A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,21
if to say something, but then jumped a little when he noticed the duke standing to the side of the door. “Oh, your grace.” He looked nonplussed. “How are you this morning?”
Plimpton’s mouth compressed into a line, as if the question displeased him. “I am well, thank you, Raymond.” He paused, giving his cousin a piercing look that made the other man’s face reddened. “Are you still going to Lindthorpe today?”
“Er, yes, sir. I’m afraid I’m getting a rather late start.”
The duke merely stared.
“But I shall be on my way within the hour,” Mr. Fairchild added when it was clear the other man was waiting.
The duke nodded. “Very well.”
Once the duke had gone Raymond Fairchild turned to Honey, his expression a mix of mortification and something else? Irritation? Anger?
“Did you sleep well on your first night at Whitcomb?” he asked, walking to the sideboard.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Fairchild.”
He chuckled. “Now, now—none of that. Please call me Raymond.” He turned and gave her a smile that deepened his resemblance to Simon.
Well, what else could Honey say but, “Please call me Honoria.”
“A lovely name. What was it that Simon called you last night?” he asked, taking the seat across from her.
“Honey is the name my father called me. That is likely where Lord Saybrook heard it,” she said.
“Ah, so it is a family name for your intimates.” He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “You’ll have to forgive Simon,” he said, and then began to methodically demolish the contents of his plate.
“What do you mean?” Honey asked.
Raymond took his time chewing before taking a sip of coffee. “Oh, just that he tends to be a bit, er, uncouth at times. I’m afraid his animosity toward the duke seems to be getting worse. Sometimes I fear that Simon might—” He paused and pulled a face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be speaking so frankly.”
Honey didn’t think so, either. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to know what he’d left unsaid. Did he think Simon might do his brother harm? He’d certainly behaved hatefully enough toward him yesterday.
They ate in silence for a moment, her conscience telling her to leave the matter be, her curiosity spurring her to speak.
Curiosity won. “I actually heard the tail end of a, er, disagreement yesterday,” she said.
Raymond’s eyebrows shot up and he nodded; his cheeks stuffed full, giving him more than a passing resemblance to a chipmunk. He gulped down his food and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “I’m afraid it is a daily occurrence,” he admitted. “As the duchess cannot have any more children the duke is understandably eager for Simon to marry and have a child. Simon, on the other hand, has no intention of marrying to please his brother.”
Honey was ashamed by the surge of joy she experienced at that information.
The door opened and a footman entered, his presence putting a halt to any more enlightening comments. Honey couldn’t help thinking that Raymond looked a bit relieved—as if he’d already said more than he should.
He finished his meal quickly—obviously eager to get about his errand. “I shall see you tonight at dinner,” he said.
Once she was alone, Honey allowed her thoughts to wander back to Simon Fairchild, a subject which had been uppermost in her mind first thing this morning.
His behavior—both times yesterday—had been appalling. He was nothing like the man she’d once known. He was like a keg of powder that was rolling too close to flames. She wondered if the duke, a man who appeared to be carved from ice, understood just how raw and on edge his brother was.
She also wondered what time the marquess came down to breakfast.
Put Simon Fairchild out of your mind and enjoy this unexpected afternoon of freedom, the cool voice of reason in her head ordered.
Honey sighed and spread marmalade on a slice of toast, took a sip of delicious, dark coffee, and then munched while gazing out at the lovely scene beyond the French doors, her mind still on the man who’d taken up far too much space in her head these past fourteen years.
Well, the habit of a lifetime was hardly likely to be broken in just one day, was it? But Simon had certainly done an excellent job of demolishing the shrine she’d worshipped at all these years. It would be up to Honey herself to complete its destruction.
***
After breakfast Honey changed into her serviceable navy habit, caught up her satchel, and headed in the direction of the stables.