A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,105
“Annis is … well, she is one of a kind.”
“Oh, how is that?”
“She is almost otherworldly—not only does she look like a fairy—dainty, delicate, with enormous blue eyes and hair the color of cornsilk—but she never seems to be entirely in the present. She was the language teacher and taught French, Italian, and German. I have no idea how many other languages she speaks. She is also rather astounding when it comes to knowing word and idiom origins.” She gave him a wry look. “Having a conversation with her is like chasing kittens.”
“You sound like you miss her,” he said.
“I do. I miss all of them. Working at the Stefani Academy was one of the best times of my life. It was too bad that Ivo Stefani was so profligate.”
“I heard him play once—in Portugal, years ago. He was … well, I’m no expert, but he was astounding.”
“I never heard him. By the time he opened the school with Portia he’d injured one of his hands. But Portia is an amazing musician in her own right.”
“Who is next?” Simon asked, loving seeing her so animated.
“Serena Lombard taught sculpting and botany.”
“She is the Duke of Remington’s daughter-in-law—French, isn’t she?”
“Half-French and half-English. Yes, she was married to the youngest son, who died in the war.” She cocked her head. “Did you know him?”
“I never had the pleasure,” he admitted.
“Serena is currently working at Gareth Lockheart’s estate—she is in charge of landscaping his entire park, as well as doing several sculptures.”
“That is impressive,” Simon said, not exaggerating. “I’ve heard that Lockheart is a genius, but that he’s also a bit … odd.”
“I know nothing about that. Serena said that he is delightful to work for and that money is no object.”
Simon laughed. “That would be delightful.” He lifted his hand and ticked off his fingers, “So, that’s Freddie, Miles, Portia, Annis, Serena—am I missing anybody?”
“Last but not least, there is Lorelei Fontenot.”
“Now there’s a name. Let me guess—was she a mistress of theatrical arts?”
“Shame on you! Young ladies do not get instruction in treading the boards. No, Lorelei taught English composition, as well as the classics. She is a rather vehement proponent of Mary Wollstonecraft.”
Simon groaned—only partly in jest. “A bluestocking, eh?”
“She would chide you for employing such a term.” She pursed her lips, as if suppressing something especially amusing. “I daresay you and Lorelei would lock horns instantly.”
“Whatever do you mean? Am I not an open, modern-minded male?”
She made an adorable snorting sound. “You epitomize masculinity.”
Simon grinned. “That doesn’t sound bad at all.”
“Well, it does to Lorelei. I doubt she’ll ever get married, but, if she did, it would be to a supportive proponent of Wollstonecraftian ideals who would be her equal in all ways.”
Simon could only stare.
“I can see by your expression that you find the notion of such equality unpalatable.”
“No,” he drawled, trying to formulate an answer that wouldn’t end with a locked door between their rooms. “I suppose I believe men and women possess different strengths and weaknesses—not that the sexes are the same.”
“She’s not arguing that. Rather, she believes that women deserve the same rights over our persons and our money as men possess.”
Simon nodded. “I’m in agreement with her, there.” Her eyes widened in surprised. “I cannot believe you look so stunned by my admission. Have I really behaved like such an ogre? You just informed me that you were going to London to pursue your business—a business which involves you spending time alone with strange men, I might add—and I made nary an objection.”
“That is true,” she admitted, her color high, for some reason.
“As to women having rights over their own person, I couldn’t agree more. Lots of men are cruel brutes who use their superior strength against women—and children. And once they are married, they may do so with impunity.” His lips curled in distaste. “There should be protections in place.”
The smile she gave him was almost blinding.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s just—well, you are so enlightened.”
Simon sputtered.
“I don’t mean I thought you were brutish, I just thought you would support the status quo.”
“Not when the status quo is unjust.”
“I am very pleased to hear that, Simon.”
The look she gave him arrowed straight to his cock and the sound of his name on her lips fed intensely masculine thoughts that she probably would not be so approving of.
Simon couldn’t wait until dinner was over.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Honey had just dismissed Nora, her maid, and finished brushing her hair when there was a brief knock and then Simon entered.