A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,56
limited means who makes her way as something of a matchmaker.”
Honey’s full teacup hit the threadbare Aubusson carpet, bounced twice, and then clattered to a stop on the exposed wood.
“Goodness!” Freddie set down her own cup and saucer with the flawless grace for which she was so well known. “What is wrong, Honoria?”
Honey just shook her head, struggling to speak. “Nothing,” she croaked, unable to stop shaking her head. “Nothing.” She stood and went to the bell pull that she almost never used, giving it two sharp yanks.
Freddie came to stand beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “You are frightening me.”
“I need to send a message. Immediately,” she added, staring out the window that looked over the back garden, usually her favorite view. Today she did not even see it. Instead, she saw the duke.
“I ask you not to go against my will on this matter, Miss Keyes.”
Honoria closed her eyes. Oh God.
The door opened behind her. “Miss Keyes, you rang?” her housekeeper asked, her voice breathy from running and pulsing with concern.
“I need to hire a messenger.”
“A messenger?” Freddie and Mrs. Brinkley said at the same time.
“I’m going to quickly write a letter and I need you to summon a boy to deliver it to The Swan with Two Necks. I will pay for their fastest rider.”
Mrs. Brinkley nodded. “Very good, ma’am, I shall go fetch someone.”
The door shut and Honey strode to the small writing desk.
“Honey.”
She stopped and turned at the unprecedented sound of Freddie raising her voice. “I’m sorry Freddie—I don’t mean to act so dramatic. It’s just that I suddenly recalled something I forgot at Whitcomb.”
Now Freddie’s confusion was complete. “Whitcomb? But what could be that important? You will have to pay a great deal to send such a message.”
Honey couldn’t bear to tell her friend that Freddie would have to pay a great deal more if she didn’t send the message.
Chapter Eighteen
Simon was accustomed to the way the old woman’s eyes widened and then quickly slid away from his damaged face.
It was the same reaction he got from anyone who wasn’t either a cretin or under the age of twelve; those were the ones who openly gawked.
“I’m here to see Miss Keyes.” He held out a card and the old woman took it in a hand that looked to be covered in flour and squinted at the card.
Too late, it occurred to him she likely could not read. “I am Lord Saybrook,” he said.
She heaved a sigh. “Aye. Well, tha best come in.”
Simon almost smiled; what an unusual housekeeper.
“I be Cook here, not a footman or butler,” she grumbled, making Simon wonder if he’d spoken out loud.
She started toward the stairs and then seemed to recall his presence. “Come along now, if they want tha I don’t wish to make a second trip. If they don’t.” She shrugged, not bothering to elaborate on that contingency.
Simon followed her hunched form up to the second floor where she stopped in front of the third door. Simon could hear voices on the other side.
She pounded with a fist the size of a ham, leaving white knuckle marks on the mahogany wood before seizing the handle, opening it a miserly crack, and shoving her head in the gap.
Honey’s voice came from the other side of the door, “Yes, Una?”
“Ye’ve a caller. Lord Lanebridge or summat.”
Simon snorted, diverted. Too bad Wyndham wasn’t here to enjoy such treatment.
The room beyond was utterly silent.
There was the sound of somebody clearing their throat and then, “Please bring him up.”
“Well, I already did that, didn’t I?” the old crone snapped, pushing past Simon and stomping back toward the stairs.
“Lord Saybrook,” Honey said, coming to take the place her cook had just vacated, her body blocking the entrance
He bowed, still holding his hat and cane. “Miss Keyes.”
She just stared.
Simon tapped his hat on his thigh, wondering what the convention was in this household. Should he put his hat back on?
She looked down at the tapping and sprang to life.
“Oh, goodness—Una didn’t take your hat and cane.” She snatched both from his fingers and stepped aside. “Do come in. We were just finishing tea.”
Beyond her were two others, a beautiful blond woman and a man who looked vaguely familiar.
“Lord Saybrook, let me present Lady Winifred Sedgwick and Miles Ingram.”
The light came on at the sound of the man’s name. He bowed low to the icy-looking blonde and then turned to the other occupant. “It’s been a long time, Captain Ingram.”