Free The Lady of Lyon House by Jennifer Wilde Page A

under layers of heavy make up and powder. Her cheeks glowed with rouge, too much and too red, and her thin lids were coated with silver-blue paint, the lashes long and curling and obviously false. Her eyes were a young woman’s eyes, dark brown and shining, staring sadly through the mask of age. Her hair was a tumble of auburn curls, frosted with silver, and I suspected that it was false, too, a skillfully designed wig.
    â€œThe fever,” she said, “seven years ago. I wanted to die when I recovered and first saw myself in the mirror. I really wanted to die, but I carried on, though not as before.”
    She stalked across the room, moving with a flamboyant grace rather like that of a grand actress who overplays her grandness. She was wearing a dressing robe of tea colored silk, beautifully tailored. It had frothy brown lace about the throat and wrists, and she wore an enormous topaz ring. She whirled around to face me, opening the fan of yellow lace with one quick slap on her wrist.
    â€œI never go out without a veil,” she said. “The children of the tenants used to run when they saw me. They thought I was a witch. What do you think of that?”
    â€œI think they must be very rude children,” I replied, “very poorly trained.”
    â€œReally? And what do you think of me?”
    I hesitated. Her brown eyes challenged me, hard and defiant.
    â€œI think you’re incredibly vain and incredibly proud. In fact, you strike me as being a very foolish woman.”
    â€œMy dear! No one has ever spoken to me like that!”
    â€œI’m sorry. You asked me a question. I’ve been taught to tell the truth.” The words sounded priggish to my own ears, and I blushed, looking down at the pearl gray carpet. I could feel the color rushing to my cheeks. Corinne Lyon burst into laughter. It was a rich, raucous sound that filled the room with wicked merriment. I looked up, angry with her now. I had come here as a guest, but I had not come to be mocked.
    â€œYou’re also rude!” I snapped.
    â€œRude! My dear, how delightful! You’re a treasure. I can see that we are going to get along gloriously. I adore someone with guts! It took a lot of guts to tell me that, didn’t it?”
    â€œYes, it did,” I replied, frowning at the distasteful word.
    â€œYou really think I’m vain—and foolish and rude?”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œThat’s wonderful, almost as nice as being thought wicked. This has stimulated me marvelously. Like a brace of champagne. I think it’s wonderful to have you, Julia. Mattie was a dear to think of it. We’ll have such a grand time—”
    I liked her then, for the first time. Her pose was an outrageous sham, I thought. She was a lonely old woman who had had a great tragedy in her life, and she tried to conceal her unhappiness with flamboyant, highly colored conduct. Her nephew had told me that she was really generous and kind hearted, and I did not doubt it. I saw that her pose was necessary to her. She had to generate an air of temperament and spirit to draw the attention to herself that had once been summoned by her beauty. Without that attention, she would feel she was living in a void. Sensing this, Ifelt I could get along with Corinne Lyon quite easily. It would be easy to feed her ego and at the same time appreciate the genuine qualities which the pose couldn’t quite hide.
    â€œNow you must want to see your room,” she said, snapping her fan closed again. “And perhaps you’ll want to rest a while before changing for dinner. We’re going to be grand tonight—champagne and candlelight. So few people come to Lyon House—this is an occasion!”
    She led me out of the parlor and into the large, airy main hall. I had a glimpse of pearl gray wallpaper and gleaming white woodwork before she led me up the gracefully curving white spiral staircase. The stairs were carpeted in sky