A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,2

were on the top of the world in his tall carriage with him beside her. It was the most magical afternoon of her life.

Until his next visit, when he took her to Gunters.

Miss Keebler, her governess, came along for that treat, but even the presence of her dour chaperone couldn’t dampen the day.

All that month Lord Simon took her places or dined at her father’s house and spent evenings mixing with the many artists and actors who comprised Daniel Keyes’s social circle, which included Honoria, who’d been allowed to eat dinner with her father’s guests since turning fifteen.

Part of her knew Lord Simon was only spending so much time with her because London in the summer was devoid of most of his usual friends and entertainments. But she didn’t care.

He took her on strolls after his sittings and they sat in the park together. Always with Miss Keebler nearby, of course.

He told her about Everley, his home in the country. His face glowed when he talked about building new stables and the improvements he would make to the house, which was Tudor and always in need of repair.

He spoke of growing up with his brother on the great estate of Whitcomb and told her tales of ghosts in the castle and how he’d once dressed up in a sheet and terrified his nurse, earning the worst paddling of his youth.

Honey told him about growing up surrounded by artists and how she’d begged her father not to send her away to school. How she planned on taking over the management of the household when she was sixteen and taking care of him. She shared her dreams that she might go to the Continent someday—when it was once again safe to travel—and see all the great art she’d only been able to read about.

Honey knew it was unheard of for her father to require so many sittings—in fact, he usually finished his portraits after no more than ten meetings. But, for whatever reason—maybe because he knew how greatly she enjoyed it—he had the young nobleman visit the house over a period of thirty blissful days and sixteen sittings.

Honey wished it would never end.

***

“Will you accompany me for an ice, Miss Honoria?”

Honey looked at her father as she laid aside her brush and he nodded, the somewhat distracted look in his eyes telling her that he was still deep inside his work.

Daniel Keyes turned to Lord Simon, who’d emerged from behind the screen, once again dressed in his street clothing. “Did you bring that yellow bounder today?”

Simon—Honoria thought of him by his Christian name, now, although only in the privacy of her own mind—smiled. “No, sir, I’m afraid it will have to be my brother’s clunky old boat.”

Her father chuckled at this characterization of the ducal barouche, which Honey had ridden in once before. “Why don’t we have a glass of something reviving while my daughter does whatever it is that women need to do before going out to eat ices?”

Honoria loved her Papa for many reasons, but especially for giving her this chance to change into the new dress she’d just purchased—hoping for a day like today to wear it.

She rang for the parlor maid to help her change—she didn’t have her own lady’s maid—and was down in her father’s study just as the men finished the amber liquid in their glasses.

They stood when she entered, and she wanted to weep with joy when Simon’s eyes widened appreciatively.

Her dress was a crème silk with a dozen rows of tiny primrose ruffles around the bottom, a spencer in the same yellow. Matching silk lined her bonnet, the wide ribbon tied in a floppy bow beneath her right ear.

“You look lovely, Honoria,” her father said, his eyes uncharacteristically serious, as if he knew how important this last outing was to her.

“Thank you, Papa.”

Not until they were seated in the big carriage, Miss Keeble beside her, did Simon speak.

“That is a smashing outfit, Miss Keyes. I’m glad it’s such a clear, sunny day so we can show off both you and that very pretty bonnet.”

Honoria tried not to preen at his words, but it was difficult to keep her smile from growing into a grin.

They spoke about her father’s portrait, which he would deliver sometime next month.

“I daresay my brother will plan some party for the unveiling. You will come with him to Whitcomb, of course?”

Had she heard him correctly? Was he inviting her to his family’s home? “I—I shall have to ask my father,”