Free The Lady of Lyon House by Jennifer Wilde

like music. A bird warbled in a rose bush, and the insects had already begun their nocturnal serenade.
    Edward Lyon piled my luggage in a neat stack on the porch and then he stood looking at me, his fists on his hips. A lock of auburn hair had fallen over his forehead, and he had the expression of a little boy who is showing a treasured possession to his friend.
    â€œLike it?” he asked quietly.
    â€œI couldn’t possibly say how much.”
    â€œWelcome to Lyon House,” he said.

CHAPTER SIX
    â€œS TUNNING ,” Corinne Lyon cried, “simply stunning. I had no idea! If I had known what a beauty you are, I would never have let you come. Absolutely not! Think what that youth and freshness will do to me if anyone sees us side by side. I shall look like a crocodile!”
    I could think of nothing to say in reply. I stood rather timidly, my lashes lowered.
    â€œI shall have to keep you hidden,” she said, nodding her head as if in agreement with herself. “If company arrives, into the closet you go. Is that understood?”
    â€œNow, Corinne,” Edward Lyon protested.
    â€œHush, Edward. Run along! What are you doing here anyway? This is women talk. Julia is going to tell me all about her love affairs, and I am going to make her blush with a full account of mine.”
    â€œIt would take three weeks,” Edward replied, mock serious.
    â€œWe have nothing but time,” Corinne snapped. “You run along now. I don’t want to share this delicious creature with anyone just yet!”
    She smiled as her nephew left the room, closing the door behind him. We were in the parlor, a vast, light room with white walls and delicate French furniture of white wood and sky-blue satin upholstery. Long draperies of thin blue material swept the floor, covering the French windows that opened out into the gardens. Corinne opened the draperies and threw back the windows, pausing for a moment with her hands on the sill. All the glorious smells of the gardens swept into the room. In the misty blue twilight I could see pink and white rose trees.
    â€œSo you like Lyon House?” she asked.
    â€œI adore it,” I replied. “I think it is the loveliest place I have ever seen.”
    â€œIt’s nice, quite nice,” she replied, “a little small, a little simple, but it’s the simplicity and smallness that give it its character. I abhor those mammoth graystone monstrosities that mar the countryside with their turrets and towers.”
    â€œIt must be wonderful to be the Lady of Lyon House and be surrounded by so much beauty,” I remarked.
    â€œIt is, my dear, it is. Of course it was more exciting in the old days when the place was aswarm with people, when the drive was crowded with carriages and every room rang with laughter and voices. There used to be parties every week, and so many handsome young men—but, alas, I am afraid those days are gone. I seldom see anyone now.”
    â€œYou don’t go out?”
    â€œOnly to ride in the morning and to visit the tenant farms. Haven’t been to the village in years, much less anywhere else. And people seldom come to Lyon House. I frighten them away. It’s just as well.” There was a touch of sadness in her voice.
    She saw that I was watching her closely, and she tapped her lace fan against her palm, folding the lace pleats.
    â€œCan you really blame me for not wanting to see people, to have people see me?”
    â€œI don’t understand what you mean,” I replied.
    â€œCome, come, my dear. You’re young, but you’re no fool, and you are not blind either. I used to be a great beauty, celebrated in twenty counties. Young men used to perish just for a glance of me. Now—” She threw her hands out in a lavish gesture. “You can see for yourself.”
    Corinne Lyon was certainly not beautiful. She was not really old, but her face was a mask of wrinkles, poorly disguised