Read Online The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Romance by Alyne de Winter - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alyne de Winter
Ads: Link
her for it, Veronica never succeeded in fighting her urge to open a closed door. Her need to know was just too strong. Now here she was, faced with not just one, but three tantalizing doors. What was she supposed to do? She walked down to the door at the end of the hallway and turned the knob.
It opened.
There was no turning back now. Her heart thumping with guilty pleasure, she trespassed into the most elegant sitting room she’d ever seen.
Nine
A marble fireplace with two portraits above the mantel dominated the far wall like a shrine. Paintings, sculpted figurines, deep, cushioned divans and gilded mahogany chairs upholstered in shades of ivory, dark green, and gold, held court on Oriental carpets the color of charcoal, silver and scarlet. The room spoke of wealth, status and education far beyond anything Veronica could imagine, of things foreign and poetic. The far left corner of the room opened out to another conservatory with walls of clear leaded glass. A vista of morning sky above the plants, suggested the space was larger than the one downstairs where they had tea. Strange, exotic flowering trees and vines had been left to grow wild as if the owner strove relieve the smooth, refined atmosphere of his rooms with the untamed and wild.
Veronica turned slowly around, taking in the flamboyant crystal chandelier hanging from a decorative plaster ceiling, the ornate mirrors on walls of dark silver grosgrain silk. An arrangement of fresh lilies bloomed on a table behind the hearthside divan as if the rooms were kept in readiness for Mr. de Grimston’s imminent return.
"Amazing!" she whispered.
On either side of the door she’d entered, were French doors. Two bedrooms, corresponding to the two doors that faced each other across the hallway outside, were visible through the windows.
This was clearly the Master Suite.
Through the windows of the doors on her right, Veronica caught a glimpse of Lady Sovay’s bedchamber. She tiptoed hurriedly over, and peered in. The bed was set into the wall under a gilded wooden canopy hung with rose-colored silk curtains. Medieval tapestries of ladies and hounds hung on either side of the marble fireplace. A wooden statue of Mary Magdalene, with her perfume jar, stood on the dressing table, the fine detailed carving of her hair flowing to her feet reflected in the mirror behind her. The silver combs and brushes and bottles of scent, the alluring colors and soft fabrics gave evidence of Sovay de Grimston’s sensuous personality.
Unable to stop herself, Veronica stepped into the room. The cut glass perfume bottles on the dressing table were so stylish that they could only have come from Paris. She picked one up and lifted the stopper, unleashing the intoxicating scent of ambergris. Drinking the fragrance in, she closed her eyes and wondered what kind of church Lady Sovay had been raised in, what kind of schooling she’d had. Certainly nothing like what Veronica had received at Saint Mary’s where the Magdalene was viewed as proprietress of the wrong kind of nunnery.
Under an archway to the right was a sitting room where tall windows, curtained with yards of gauzy silk, looked out on a walled rose garden. The further horizon was smudged with the umber mist of the orchard.
Veronica hurried back out to the sitting room and approached and the doors to Rafe de Grimston's bedroom. She had second thoughts about going in there. Lady Sovay could no longer feel the presence of a stranger among her things, but though not at home, Mr. de Grimston was very much alive. The vases of fresh lilies attested to his eventual return. If she met him after she’d been in his bedchamber, he would sense it right away. It was an uncanny fact that once you knew things about a person, especially personal, private things, you couldn’t get away with pretending you didn’t. She'd learned from spying on the nuns at Saint Mary's that the mere glance of an eye could give one away.
But, t he doors were
It opened.
There was no turning back now. Her heart thumping with guilty pleasure, she trespassed into the most elegant sitting room she’d ever seen.
Nine
A marble fireplace with two portraits above the mantel dominated the far wall like a shrine. Paintings, sculpted figurines, deep, cushioned divans and gilded mahogany chairs upholstered in shades of ivory, dark green, and gold, held court on Oriental carpets the color of charcoal, silver and scarlet. The room spoke of wealth, status and education far beyond anything Veronica could imagine, of things foreign and poetic. The far left corner of the room opened out to another conservatory with walls of clear leaded glass. A vista of morning sky above the plants, suggested the space was larger than the one downstairs where they had tea. Strange, exotic flowering trees and vines had been left to grow wild as if the owner strove relieve the smooth, refined atmosphere of his rooms with the untamed and wild.
Veronica turned slowly around, taking in the flamboyant crystal chandelier hanging from a decorative plaster ceiling, the ornate mirrors on walls of dark silver grosgrain silk. An arrangement of fresh lilies bloomed on a table behind the hearthside divan as if the rooms were kept in readiness for Mr. de Grimston’s imminent return.
"Amazing!" she whispered.
On either side of the door she’d entered, were French doors. Two bedrooms, corresponding to the two doors that faced each other across the hallway outside, were visible through the windows.
This was clearly the Master Suite.
Through the windows of the doors on her right, Veronica caught a glimpse of Lady Sovay’s bedchamber. She tiptoed hurriedly over, and peered in. The bed was set into the wall under a gilded wooden canopy hung with rose-colored silk curtains. Medieval tapestries of ladies and hounds hung on either side of the marble fireplace. A wooden statue of Mary Magdalene, with her perfume jar, stood on the dressing table, the fine detailed carving of her hair flowing to her feet reflected in the mirror behind her. The silver combs and brushes and bottles of scent, the alluring colors and soft fabrics gave evidence of Sovay de Grimston’s sensuous personality.
Unable to stop herself, Veronica stepped into the room. The cut glass perfume bottles on the dressing table were so stylish that they could only have come from Paris. She picked one up and lifted the stopper, unleashing the intoxicating scent of ambergris. Drinking the fragrance in, she closed her eyes and wondered what kind of church Lady Sovay had been raised in, what kind of schooling she’d had. Certainly nothing like what Veronica had received at Saint Mary’s where the Magdalene was viewed as proprietress of the wrong kind of nunnery.
Under an archway to the right was a sitting room where tall windows, curtained with yards of gauzy silk, looked out on a walled rose garden. The further horizon was smudged with the umber mist of the orchard.
Veronica hurried back out to the sitting room and approached and the doors to Rafe de Grimston's bedroom. She had second thoughts about going in there. Lady Sovay could no longer feel the presence of a stranger among her things, but though not at home, Mr. de Grimston was very much alive. The vases of fresh lilies attested to his eventual return. If she met him after she’d been in his bedchamber, he would sense it right away. It was an uncanny fact that once you knew things about a person, especially personal, private things, you couldn’t get away with pretending you didn’t. She'd learned from spying on the nuns at Saint Mary's that the mere glance of an eye could give one away.
But, t he doors were
Similar Books
