her?”
Sir Osgood removed his spectacles to polish them. “I have not been able to find anything wrong with her, other than she is a woman. They are excitable by nature, you see, and a man must make allowances.”
“But if she is not...?” Kasey searched for a polite way of saying “crack-brained.”
“We refer to the condition as ‘discomposed’ here.”
Kasey liked that. He was discomposed, not deranged. “If the woman is not ... discomposed, why is she under your care?”
“I regret to say that her husband refused to make those allowances. I believe she removed a goodly handful of the viscount’s hair when she found him in her maid’s bed. His lordship banished her to our facility, threatening to have her incarcerated at Bethlehem Hospital if she left my care.”
“But that’s an asylum. It is no place for a lady!”
“Which is why she stays here. He does pay for her upkeep and incidentals, however, which is more than many a man does for a wife he no longer wants.”
“That is diabolical!”
“It is all too common. Divorce is too scandalous; murder is too messy. At least Lady Edgecombe is not suffering, I assure you, although she does miss her maid. I am sorry to say that the viscountess does not follow all of my recommendations for a tranquil mind. Her clothes, for instance.” He grimaced. “But you must put her out of your thoughts. Think of that as an exercise in controlling your mental processes. I always do.”
Kasey would have asked how a man learned to ignore a painted lady right under his eyes, but a soft knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Sir Osgood said, and a maid came into the room.
No, Kasey realized when the physician started to make introductions, this little gray wren was the man’s niece. The duke belatedly came to his feet, noting her blush at his error. “Miss Bannister,” he said as she curtsied and he bowed. “I am charmed to make your acquaintance. Your uncle speaks highly of your successes.”
She blushed again, and Kasey was, indeed, charmed. None but the greenest, most giggly girls in London could call forth a blush. This young—but not that young—woman was a true innocent, as only an experienced rake could instantly recognize. In her Quakerish gray she embodied all of Bannister’s tenets of moderation, which Sir Osgood was expounding on again. With a connoisseur’s inspection, he decided there was nothing to excite a man’s blood there, under that high-necked gown and shapeless cap.
Then he saw Miss Lilyanne Bannister’s eyes. They were gray, too, but not the dreary almost non - color of her gown, not the color of the smoke that hung over London, nor clouds on a sunless day. Those eyes were like night fog over water, luminous, all-encompassing, and endless at the same time. Kasey could not imagine how he’d mix that color, but his hands were itching to try. He thought they might change with Miss Bannister’s gown’s reflected color, or perhaps the light. A man could paint those unique stargazers every day for a year, he’d wager, and not grow bored.
“There will be no painting for the week, of course,” Bannister was going on, elucidating the duke’s coming routine.
“What, I am not to be permitted to paint?” Kasey snapped out of his reverie in moonbeams to face Sir Osgood. The man might as well have asked Kasey not to eat when a banquet was laid out before him.
“Of course not, Your Grace. That’s what started the Turbulence in the first place, wasn’t it? No spirits, no spices, nothing to agitate an excitable brain.”
“But, Sir—” Kasey began at the same time Miss Bannister said, “But, Uncle—”
His Grace bowed his head, deferring to the young lady.
“But, Uncle,” she said, “I thought His Grace was here about his sister or his niece, our usual type of guest.”
“No, we are to be honored with the duke’s own company for the week. It is a short time to accomplish such a great deal, but I know you will do your
Sir Osgood removed his spectacles to polish them. “I have not been able to find anything wrong with her, other than she is a woman. They are excitable by nature, you see, and a man must make allowances.”
“But if she is not...?” Kasey searched for a polite way of saying “crack-brained.”
“We refer to the condition as ‘discomposed’ here.”
Kasey liked that. He was discomposed, not deranged. “If the woman is not ... discomposed, why is she under your care?”
“I regret to say that her husband refused to make those allowances. I believe she removed a goodly handful of the viscount’s hair when she found him in her maid’s bed. His lordship banished her to our facility, threatening to have her incarcerated at Bethlehem Hospital if she left my care.”
“But that’s an asylum. It is no place for a lady!”
“Which is why she stays here. He does pay for her upkeep and incidentals, however, which is more than many a man does for a wife he no longer wants.”
“That is diabolical!”
“It is all too common. Divorce is too scandalous; murder is too messy. At least Lady Edgecombe is not suffering, I assure you, although she does miss her maid. I am sorry to say that the viscountess does not follow all of my recommendations for a tranquil mind. Her clothes, for instance.” He grimaced. “But you must put her out of your thoughts. Think of that as an exercise in controlling your mental processes. I always do.”
Kasey would have asked how a man learned to ignore a painted lady right under his eyes, but a soft knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Sir Osgood said, and a maid came into the room.
No, Kasey realized when the physician started to make introductions, this little gray wren was the man’s niece. The duke belatedly came to his feet, noting her blush at his error. “Miss Bannister,” he said as she curtsied and he bowed. “I am charmed to make your acquaintance. Your uncle speaks highly of your successes.”
She blushed again, and Kasey was, indeed, charmed. None but the greenest, most giggly girls in London could call forth a blush. This young—but not that young—woman was a true innocent, as only an experienced rake could instantly recognize. In her Quakerish gray she embodied all of Bannister’s tenets of moderation, which Sir Osgood was expounding on again. With a connoisseur’s inspection, he decided there was nothing to excite a man’s blood there, under that high-necked gown and shapeless cap.
Then he saw Miss Lilyanne Bannister’s eyes. They were gray, too, but not the dreary almost non - color of her gown, not the color of the smoke that hung over London, nor clouds on a sunless day. Those eyes were like night fog over water, luminous, all-encompassing, and endless at the same time. Kasey could not imagine how he’d mix that color, but his hands were itching to try. He thought they might change with Miss Bannister’s gown’s reflected color, or perhaps the light. A man could paint those unique stargazers every day for a year, he’d wager, and not grow bored.
“There will be no painting for the week, of course,” Bannister was going on, elucidating the duke’s coming routine.
“What, I am not to be permitted to paint?” Kasey snapped out of his reverie in moonbeams to face Sir Osgood. The man might as well have asked Kasey not to eat when a banquet was laid out before him.
“Of course not, Your Grace. That’s what started the Turbulence in the first place, wasn’t it? No spirits, no spices, nothing to agitate an excitable brain.”
“But, Sir—” Kasey began at the same time Miss Bannister said, “But, Uncle—”
His Grace bowed his head, deferring to the young lady.
“But, Uncle,” she said, “I thought His Grace was here about his sister or his niece, our usual type of guest.”
“No, we are to be honored with the duke’s own company for the week. It is a short time to accomplish such a great deal, but I know you will do your
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