive overstatement. He dismissed her instantly from his thoughts. Lilyanne, however, might have been branded on his mind, for he could think of nothing else. The smile Miss Bannister had given him on arrival made the duke wish he were a composer instead of a painter, so he could write the song swirling inside him, crescendos and all. He had another cup of tea in his library, wondering how long before he could arrange to have a private conversation with Lilyanne.