The Lady Who Drew Me In. Thomasine Rappold
can wait for me here, Myrtle.” Felice waved her maid toward one of the rocking chairs on the porch.
Daisy ushered them inside, and then led them down the hall to the library. After all this time, the scent of Lawry’s final cigar still clung to the paneled walls. The familiar smell she’d relished so fondly after his death affected her differently now. How could he do this to her?
Blinking back tears, she returned her focus to her guests. Felice batted her lashes, then proceeded with a formal introduction. Extending an arm toward Daisy, she said, “Mr. Jackson Gallway, I present the Widow Lansing.”
Daisy cringed.
Felice smiled.
Jackson Gallway stepped forward, his eyes wide. “You’re the Widow Lansing?”
Daisy frowned. “I am Daisy Lansing, yes.”
He gave her a thorough once-over. “You’re much younger than I expected.”
The blunt confession surprised her. Not that she blamed him for his presumption she was a wrinkled old prune. She’d married a man thirty years her senior and was used to the reactions she’d garnered during introductions. Surprise, suspicion, disgust—she’d seen them all. Since Lawry’s death ten months ago, she’d become known as the Widow Lansing and, like it or not, the title carried an image.
“It’s good to finally meet you,” she replied honestly. At the inquisitive arch of his brow, she explained, “Your brother’s wife is my dearest friend.”
“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Any friend of Tessa’s …”
Reaching for her hand, he smiled, the effect of which she couldn’t ignore. His confident grip said he’d done this before—charmed women senseless with barely a word. And still she felt flattered. Clasping her fingers, he stared down at her, and she marveled at the unique shade of his eyes.
Had she imagined the flash of desire that sparkled inside them? After all, it had been ages since a man had touched her. Although she hadn’t particularly missed marital relations, abstinence, it seemed suddenly, had made her body grow fonder.
“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Lansing.” The sound of his voice was as smooth as the skin on his freshly shaven face. The perfect form of his lips steered her mind down a path it hadn’t wandered in years. Her pulse quickened.
“Daisy,” she uttered, sounding more like a smitten school girl than a twenty-four-year-old widow.
Several long moments passed, and every nerve in her body tingled beneath the heat in his eyes. Her mouth went bone dry.
“Ahem.” Felice took an imposing step forward. “I came to settle this business of the portrait.”
Daisy took a deep breath. “And you needed a lawyer to assist?”
“I am not her attorney, Mrs. Lansing. I am merely her escort.”
Daisy eyed him warily. Escort, my foot. She knew all about Felice’s string of admirers from the city. The woman’s visit to the Misty Lake Hotel across the lake was the talk of the town. As were her suitors—men who tripped over themselves to alleviate her boredom.
Jackson Gallway seemed a potent cure for the doldrums. The thought made Daisy flush. From what she’d heard of him, he’d had plenty of practice entertaining women. Tessa’s husband was pressing him to settle down, though. Who better for the wayward lawyer to settle down on than a beautiful heiress?
Daisy shook off her irritating envy. When had her focus turned from Felice to the wretched woman’s escort?
“Please sit.” Daisy motioned toward the Grecian sofa in the center of the room.
Gallway waited until both women were seated before joining Felice on the sofa. Felice adjusted her ample skirts, inching casually toward him. Daisy settled into the chair across from the pair, rolling her eyes at the woman’s blatant flirtations.
“As I made clear in my notes to you, Felice, your portrait is ready, and payment is now due.”
“That’s precisely why I came to see you. I’ve changed my mind about the painting.”
“But the work is complete.”
Felice shrugged.
“Let me remind you,” Daisy said. “I had no wish to paint you until you insisted your payment would be well worth my trouble.”
Felice tossed her head, unaffected. “I no longer wish to purchase another portrait of myself.”
Daisy clenched her teeth. The heat of anger rushed to her cheeks. “I don’t give a fig what you do or do not wish. I spent nine days painting this piece. From memory, I might add, since you couldn’t be bothered to pose for longer than half an hour.”
“Half an hour?” Gallway cocked a brow, pointing with a nod of his chin toward the portrait on the easel by the window. “You painted that portrait from a pose you sketched in less than an hour?”
Daisy straightened, puffing her chest. “I have an exceptional memory.”
“Exceptional, indeed,” he uttered.
Felice huffed. “Be that as it may, these things happen. I hope my visit today puts an end to your incessant demands for payment.”
Daisy took a deep breath, glancing to the man at Felice’s side. He sat silently, an expectant look on his handsome face. He awaited Daisy’s response, her inevitable defeat, as though his mere presence ensured it. Blasted lawyers.
Daisy turned to Felice. “You are absolutely certain that you do not want the piece?”
“Quite certain,” she snapped. She primped at her curls. “It hardly flatters me.”
Daisy took a deep breath. “Very well then.” She mustered her most diplomatic tone. “Since you refuse to pay me for my work, I am forced to find someone who will.”
Felice narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I shall seek another buyer,” Daisy said.
The woman’s perfectly groomed brows shot up in surprise. “Another buyer?”
“That’s right.”
“But who—”
“I’ve heard of a businessman in Texas who is currently shopping for just such a piece.” Daisy stretched her arm toward the easel, presenting the work in a show of admiration. “He’s enamored with the idea of displaying a portrait of a genuine heiress above the bar in his saloon.”
Felice gasped. “His saloon? My portrait?”
“My portrait,” Daisy reminded her. “I will be compensated for my services one way or another.”
Felice’s eyes bulged.
Daisy’s heart pounded a battle sound in her ears. She fired a glance at the lawyer. He sat, riveted in silence, his fine mouth pursed tight. The surprising possibility he would remain that way fueled her confidence.
“Of course, I’ll have to alter the painting,” Daisy continued. “Lower the neckline of the gown, enhance the décolletage.”
“You can’t do that!” Felice spun her head from Daisy to Gallway and back so fast her bonnet slid askew. She adjusted the cockeyed thing quickly, chest heaving.
“It’s my painting, and I can do with it whatever I please. Anyone with a brain will tell you that.” Daisy turned to Gallway. He disputed nothing, proving her point. From the smile quirking his lips, it seemed he was enjoying Felice’s comeuppance almost as much as Daisy.
“This is an outrage.” Felice ground out each word. Her eyes were blue ice. Even her curls froze stiff. “I will not be bullied by the likes of you, Daisy Lansing. I’ll see to it you never open that day home for those guttersnipes.”
“They