A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,40

on the door.

She was just about to knock again when the same sour crone as before opened the door.

“Oh,” the servant said, eyeballing Honey as if she’d come to beg the duchess for alms rather than paint the woman. “No more than a half-hour,” she cautioned before opening the door enough to allow her to slip sideways into the room.

Honey smiled down into her hostile face. “Of course,” her easy acceptance caused the other woman a look of surprise.

The maid led Honey through the apartments, a rather vast collection of rooms that must be some distance from the duke’s if that is where Simon’s voice had been coming from.

The duchess received Honey in her boudoir.

Cecily Fairchild was every bit as gorgeous as her name.

She looked nothing like her daughter. Indeed, it was hard to believe the tiny, delicate woman was even old enough to have an adolescent daughter. She was the opposite of Rebecca in not only coloring and beauty, but she had an aloof, almost chilly, demeanor. She also appeared every bit as fragile as the duke had intimated.

“I hope you will excuse meeting in such an intimate setting,” she said from her perch on a sumptuous chaise longue, which was upholstered in ice blue velvet that flattered her delicate, porcelain looks. She wore a frothy crème-colored peignoir and matching slippers, her cornsilk-colored hair artfully arranged as if she’d just risen from bed. Which she very well might have.

Her chambers were done in shades of crème, blue, and silver and made Honey feel as if she had stumbled onto a heavenly cloud; all the scene lacked were cherubs plucking harps.

Honey felt even taller, gawkier, and ganglier than usual, aware of every inch of her almost six feet of body.

Her grace was a tiny woman whose limpid blue eyes and smooth skin were as youthful looking as her daughter’s. The only sign that she was ill, aside from her retiring airs, were the two rather feverish spots of color on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry I could not see you when you came before. I’m afraid it was not a good time for me.”

“It wasn’t a problem, your grace. When I left, I encountered your daughter and we had our first session.”

The duchess blinked, looking surprised to hear she had a daughter. “Oh.”

There was a moment of awkward silence as Honey struggled to come up with something to say.

Thankfully, the maid appeared with a tea tray, setting it on the table in front of Honey.

“Will you pour, Miss Keyes?” the duchess asked. “I’m afraid I only have so much energy each day.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Plimpton tells me you wish to have several sessions where—” she frowned. “Well, I don’t know what you wish to do.”

“I just wish to get to know you a little and also make sketches. Milk? Sugar?”

“Neither, thank you.”

Honey gestured to the plate of delicate pastries, which the duchess waved away.

“I trust there will be no problem having the sessions here?” Her grace glanced vaguely around her, as if seeing her own room for the first time.

Honey was in the process of putting a few pastries on her plate and looked up.

“Not at all. I would like to make several sketches the way you will eventually be posed, which is something else we should discuss. This room would make a very lovely setting—do you envision this as the background for your portrait?”

“Plimpton wishes for a full-length portrait but I do not wish to be standing.”

Honey nibbled her pastry as she examined the sumptuous room, beautiful woman, and expensive, graceful furnishings. The duchess did look lovely draped across the blue velvet chaise longue with its gilt legs. And the room was undoubtedly her natural—and perhaps her only—milieu. It did not sound as if she left her chambers, even to dine.

A full-length horizontal portrait would be quite stunning and unusual.

“I believe we can contrive something that will satisfy you both,” Honey said, her mind already racing with possibilities.

“Plimpton says you shall be painting Lady Rebecca. Will you want the both of us here during these, er, sessions?” A plaintive note had entered the duchess’ soft voice.

Honey used the delicate, lace edged napkin to remove any crumbs from her fingers. “I have already arranged for sittings with your daughter—separately.”

The duchess sighed. “Yes, that would be best. Rebecca is rather restive and does not care to sit for long periods.” She gave Honey a fragile smile. “It might be better if you conducted some of your sessions with her in an outdoor