A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,78
up the hem of the underdress. “You see how deep this is? I always construct my ready-mades with ample hems. If they need to be shortened the excess can always be used for a hair ornament.” Her eyes flickered to Honoria’s hair, which was still uncovered after she’d tried on the red hat. “You have exceptionally lovely hair. Perhaps a string of pearls woven through your coiled braid.” She pursed her lips speculatively.
Honey fingered the golden material and tried to suppress the excitement she felt when she thought about wearing such a gown. It wasn’t that she did not have some pretty dresses, but she had always purchased for functionality and rarely bought anything that was the kick of fashion. She caressed the intricate lace. “How would you make this longer?”
Mrs. Fenton took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “You let me worry about such mundane matters. Come, let’s slip you into this.”
***
Peel was waiting for Simon when they returned to the hotel several hours later.
Simon had left Honoria in their shared sitting room, her eyes glistening at the mountain of boxes that awaited her at the hotel after their orgy of shopping.
“Ah, Peel, you are a sight for sore eyes.”
The older, phlegmatic man looked pained, his gaze fastened to Simon’s neck. “I wish I could say the same, my lord.”
“Yes, I know my cravat is a bloody embarrassment and these clothes fit like grain sacks. And my footwear.” He glanced down at his Hessians, which he’d allowed the inn boots in Grunstead to polish. “You may need to throw them out.”
Peel sniffed and helped him out of his coat.
He grinned at his servant. “I think you missed me.”
“Yes, my lord, there is nothing quite so disagreeable as having a holiday. And it was terribly flat having only myself to wash, groom, feed, and clothe for over a week.”
Simon laughed at his chilling sarcasm. “There, that’s more the thing, Peel. Now, did you collect the new toggery I ordered in London?”
“I did, my lord.”
His servant’s stiff, brief response told Simon his feelings were hurt. “Well, don’t get all bent up, man. I’m sorry I had the audacity to choose garments without your approval. You can go out and break the bank while we’re here if you don’t care for my selections.”
“If I may, sir, how long shall we be in Brighton?” Peel finished with his coats and Simon sat so he could pull off his boots.
“Until the end of the month—and then we’ll be returning to Everley. I shall probably send you on ahead.”
Simon scratched at a ridge of scar tissue beneath his hair. It hadn’t been just his ear that had been damaged. Smooth, hairless slashes of raised skin snaked all over his head. He was fortunate he’d always had thick, curly hair which now helped to hide many of the ugly wounds. He’d not had a haircut in some time; not since deciding to allow his hair to grow a bit longer, to conceal the ugly stump of an ear. For a long time, he’d felt almost belligerent about exhibiting his mutilations. But Honey shouldn’t have to look at such a thing all day. It was already bad enough she had to look at his face.
Peel set his second boot aside with a thump that brought him back. “You were saying, my lord?”
“I was saying I might send you back to Everley before us. The place should be ready for our arrival, but it can’t hurt if you are there to supervise her ladyship’s unpacking.”
“You will not be returning to Whitcomb?”
“No. And that is another thing you can handle, moving my possessions from my chambers there to Everley.”
The valet nodded, assembling Simon’s shaving gear. Simon pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the floor, wincing as he lowered his arm.
Peel bent to snatch up his shirt. “You have not been applying the salve Doctor Cruikshank gave you, my lord?”
Simon snorted and ignored his servant’s pained sigh. Instead, he rolled his shoulder, the joint clicking softly with each rotation. Something was still in there; something the doctors in Belgium had not managed to extract. It did not hurt often, usually only if he slept on it, but he was always aware of it.
He dropped his arm and went to sit in front of the mirror.
Peel wrapped a steaming towel around his face and he let out a contented sigh. “I’m always too much in a hurry to do this part, Peel.”