Free Christmas At Thorncliff Towers by Marina Myles Page B

portrait.
    Irritating fellow, that painter. Had to get every detail right .
    Now, Jean-Daniel was stuck with the unsightly headpiece forever.
    Fastening his hands on his hips, he let his eyes rove over the “masterpiece” again. Temperamental artist Michél LeBeau had certainly captured the sun-bathed landscape of Maincy with precision. And the contrast between the gray hues of the palace and the colorful, arching trees was spot-on. The artist had even portrayed the essence of Jean-Daniel’s impeccable upbringing.
    Yet he’d failed to depict Jean-Daniel’s soul.
    Since then, Jean-Daniel winced at the comments people muttered when they passed Michél’s painting. “My goodness! What a dire-looking fellow that viscount is!” Or, “His portrait makes me so sad.”
    Truth be told, Jean-Daniel had been anything but solemn and morose during his time as France’s distant heir to the throne. Instead, he’d been the epitome of a lighthearted bachelor, sweeping women off their feet . . . disappearing for weeks at a time to indulge in feasts filled with wine, dancing, and pleasure.
    Those were the days.
    Grinning, his stare landed on the brown and white hound dog that sat at his feet inside the portrait. Jean-Daniel gave a loud whistle. Rémy stirred, stretched, and then emerged in ghostly form outside the painting.
    “Good boy!” He gave the dog an enthusiastic pat before he crouched and scratched the animal behind both ears. “Thank God I have you to keep me company.”
    Rémy lifted a paw as if to say, “It’s just you and me, master.”
    Jean-Daniel raised a brow. “You seem anxious tonight, boy.”
    Rémy whimpered.
    “I know,” Jean-Daniel said as he glanced around. “I feel it, too. The lady from the management company set off this strange energy when she came here yesterday. She hasn’t been around in a while, and I think she’s readying the house for a new owner. I sense it in my bones. If I had bones, that is.”
    Rémy let his tongue hang out in an amused pant.
    Jean-Daniel stood. “Do you think the new owner is her ?”
    The dog let out a firm “yap.”
    “If it is, my heart will finally mend.” He exhaled. “And maybe we’ll be released from this Purgatory.”
    Rémy barked louder.
    Before Jean-Daniel had died a tragic death, he hadn’t known much about ghosts. Now, unfortunately, he knew too much. Whenever someone died under heartrending circumstances, they manifested themselves at the scene of their passing. People asserted Jean-Daniel’s death had been a result of murder, or possibly suicide. That’s why he’d never crossed over to the other side.
    Of course, he knew the truth about how he died. Well, she knew, too—the woman he’d loved beyond all reason.
    With lapis-blue eyes, a stunning face, and gleaming ivory hair, Ella had appeared at Château de Maincy weeks before his death. Oddly, she’d materialized out of nowhere.
    If Ella resurfaced here in present day (in reincarnated form or whatever one called it), Jean-Daniel would have to get her to step through his painting and travel back in time. Once she succeeded in returning to 1703, Jean-Daniel wanted her to alter the course of what had happened to him.
    A fate etched in blood.
    He shuddered. Would he remember Ella when they met for the first time in the eighteenth century? He feared he wouldn’t. Yet he held out hope that they’d gradually fall in love—as he remembered them doing, all those years ago.
    Only then could they rewrite the scene of their tragic parting.
    It was all very complicated, but there it was.
    Optimism—as tangible and sweet as a cloud of perfume—circled Jean-Daniel while he stood in the drawing room. Pushing his shoulders back, he floated forward. The time for Ella’s visit was nearing. That’s what his instincts were telling him, anyway. And he was ready.
    Gliding out of the room, he drifted along the corridor with Rémy at his heels. He stopped at a bay window and glanced out at the château’s