Page 114 of A Portrait of Love

How could a marriage founded on the mutual agreement never to have children ever be anything other than a business arrangement?

Chapter Thirty-Three

Honey did not join Simon for breakfast, which was a first—at least when they’d been in Brighton. But he’d been ill every morning at Everley, so perhaps she didn’t come down to eat?

Heyworth was there, however, and they settled matters between them quickly.

“How soon can you begin?” Simon asked the younger man as he made his way through a heaping plate of food.

“I can return in a week.”

“Excellent. I will want to begin breaking ground for the new stable block. I’ll show you my plans before you set off.” Which I should have done last night, if I hadn’t been so jug-bitten …

Simon’s face heated at the thought, but he pushed past it and talked of local builders and how much could be done before winter.

Heyworth accompanied him to his study after they’d finished breakfast. While the other man looked at the plans for the expansion, Simon brooded. He couldn’t deny he was on edge. He’d behaved badly last night and now would have to apologize. It wasn’t the act of apologizing he minded—he was willing to accept his blame—it was the subject and reason for his behavior. He’d never believed he was a drunkard, but last night he had begun drinking at dinner and then he drank and drank and drank and forgot everything else. It was mortifying.

A knock made him look up.

Honoria was in the open doorway. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord, but your mother has come to see you. I’ve put her in the smaller sitting room.”

“Of course, thank you.” Simon stood. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Heyworth.”

Heyworth looked up from the plans, and a small leather-bound book in which he had made some notations. “Thank you, my lord, but I had better be on my way.”

Simon went toward Honoria, who did not meet his eyes. Instead, she took a step toward the other man, turning her back to Simon. “I will show you out, Mr. Heyworth.”

He felt a spark of anger at the obvious cut, but Simon knew it was what he had earned with his behavior. The sooner he apologized, the better.

His mother smiled nervously at him when he entered the sitting room and kissed her cheek.

“I think I did something unwise,” she blurted.

“Oh?” he said, sinking into the chair across from her.

Her pale cheeks flushed. “I’m so sorry, Simon, but I’m afraid I may have mentioned your, er, past attachment to Arabella MacLeish.”

Well, he supposed that might account for part of her frosty behavior.

He smiled. “It’s fine, Mother. My past with Bella is no secret—it’s also very much in my past.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing even darker when she saw him staring at her. “I didn’t mean it the way you think, Simon. I just … well, she is a siren.”

His lips twitched at her dramatic language. “She can be somebody else’s siren,” he said drily. “We saw her yesterday, by the way.”

Her pale gray eyes, so much like Wyndham’s, widened. “We?”

“I was out riding with Honoria and Heyworth—my new steward.”

“Oh,” she said, and then asked, “And?”

“Something she said gave me the impression that Wyndham has been hard on her family.”

His mother grimaced. “Well, you know how he can be.”

“I do know. But I shan’t give them all the cut, Mama.”

“No, no, I didn’t think you would,” she said faintly, her expression saying that she’d still hoped.