A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,28

with the pommel and then flung himself into his saddle in a graceful motion.

She was still staring when he looked over at her, his eyebrows arched. “What is it?”

“I’ve never seen anyone mount that way.”

He gave a careless shrug. “It’s amazing how dodging bullets can motivate one to acquire such skills.” He gestured for her to precede him and they rode the entire journey back to Whitcomb without exchanging a single word.

Chapter Eight

Her grace was not available when Honey presented herself at her chambers at precisely three o’clock.

“She is not feeling well today,” a diminutive, openly hostile servant told her, keeping Honey standing in the hallway while she did so.

“I see.” She hesitated, wondering whether to ask when the duchess would be ready.

“The duchess will send word when she is ready for you.”

The woman did not wait for a response before closing the door in her face.

“Miss Keyes?”

Honey turned to find Lady Rebecca hovering in front of another door down the long corridor, dressed as if she had just come in.

“Good afternoon, Lady Rebecca.”

“Did you just finish your sitting with Mama?” the girl asked, pulling off a pair of canary-yellow kid gloves.

“Her grace was not feeling well today.”

Lady Rebecca gave her a knowing look that made her appear older than her years. No doubt the girl was accustomed to her mother’s ways.

“Is there a time when we could sit down for a chat?” Honey asked.

Lady Rebecca visibly perked up. “I have time now, if you like?”

“That would be perfect.”

“Come into my sitting room.”

The room Lady Rebecca led her into was surprisingly sedate and mature for a school-aged girl.

“I’ll ring for tea and change my dress,” she said to Honey, untying her bonnet. “I shan’t be more than a few minutes.”

“I’m in no hurry,” Honey assured her.

The layout of the apartment was like hers, with the addition of another room that appeared to be a private schoolroom of sorts. She supposed the rather fragile girl was schooled at home. That must be a lonely experience in this rambling house.

When Lady Rebecca returned, she showed Honey into a second, much smaller, sitting room that was off the schoolroom.

“This is one of my favorite places,” the girl told her, looking quite pretty against the dark rose silk that covered the walls.

“It is a charming room.” Indeed, with its cloth-hung walls and thickly carpeted floor it felt like a cocoon.

“Do you mind if I take some sketches while we talk?”

“Oh. Not at all.” Rebecca’s eyes dropped to the sketchpad Honey took from her satchel. “Will you allow me to see the sketches after you’ve finished?”

“I will. And will you allow me to look at your wardrobe? And perhaps see what you wish to be painted in?”

The girl’s thin cheeks flushed with pleasure, and Honey thought her response was sweetly naïve, but also a little sad as it demonstrated her loneliness. Lady Rebecca put Honey in mind of an orphan, even though both her parents were alive and living with her. So far nobody had mentioned the duchess—except the duke, at their brief meeting. It was as if the woman didn’t occupy the same world as the rest of her family.

That is not your concern; you are here to paint Lady Rebecca, not pry into her life.

Honey silently acknowledged the truth of that statement and brought her attention back to the task at hand.

“Do you have any idea what kind of background you might like?”

Lady Rebecca’s eyes widened. “You mean I may choose?”

“Of course. It is a picture of you, after all.”

“Hmm, let me see—” A secretive smile tugged at her lips as she pondered.

Honey began drawing and had almost a minute to study the girl before Rebecca came back to herself.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes dropping to the sketchpad and immediately assuming the stiff, watchful pose of a person being observed.

“I could see you were thinking of something,” Honey prodded, her pencil still moving. “Something that made you smile—what was it?”

Lady Rebecca’s eyes flicked up and met hers. “I was thinking, if it would be proper, that you might paint me with my horse?” The girl’s pink blush deepened. “I know that I do not look strong enough to enjoy riding,” she said, echoing Honey’s thoughts. “But appearances can be deceptive.”

“You are right—it is never wise to judge by appearances. And I think a portrait with your horse would be charming. Perhaps on our next meeting we might go for a ride?”

The remainder of the sitting went quickly, and Honey accumulated dozens of quick