A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,30
meant many clients went elsewhere, where they could have a portrait painted at their convenience. Even so, her father had never lacked for subjects.
“I think it is interesting that you do not employ the same method, even though your father taught you how to paint. You must have a very good memory to paint the way you do?” Raymond asked.
“I do have a good memory for faces, but I require sketches to remind me of the smaller details.”
“How long will it take after you begin?” Lady Rebecca asked.
“I can never say for certain, as every subject is different. Unlike my sketches, however, I like to keep the final process to myself until I am finished.”
Rebecca paused in the act of spooning a mouthful of floating island to her mouth. “Why is that?”
“I’ve found that—”
The door to the dining room opened and the marquess stood in the opening. Even from across the room Honey could see he was not swaying this evening as he had yesterday.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he entered, his eyes on Honey.
She narrowed her eyes at him and willed herself—without success—not to blush. He was late? Late? There should be a new word to describe showing up for dinner during the dessert course.
He took his seat beside her. “Good evening, Miss Keyes,” he murmured.
She ignored him.
“Please have Cook send something for Lord Saybrook,” the duchess told the footman who appeared behind Simon’s chair.
“I stopped in the kitchens and spoke to Cookie on my way back from the stables,” Simon said to his mother. “She’s already sending something up.” He lifted the glass the servant had speedily filled for him, took a deep swallow, and then turned to the duke. “I was out on Bacchus and heard the most piteous racket in that copse near Craig’s property. It was one of his hounds, caught in a snare. The poor old gaffer was in quite a state.” He glanced at his niece’s interested face, frowned and then added, “Suffice it to say that some assistance was needed.”
“I see,” the duke said, his expression losing its sternness upon hearing Simon’s reason for his tardiness. “It was good of you to take the time and help him,” the duke added softly.
Simon shrugged and turned to his niece, clearly disinterested in speaking with his brother. “And what have you been up to today, Becks?
“I had my first sitting with Miss Keyes, Uncle. She was just telling us about her process and how she doesn’t show the finished portrait to anyone until it is completed.”
Simon gave Honey a sardonic look, his jaw working slightly, as if he were biting back several choice retorts before saying, “I’m sorry I interrupted such an interesting conversation. Tell us, Miss Keyes, why is it that you don’t wish to share sketches or—”
“Not her sketches, Uncle. She showed me the ones she did of me today.”
“Oh, did she?” He smirked at Honey and she knew they were both recalling her hysterical behavior earlier in the day. “How interesting. But you don’t do the same with your portraits. And why is that?”
Honey would have liked to ignore him, but the rest of his family were all waiting with interested expressions.
“There exists something of a … well, discourse, for lack of a better word, between myself and my work in progress.” She could see the girl did not understand. “For example, sometimes I will paint something and decide later it simply does not fit. If I’ve not shown anyone else, I don’t feel as though I have committed to my work.” Judging by the looks on their faces, she’d lost them all.
The door opened and three footmen entered, each bearing a large silver domed cover. The marquess turned toward his food, clearly more interested in it than Honey’s answer. She couldn’t blame him; she’d made a hash of it.
Surprisingly, it was Lady Rebecca who came to her rescue. “I think I understand. If it is just you, then you don’t have to be concerned with other people’s expectations. I feel the same when I am practicing a piece of music. I would rather work on it by myself before I share it with others.” Her cheeks flushed, as if she realized that she’d volunteered too much. “I just like things to be perfect before I let others hear it,” she mumbled.
“That is very much how I feel,” Honey said. “There have been times when I might even paint over a canvas completely if I were dissatisfied.”