A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,29

sketches as the girl relaxed.

The portrait of Lady Rebecca, at least, would be easy and pleasurable.

***

Simon did not show up for dinner that evening.

Honey told herself she was glad he’d stayed away but that was a lie. His absence made for a far quieter meal, but it also meant the conversation was rather tepid. At least in her opinion.

The duke appeared slightly less ill but was preoccupied and the dowager kept casting nervous glances at the empty chair, which left only Mr. Fairchild—or Raymond, as he’d again insisted she call him, Lady Rebecca—and Honoria to carry the conversation.

Raymond shouldered the bulk of the conversation, talking about a large gaggle of geese that had wandered onto the grounds at one of the duke’s nearby properties—a place called Lindthorpe, which he’d visited today.

While he made them all laugh describing his rather frantic efforts to dodge the aggressive birds, there was a tinge of hostility beneath his words that said the task hadn’t been nearly so amusing at the time.

“Did the masons arrive?” the duke asked, his soft voice causing Raymond’s shoulders to stiffen.

Honey observed the two men as they discussed some repair or other. She couldn’t help noticing a certain tension between them. The more she watched them interact, the more she thought the awkwardness originated with Raymond.

The duke was civil and polite with him and behaved no differently than he did with any other adult, except perhaps Simon, with whom he allowed some irritation to show.

Raymond, on the other hand, acted as if he were walking the plank. His answers to simple questions were jerky and defensive.

Honey wondered if the duke was really such an exacting employer.

Or perhaps this was just a natural awkwardness that came with working for one’s relative? Would the duke ever discharge his own cousin?

Rebecca asked her about riding tomorrow and they discussed which habit she should wear and where they should go.

“Don’t you require good light for such a thing?” The dowager asked when there was a lull in the conversation

“Not for making sketches, those I can do anywhere.”

“Miss Keyes showed me some of her sketches today,” Rebecca said, visibly excited. “They are very clever. In one of them she had me riding a horse even though we were sitting in the Rose Salon.”

“How marvelous,” the dowager agreed. “I understand some painters like to keep their process a secret. I know the gentleman who painted me would not let me see it until it was unveiled. Is that how it is with you, Miss Keyes?”

“I am always happy to share sketches. In fact, I will do a number of different poses and Lady Rebecca shall choose whichever she likes best.” Honey knew the girl had her heart set on an equestrienne image, but might change her mind when she saw the sketch she’d made of her in her cozy sitting room, smiling with a look of mischief as she contemplated some question Honey had asked.

“How many drawings do you typically make?” the duke asked.

“I might make dozens of them; I will only do oil sketches for the best.”

“An oil sketch?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“They are quick paintings—like sketches in color.” Lady Rebecca glanced at Honey for confirmation.

“That is an excellent description. I will do several of these over the next few sittings.”

“But she will paint my actual portrait in London, Papa.”

The duke nodded. “So, I understand.”

“Some painters do the portrait during sittings,” Lady Rebecca informed him, clearly pleased that he’d joined in the conversation and wishing to hold his interest. Her neediness made Honey’s heart ache.

“That is how mine was done,” he said.

The Thomas Lawrence portrait of the duke was a masterful piece. It hung in the gallery beside her father’s painting of Simon.

Honey had seen Lawrence many times while growing up and admired the kind, if morose, genius.

“I daresay you had six or seven sittings for your portrait, your grace?” she asked.

“It was around that number. He began my portrait in May of ’98 but urgent business pulled him away. I did not sit again until later that year.”

Lawrence had visited her father often during that period. Honey had been very young so she hadn’t known the rather scandalous cause of his grieving—the death of Maria Siddons, and his love affairs with both daughters of famous actress Sarah Siddons—until years later.

That was hardly a subject for the dinner table so Honey steered the conversation in another direction.

“My father was the same—he required sittings to work or he would not accept a commission.” That had