An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) Read Free Page B

extremely inferior.  She imagined Cara must be the sort of person who knew the price of everything and the value of nothing.  In this she did the lady some injustice.  Cara had indulgent parents, it was true, but she was neither spoiled nor proud.  Along with her knowledge of her good-fortune in life, there had been ever-present reminders of the misfortunes of others.  It was for this reason she had been drawn to Gil.  He was the first man she had met who had been entirely uninterested in her father’s wealth and social position.  Gil saw beyond what most men looked for in her and she found it strangely exciting as well as rather daunting.  With Gil there was no pretence.  She had to be herself – though a better self that he might not despise her for taking the easy way in life, relying on her good-looks and fortune and not working hard to ensure people liked her.  She had, in the past, been used to being accepted no matter what she did, but Gil changed all that.  He would not tolerate bad behaviour, he did not indulge her when she sulked and he looked askance at her when she tried to get her own way by guile.  She found very quickly that though he was a man to be much admired for his high standards, those standards were very hard to live up to – and she surprised even herself by being concerned whether she attained them.
    Lady Hartley-Wells, who had been sheltering the wayward heiress whilst she lived in Hanbury, knew Cara better than most and was able to reassure her young friend, “My dear, the bride would like nothing more – in fact, so sure am I that she would not, I have come here to commission you to paint such a portrait of the happy couple as my own wedding gift.”
    Verity’s laugh had more than a little relief in it, “Of course, I shall do whatever you ask, but that brings me back to my original problem – if you intend to give them a portrait, then I cannot.”
    “Then why not paint a landscape for them?  I cannot imagine anything more romantic than having a picture of the place where I met my husband.”
    Verity was much struck by this simple solution, “My dear, what would I do without you?  Of course, there could be nothing nicer.  I shall begin work without delay.  Naturally you understand the portrait cannot be kept a secret – I shall have to ask Cara and Gil to sit for me.”
    “Oh, yes.  I have already warned them both that their presence will be required.”
    “As to the fee…” Verity hated to charge her friends and usually gave her pictures away, or charged ridiculously small amounts, but Lady Hartley-Wells would brook no argument; she waved an imperious hand, “You shall receive the rate I would pay to a London artist.  It is a wedding gift, after all.  And it is high time, my dear, you began to value your talent as you ought.  Your work is easily as good as any I’ve seen, and think how it would sting that husband of yours if he found himself living upon your income instead of his own.”
    Verity smiled wryly, “I don’t think it would bother him one little bit,” she said decidedly.
     
    *
     
    The Underwoods did not meet again until dinner, when they were able to relax for the first time in weeks.  There had been a flurry of dinners, dances, theatre-trips and concerts and this was the first time they had dined alone at home since the beginning of the summer influx of visitors.
    It was a warm evening and so the tall windows stood open, the curtains stirring slightly in a soft breeze, even though it meant that the candlelight was attracting the odd large moth into the room.  Horatia was sleeping peacefully, tired out by the exertions of having to order her older cousin about all afternoon.
    Verity was eating fruit, a dreamy, far-away expression on her face which Underwood thought, as he looked down the long mahogany table at her, he loved best.  Her face was always at its loveliest when she thought herself unobserved.  Once she knew she had drawn