A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,14
There were dark smudges beneath his eyes and his skin had an unhealthy sheen. Honey supposed this was the indisposition that Mr. Fairchild had mentioned.
The duke gestured to the open doorway. “Please, come inside my study.”
Honey’s legs wobbled a little as she crossed the carpeted hall between them.
He shut the door and gestured to the two chairs arrayed before a desk. “Have a seat.”
His desk was a slab of almost black wood supported by scaly gilt legs that looked as if they had once belonged to some monstrous mythical creature. It was the most magnificent piece of furniture that she had ever seen and it should have made the man standing behind fade into insignificance. But the duke’s understated authority bent the grandeur of the room to his will and she realized he might not look as physically imposing or handsome as Simon, but he possessed enormous presence.
Honey lowered her still-trembling form into one of the brown leather chairs across from him. She’d been around artists all her life so she was accustomed to high-strung emoting, but even her father had not been as mercurial or violent as the man out in the hall.
“Welcome to Whitcomb, Miss Keyes. I hope you are not too fatigued from your journey?”
Ah, so they were going to pretend like the human hurricane in the portrait gallery didn’t exist. That was fine with Honey.
“Not at all, your grace.” She was pleased by her cool, level tone and could see by the slight lessening of tension in the duke’s face that he was relieved that she’d decided to play along.
“Thank you for arranging such a luxurious carriage.” The duke had, in fact, seen to all the facets of her journey and had not stinted.
“I am pleased you have accepted this commission, Miss Keyes. Your father’s portrait of my brother captured his spirit and is one of my favorites.” He paused and she smiled at his kind words. “He was a great artist and I am sorry for his passing.”
“Thank you, your grace.”
“Would you care for something to drink before dinner?” He gestured to a selection of decanters on a table not far from his desk.
“No thank you, your housekeeper was kind enough to provide a cup of tea in my room.”
Pleasantries out of the way, his attitude became brisk. “It will only be the family at dinner tonight. My wife does not dine with us as she is unwell. My daughter, Lady Rebecca, my mother, my cousin—whom you’ve met—and my brother—” a minute flicker of irritation disturbed his calm façade but quickly passed. “will dine with us this evening. We entertain from time to time, and you will, of course, join us.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Perhaps you might explain your preferred method of work so I can inform her grace as to what is expected?”
“I will need a few sessions to become acquainted with Lady Rebecca and the duchess. During these sessions I will make sketches. I will also look at the gowns and accessories they have chosen as well as discuss the preferred setting or background. I like to give the subjects the final approval in all such matters but sometimes my guidance can be helpful for aesthetic reasons.”
He rested his elbows on his desk and glanced down at his interlaced hands for a long moment before looking up. “My wife will not be able to sit for protracted periods of time.”
Honey didn’t think the duke looked as if he could sit for protracted periods of time, either. She hoped that whatever ailed him was not an influenza or something contagious.
“I understand and I will take as many sketches as I can during the time I’m allotted. I will endeavor not to overtire her grace.”
“Thank you, Miss Keyes, I can see you are thoughtful as well as accommodating and I appreciate both characteristics.” He stood, indicating their brief meeting was over. “I shall see you at dinner—please ring for a servant to show you the way.”
Honoria waited until the door closed behind her to smile at what his words had implied: that she was kind, accommodating, and bland—for an artist.
The other artists, friends, and hangers-on who’d surrounded Daniel Keyes had often commented on Honoria’s calm, even-tempered nature. People had never stopped marveling that she was nothing like her larger-than-life father, with his unconventional clothing, wild hair, and flamboyant personality.
“How can you paint without passion?” more than one of her father’s friends had asked her.
Only Daniel Keyes had never made Honey feel deficient about her temperate disposition.