Read Online Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde - Free Book Online Page A

his sunken old eyes.
    â€œAhem,” Rosemary became self-conscious and straightened herself as best she could. Oh my , she thought. What am I wearing ? She had an ample collection of dresses, but chose a most ragged one so old and ill-fitting that she used it only when painting. It was flecked with the myriad colors of sunsets and oceans and alabaster moons—and the gray soul of Dorian’s eyes.
    â€œGood afternoon, Sir,” she said, submitting a bow of her head as she was unable to curtsey with the ungainly painting in her arms. “I am here to see Mr. Gray.”
    The sunken eyes registered her with a heavy blink.
    â€œMr. Gray did not say he was expecting anyone,” replied the valet.
    There was a dagger of lightning and then a slam of thunder that made Rosemary jump.
    â€œYes, I’m afraid we didn’t settle on an exact time,” said Rosemary.
    The rain began.
    The valet looked at the wrapped painting in her hands and then at the growling sky, seemingly unimpressed with both. Rosemary huddled closer to the door for shelter, hoping she could inspire some empathy in the man.
    â€œPlease,” she said. “May I just step inside for a moment?”
    She mustered a chatter of her teeth, though it was quite warm out.
    The valet seemed to consider, then at last he backed away from the door, leaving her just enough room to slip in with the painting.
    â€œYou may wait here while I see if Mr. Gray is available,” he said.
    â€œThank you,” said Rosemary, entering. “I have a painting here for Mr. Gray and I know he would be devastated if it were soaked.”
    â€œYes, you chose a fine day for delivery,” he muttered. He took the portrait from her and set it carefully against the wall.
    Rosemary found herself in a somewhat somber hall with richly lacquered wood and high ceilings at the back of which was a spiral wainscot staircase. A pelt of wind slammed the door behind her, causing her to jump yet again. A magnificent chandelier made a mild stir above. Rosemary had long tried to picture what Dorian’s home was like, and it came as no surprise that it was large and impeccably maintained. But there was a gloom and imperious silence she’d not anticipated. Something about it felt unlived in, unloved in, even. Dorian Gray, the charismatic youth of such astonishing beauty and grace was . . . lonely? Unfathomable! Yet the sense of isolation was present everywhere Rosemary looked. Even the valet, with his eyes like worn, sapless wood, was a kind of loneliness personified.
    â€œYou may wait here,” said the valet. He grunted and headed up the stairs, looking down on her throughout his ascent.
    Rosemary wondered what to do with herself in the huge hall. There was a chill present that she hadn’t noticed outside, and she had gotten wet in the sudden downpour. She hugged herself and stood by a bare coat rack, the least valuable looking thing in the room.
    It was not long before she heard the slow steps of the valet plodding down the stairs.
    â€œMr. Gray is having his breakfast in his private dining room,” he said, pointing listlessly up the stairs. “To your right,” he said. “And then the first door on your left. It is open.” He then promptly forgot all about her, disappearing behind a pair of doors leading out to a back patio.
    Peculiar . Who had a dining room on the second floor? And who took breakfast so late in the day? It occurred to Rosemary that Dorian may have some quirks to his personality. It was a refreshing idea, and the first time she’d ever considered him to be anything but perfect. Newly inspired, she left the painting where it was and went up the stairs. The only nervousness she felt was that of excitement. She had missed Dorian.
    At the landing, the house parted ways with itself and split up into two wings. Rosemary turned right, toward the west wing, where she passed through a door that opened unto a hallway. On