A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,45
day in the maze—the day he’d discovered that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her if he remained.
Wyndham cleared his throat. “I have also invited guests to stay at Whitcomb for the next fortnight and I will expect you to do your duty and help entertain them.” He plucked his hat from the table where he’d tossed it and turned on his heel, leaving without another word.
The door shut with all the finality of a judge’s gavel sentencing a doomed man to hang.
Chapter Thirteen
Honey dressed with extra care for her last dinner. She was flattered the duke had organized something of a party for her final meal, although she knew the house guests had come to stay a full two weeks, not only for this dinner.
“I will of course compensate you for the time it takes to accompany the portraits back to Whitcomb when they are completed,” he’d said when he called her to his study to tell her his plans.
Honey would take the duke’s portraits wherever he wanted, no matter how horrible his brother was.
You mean no matter how absent Simon is …
When Honey didn’t immediately respond the duke had looked up from a ledger on his desk, his eyes hidden behind glinting, gold-rimmed spectacles.
Honey smiled through gritted teeth. “Yes, of course, your grace.”
“I would like to organize a larger celebration around their unveiling, perhaps a ball. I would be honored if you would attend.”
Honey had never attended a ball in her life so the invitation sounded magical. And if part of her regretted the duke’s obnoxious brother would probably not attend, well, that was all for the best.
Besides, she’d become accustomed to his absence in her life over the last few weeks; accustomed to the fact Simon Fairchild didn’t care if she lived or died—if he even recalled her existence.
Which is a good thing, she reminded her frowning reflection, a very good thing.
Honey reached into the small jewel case she’d brought with her and took out the exquisite strand of pearls that her father had bought for her eighteenth birthday. She clasped them around her neck and it was as if someone had lighted a dozen candles in the room. The pearls managed to endow both her dress and her person with a lustrous sheen.
Her gown, the nicest thing she owned—purchased for one of her father’s exhibits just before he died—was out of date but suited her to perfection. It was an unusual antique gold that made her hair glow and her skin appeared burnished rather than freckled. She screwed in the small pearl studs that matched and then stood, smoothing the rich silk over her hips to examine her reflection.
She was still close to six feet tall—no gown or jewelry would ever diminish that—but she looked her best. She was girded—just on the off-chance Simon Fairchild made an appearance. If he did, she would show him that neither his absence, nor what they’d done in the maze, mattered even a ha’penny.
Of course the fact that he was the only thing on her mind right now told her that was patently untrue.
She picked up her gold beaded reticule and scowled at her face in the mirror. “Well, the habits of a lifetime are unlikely to be erased in a month,” she told herself.
The words should have eased her mind and made her feel stronger. Instead, they just made her feel sad. After all, what kind of person would be happy about the death of a dream?
***
Simon had been drinking since the evening before, which had been his last night at the inn.
“My Da says this is your last night, my lord,” Lily had said when she’d thumped down his pint, spilling a good third of it onto the table.
Simon couldn’t help noticing that her expression had not been one of regret.
He frowned at the memory of the hostile barmaid and raised the glass of port to his mouth, tipping it back all the way. Thanks to his brother and Miss Keyes, The George was no longer a hospitable place for him to spend either his days, or his nights.
Oh, Simon. Blaming your infatuation on a poor woman who did nothing to deserve your oafish attentions?
He grimaced at the too-accurate observation.
His fixation on Honey Keyes was more than a little unfortunate, not to mention unfair to the woman. He would have liked to blame his behavior on Wyndham, but his brother was in the right when it came to ordering Simon to leave the artist alone.