A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,62

shrinking violet. That was good, he did not like spiritless women. “I shall handle it,” he promised. It was dreadfully short notice but he suspected a proper donation would help ease matters.

She’d sniffed and they enjoyed their beverages accompanied by the tick of the mantle clock and the muffled sound of street noises.

“I should like Lady Sedgewick and Mr. Ingram as my witnesses.”

“I’m glad to hear it—I don’t have anyone.”

“What are your plans after the ceremony?”

For a moment he’d wondered if she thought he would be heading off back to Whitcomb on Loki.

“Plans?” He’d blinked, feeling sluggish and stupid that he could not seem to keep pace with her. “I haven’t any plans—I suppose I thought you would want some sort of feast here afterward.” Lord, didn’t that sound grim? His justifiably hostile wife, her two hostile friends, and Simon.

But she’d surprised him. “I would like to dispense with a wedding breakfast and leave for Everley immediately.”

“Ah.” Finally something he had an answer for. “That might be a bit of a problem.”

“Why?”

“There are tenants there until the end of the month. Wyndham—in his wisdom—had already terminated their lease after I returned from Belgium. But as they’ve occupied the place for decades he thought it generous to give them a few extra weeks to pack their possessions.”

“So where did you plan to take me?”

“Back to Whitcomb. There’s plenty of room.”

She’d puffed up like an angry hen, her eyes as hard and gray as balls of lead. “I will not stay under your brother’s roof.”

Simon had experienced a twinge of pity for his brother; Wyndham had earned himself an enemy for life, it seemed.

“I see. Well, that does present a problem. Especially since all the roofs we currently have access to are his.” He’d glanced around at her tiny parlor. “Or here.”

Her grimace told him what she thought about him living in her house.

They’d stared at one another.

After an hour of question and answer, ruling out Plimpton House, Wyndham’s hunting box in Leicestershire, another in Devon, and several others, they had finally decided to spend the next few weeks in Brighton. She had refused the fashionable house the duke owned there, so Simon had agreed to whatever hotel she wanted.

“Lord Saybrook?”

Simon looked up and realized the vicar, Honoria, and their two witnesses were all staring at him. And he was in church, getting married.

He cleared his throat and looked beseechingly at the vicar. “I beg your pardon?” he asked when it became clear he would receive no help from his wife-to-be.

“The ring, my lord? Do you have one?”

That was one thing he did have. He reached into the pocket of his coat and extracted a diamond of obscene proportions. His new wife sucked in an audible breath at the dazzling, tear-drop-shaped monster and even the vicar appeared momentarily stunned.

Their two witness, he noted smugly, looked awed, for a change.

“Please repeat after me …”

Simon did, and then they were man and wife.

Chapter Twenty

Are you sure you don’t wish to stay one more night?” Freddie asked, uncharacteristically anxious as she helped Honey finish the last of her packing.

Honey had packed most of her clothing the day she’d spoken to Simon, who’d informed her they had no home and had—insanely—believed that she would stay within a mile of his brother.

She snorted at the memory of his stunned expression and stuffed a pelisse into the remaining portmanteau. Men!

Freddie quickly removed the wadded-up garment and folded it properly.

“Are you quite sure you will be alright, Honoria? I still don’t understand why you are doing this.” The personal comment was unprecedented and went to show how worried her friend was.

She took Freddie by the shoulders and sat her down on the bed.

They’d had three whirlwind days to sort through household matters and the logistics of moving her most important possessions to Everley.

There had been no time to talk about why she was marrying a man her two friends did not seem to like—or at least trust.

Honey could only be glad her other friends were not here for the fiasco.

“Take lovers,” her friend Portia had once advised her female teachers, scandalizing all of them except Lorelei, who was frequently vocal about the oppression of females in marriage after reading some tract by Blake.

Of course, Portia herself had recently married and seemed to be happily in love, so presumably her advice would now be different.

Not that Honey’s marriage was even close to being a love-match.

At least not on his side …

Honey hastily pushed that thought from her mind and concentrated