A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,132
tidy competence when she reached twenty-one.
When Simon had come to Honey with a suggestion to do more—pay for her schooling—Honey had been thrilled to offer such assistance. Enola was showing considerable artistic talent and Honey looked forward to helping her develop her skills.
Rebecca rode with Bella and Simon most days, and Enola came for a few hours of instruction in sketching and watercolors. While not Honey’s favorite medium, Enola had expressed an interest in watercolors and Honey could work with the paints without becoming ill.
A few weeks after Raymond’s death, Honey and Bella had had a private conversation about Enola’s father.
After giving it some thought, they’d both agreed to keep Raymond’s part in his nephew’s death between themselves.
They had no real evidence and could never be sure that Raymond had committed such a monstrous crime.
Besides, passing along their suspicions to the duke would do no good for the baby—who could not be brought back—and might destroy Plimpton, who would likely blame himself for bringing a murderer to live beneath his roof.
No, neither of the brothers needed to know the full truth about the viper they’d nursed in the bosom of their family.
Honey never asked, but Bella had volunteered information about her history with Raymond.
“It was my fault, as much as Raymond’s. I was young and foolish and impulsive. I’d not seen Simon for months and Raymond was always hovering around me. He told me that Plimpton would never allow Simon to marry me. Even though I knew that Raymond was using that information to manipulate me, I was lonely and eventually capitulated.”
Bella had given Honey a wry, slightly embarrassed, look. “I’m not proud to admit that I wanted Simon because I thought he would inherit the title and money. My family has always been poor and I wanted a way out of that hand-to-mouth existence.
“Of course, after I learned that I was pregnant I knew I had no future with him. So, I went to Plimpton—not the other way around.” Bella had laughed at whatever she’d seen on Honey’s face—likely disgust. “I told you—I’m not blameless. I lied and schemed and was unfaithful to Simon. The duke knew the truth would devastate Simon. Indeed, Simon would have likely called out Raymond and killed him. Plimpton also knew that my interest in marrying Simon had diminished with the birth of his son. And I certainly had no interest in marrying Raymond.”
Bella had shrugged, her expression world-weary. “And so Plimpton introduced me to MacLeish while Simon was still in London getting his portrait painted. I was pleased that I would become a countess—no matter that it was a Scottish title. The duke was pleased to solve a sticky problem so easily and cheaply, and MacLeish was pleased to get the money and also because I was pregnant and he was incapable of fathering children.” Bella pulled a face. “The only one not pleased was Raymond.”
“And Simon,” Honey reminded her quietly.
Bella gave her a wry look. “Ah, but you and I know it was a fortunate escape for him, don’t we, my lady?” Before Honey could answer, Bella continued. “Raymond was incensed when I told him I was to marry MacLeish. We had a tremendous row and he threatened all sorts of things—not so subtly hinting that I could face dire consequences if I refused to marry him. That was when he’d let slip what he knew about poisons and how to use them.” Bella’s humor had disappeared, replaced by revulsion—and even a tinge of fear. “Later, after I heard that the baby had died so unexpectedly, I simply could not believe that he would do such a thing.” Bella had looked genuinely haunted, then. “I will hope, until the end of my life, that my suspicions about him were wrong.”
Honey thought back to that conversation now, her gaze lingering on Bella and Raymond’s daughter.
Honey felt drawn to the quiet girl, who reminded her a great deal of herself when she’d been younger, but without the benefit of a loving, doting parent.
Oh, she knew that Bella loved Enola in her own way—which was to say carelessly. From the few things the girl had said to Honey about her father, Enola had never received much affection from the Earl of MacLeish, either.
Enola might always be shy, but with a bit of affection and friendship, she was slowly coming out of her shell.
As Honey looked across the breakfast table at her own child’s father, she felt a rush of almost suffocating love.