Devilish Page 0,74

the Abbey, of course."

"I would like to see the portraits that hang here."

The woman was clearly startled, for the tea awaited and the bath would soon be ready, but she curtsied. "Of course, milady. Be so kind as to follow me."

She was led past the stairs to the other half of the house where a wider corridor was indeed lined with portraits. Diana thanked the housekeeper and dismissed her, then turned to stroll by the pictures.

The first were ancient paintings, one small miniature going back perhaps to the early Tudor period. Farther along she found two large portraits of a man and a woman in the opulent dress of the Restoration. Probably Bey's grandparents, and again she saw a resemblance in the woman's sculpted lids and the man's classic bones.

Nothing here of his parents, however. She wondered if any portraits survived of his mother, and if so, in what secluded corner they hung.

The end of the corridor contained one moderately sized portrait surrounded by miniatures, rather like the sun and the planets. With a smile, she wondered if he thought of the arrangement that way, too.

The central portrait had to be Bey as a young man, a youth almost. It was probably the usual one painted in Italy when on the Grand Tour for he leaned against a stone pillar, book in hand, and revealed a glimpse of some Italian town behind him. She understood that many Italian artists kept a stock of canvasses already painted with background and pillar, so that the English milord could choose the one that suited his fancy, and have his figure painted in. This looked of that sort, but the artist had been skilled in capturing his subject as in life.

Bey had probably been about seventeen, and showed no sign of childhood shadows. A tribute, that, to his father and stepmother. He looked what he had been then - a young man with the world in his hands, enjoying life to the full. With his brilliant mind, she was sure he had enjoyed his Grand Tour as it was meant to be enjoyed - for learning and exploration of the classical world. The smile and wicked eyes told her he was already enjoying other aspects of foreign travel.

My, but the Italian ladies must have been mad over him. Devastatingly handsome, with the well-shaped bones already clear but softened by the lingering blush of youth. Those mysterious, guarded eyes were larger, brighter, and full of the joys of life.

He was handsome now, grown into himself perfectly, but there was something toothsome about such youthful beauty accompanied by lordly confidence.

She dragged her eyes away to look at the smaller paintings, but they were all of his half-brothers and sisters, also in their teen years. No baby pictures at all, which wasn't surprising. They were usually kept in less public areas and often done with the mother. Any pictures of Bey with his mother were likely hidden away, or even destroyed.

What was it like to have a parent whom everyone wanted to forget? No wonder it hovered over him like a shadow.

She looked back at the central portrait, but it gave no answers except to tell her that the shadows he lived with had not all come from his mother's dreadful act. The death of his father and stepmother had played a part. Rosa had said they'd died of a fever he'd brought back to his home.

She knew they would not want him to suffer for it, but he must know that too. At heart, it was his mother who chained him. She turned and walked briskly back to her room, resolved to find a way to break those chains.

She paused at the head of the stairs for another look at the previous marquess and marchioness who must want happiness for all their family. All now had it, at least in part because of Bey's loving care. Only he was left alone.

Help me, she mouthed silently. Then she hurried on her way.

Two hours later, Diana surveyed herself in her mirror and declared herself satisfied. Formal court events required wide panniers instead of the narrow ones or hoops of everyday. The panniers, however, served to spread the fabric of the skirt and show off precious materials, encouraging a blatant declaration of wealth.

Her cream silk did that perfectly, rioting with embroidered spring flowers and leaves. The same material formed the niched border around the skirt and up the parted front to her waist, trimmed down the middle with glittering