century.’
She knew her nerves were making her chatter, but when her companion did not reply she continued, glancing at the dark and rather obscure landscapes on the wall. ‘And of course it gives you somewhere to hang paintings that are not required elsewhere...’
Her words trailed away as they reached the top of the stairs, and her wandering gaze fixed upon the large portrait hanging directly in front of her. But it was not its gilded frame, gleaming in the sunlight, nor the fresh, vibrant colours that made her stop and stare. It was the subject. She was looking at a painting of herself in the scarlet gown.
‘My wife.’
It did not need Adversane’s curt words to tell her that. Only for an instant had Lucy thought she was looking at herself. A second, longer glance showed that the woman in the picture had golden curls piled up on her head, and eyes that were a deep, vivid blue.
‘I had forgotten it was here.’
She dragged her eyes away from the painting to look at him.
‘Forgotten?’ she repeated, shocked. ‘How could you forget?’
His shoulders lifted, the faintest shrug.
‘My cousin had it moved from the Long Gallery the day you arrived. She thought it would upset you. Personally I would not have done so. You were bound to see it at some time.’
She found her gaze drawn back to the painting.
‘She is wearing the gown I saw in Mrs Sutton’s sketch.’
‘Yes.’
‘And the diamonds.’ She swallowed. ‘My hair is a little darker but...there is a striking resemblance between us.’
‘Is there?’
Anger replaced her initial astonishment.
‘Come now, my lord. Please do not insult my intelligence by saying you have not noticed it.’ She had a sudden flash of memory: the open door in Mrs Killinghurst’s office, the gilded picture frame on the wall of the inner sanctum. ‘Did you deliberately set out to find someone who looked like your wife?’
‘Pray, madam, do not be making more of this than there is.’
He indicated that they should move on, but Lucy remained in front of the portrait. He had not denied the allegation, so she could only surmise that his reasons for hiring her were not quite as straightforward as he had said.
‘And your choice of gowns for me—are they all the same as those worn by your wife? Every one?’
‘If they are it need not concern you.’
‘My lord, it does concern me.’
‘Well, it should not.’ He frowned. ‘I have already explained what is required of you. I can assure you there is nothing improper in it.’
‘I am very glad to hear it!’
‘So, does it matter what you wear?’
‘No-o...’
‘Then pray do not concern yourself further. Instead, enjoy living in luxury for a few weeks!’ With that, he turned and strode off, leaving her to make her own way to her bedchamber.
* * *
Damn the woman, must she question everything?
Ralph stormed into his room, tearing off his neck cloth as he went. He had enjoyed their morning ride, much more than he had expected. Lucy Halbrook was spirited and intelligent and for a few hours he had put aside his cares and given himself up to pleasure. So successful had it been that he’d completely forgotten Ariadne had moved the painting and he’d been unprepared to see Helene staring down at him, large as life, from the top of the stairs. He had looked up and seen the portrait when he put his foot on the first tread, but by that time it was too late. Lucy was already before him, and all he could do was to try and think what on earth he would say to her when she saw the painting.
He was not surprised at her look of astonishment. Even Ariadne had questioned why he had hired someone who looked so much like Helene to play his fiancée. Lucy had seen the resemblance immediately and had turned to him, a question in her eyes. Green eyes, he recalled, and they changed with her moods. They looked like a stormy sea when she was angry and today, when she was exhilarated from the ride, they shone clear and bright as moss. Nothing like Helene’s blue eyes, which he had once thought so alluring.
He gave his head a little shake to dispel the unwelcome thoughts that came crowding in. Kibble’s voice intruded and Ralph looked up to see his valet coming out of the dressing room.
‘I have prepared a bath for your lordship.’
‘Thank you. Go down and tell Mrs Green to send up water to Miss Halbrook’s room, if you please.’ When Kibble hesitated he said curtly, ‘Damn it, man, I can undress myself, you know!’
Not visibly moved, Kibble gave a stately little bow and retired. Going into the dressing room, where scented steam was gently rising from a hip bath, Ralph threw off his clothes and lowered himself into the water.
Kibble knew him well enough not to be offended by his rough tone, but what of Lucy? He had spoken harshly to her on several occasions now. A slight smile tugged at his mouth. She appeared quite capable of standing up to him, but that last look she had given him nagged at his conscience. If he told her everything, would she understand?
He could not risk it. He had known the woman barely two weeks, it would not make sense to trust her with such a dangerous secret. Safer to keep his own counsel. Much more logical.
He heard a movement in the bedchamber, and Kibble appeared in the dressing room doorway.
‘A bath is even now being carried up to Miss Halbrook’s room, my lord.’
Ralph was immediately distracted by the image of Lucy undressing and stepping into the warm water. There was a golden sheen to the skin of her neck and shoulders. Did that extend, he wondered, to the rest of her body...?
Kibble spoke again, in a voice with just a hint of rebuke. ‘Mrs Green hopes there will be enough hot water, since she did not anticipate anyone other than your lordship requiring a bath today.’
Ralph sat up with an oath, not so much angry with his valet as with himself for not being able to dispel the thought of Lucy Halbrook.
Finding his master’s wrathful eye turned towards him, Kibble unbent sufficiently to add, ‘With so few guests in the house, Monsieur deemed it wasteful to light the new range in the kitchen and has been cooking on the old open range—it has a much smaller water cistern, my lord.’
‘I know precisely what the difference is,’ barked Ralph. ‘You may tell Monsieur that since I pay him an extortionate wage to run my kitchens, I can afford to use that new range whatever the number of guests in residence, do you understand?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Very well.’ Ralph nodded towards the pail of hot water standing on the hearthstone. ‘Miss Halbrook can have that to top up her supply.’
‘Won’t you be needing it, my lord?’
‘No, I won’t.’ The vision of Lucy bathing was still tantalising Ralph. Great heavens, what was wrong with him? ‘In fact, you had best pour in the rest of the cold water before you go.’
* * *
Lucy rubbed herself dry, her skin and spirits glowing. To be able to call up a bath at a moment’s notice was luxury indeed and she could forgive her employer a great deal for that.
She could not forgive him everything, however, and the idea that she had been brought here to imitate his dead wife made her decidedly uneasy.
She left the