A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,55

feet beneath her.

Ah. Home.

“When will you start the portraits?” Freddie asked, stirring milk into her tea.

“After I have a few days to rest.” The last thing Honey wanted to think about her first day home was the past few weeks.

“And what about you? Anyone new in my absence?”

“I have just met with the Duchess of Shearing about her twin daughters.”

“Ah,” Honey nodded. “I understand she can no longer walk.”

Freddie’s dove-gray eyes, so different than Honey’s muddy gray, clouded over. “Yes, she has become worse, until she cannot even walk with her cane.” She shook her head. “And not yet forty.”

“What is wrong with her, do you know?”

“I don’t believe even the doctors know. In any case, I am very grateful to Lady Cleaves for recommending me to her. Shearing is a stickler and I’m not sure he will approve of his wife’s idea to engage me.”

Honey knew many people did not view Freddie’s business with approval. A widow with no means was expected to either remarry, drudge for her family, or starve. Not stand up on her own two feet and take charge of her future.

Honey set her cup in her saucer. “When will you know?”

“The duchess did not say, but the girls have run wild, according to her. They will need the rest of the year if they are to be ready for next Season, which she has indicated is the duke’s expectation.”

Honey had never met His Grace of Shearing, but she had once seen him when she’d accompanied her father to the Royal Portrait Gallery. He’d been older than her father and had emanated the same cold power she’d felt around Plimpton. They were the men who shaped Britain, and, by extension, the world. Honey shivered.

“Are you cold?”

She looked up to find Freddie watching her with quiet concern. “No, just tired. I think I shall have an early night.”

That night had been over two weeks ago, and only recently had Honey begun to feel normal.

Part of her had been privately counting the days until she would openly defy the duke.

Well, it was now seventeen days after returning to London, and the sun was still shining—albeit behind grit, smoke and haze—and Honey had survived Plimpton’s displeasure.

She’d heard not a whisper about the scandal of that night, proving that the duke’s power to quash rumors was greater than he’d expected.

Honey spent the best five hours of the day—the early morning—in her studio. She’d started Rebecca’s portrait first, since she found that she missed the young girl.

Not until there was a tap on the door did she come up for air.

“Lady Sedgewick is in the parlor, Miss. Did you want to join her for tea? Or should I bring you a tray?”

Honey put down her brush and reached back to untie her smock. “I need to take a break for an hour. Tell her I’ll be right up, Mrs. Brinkley.”

Honey rarely worked past one or two o’clock and decided that she would spend the rest of the afternoon going over the account books, which had sat untouched since before her journey to Whitcomb.

Freddie was already preparing the tea by the time Honey came into the parlor. Her friend’s pale porcelain complexion was even paler than usual.

“Are you unwell?” Honey asked.

Freddie fixed her with her silvery stare, the delicate skin beneath her eyes bruised.

The smile she gave Honey was, on the surface, the same as usual. But something was not right. She handed Honey her tea, along with two biscuits.

“Thank you,” Honey said, absently. “What is wrong, Freddie? You look exhausted.”

“I’m afraid I had some rather disappointing news yesterday and it disturbed my sleep.”

The room was cozy and warm, but Honey’s hands felt like blocks of ice. “What is it?”

“I received a message from the Duke of Shearing letting me know his daughters would not require my services.”

“Why?”

Freddie’s eyebrows arched at the abrupt question. “I don’t know, my dear. It is hardly the type of thing a duke would be likely to share.” She took a sip of tea.

“Well, it’s rather rotten of him, but I daresay something will come along,” Honey said, far more heartily than she felt.

Freddie nodded absently.

Honey took a sip, lowered her cup, and sighed. “Please, you haven’t told me the whole of it, have you?”

“I just received this.” She held up a piece of pale green parchment.

“What is it?”

“Lady Mayfield has changed her mind and, it seems, won’t need me for her niece after all.”

The duke’s voice was clear in her mind. “She is a widow of