Page 21 of A Portrait of Love

But what about Lady Rebecca?

Honey commenced to wash and dress; she would seek out Lady Rebecca after breakfast and ask her when they might have a sitting.

Once she was ready to face the day, she rang for a servant to take her down to the breakfast room, where she found the duke just finishing his meal.

He rose when she entered the airy room, which had French doors open to allow in fresh air from the warm, sunny morning.

“How was your first night at Whitcombe?” the duke asked after she’d served herself from the array of chaffing dishes.

“I fell asleep before my head even hit the pillow.” She nodded at the footman who offered her coffee.

“I am pleased to hear it.” The duke took more coffee, himself, even though his plate was nearly empty. “Do you ride, Miss Keyes?”

“I do, although it has been quite some time.”

“I’m sure you will find something in the stables to suit your level of comfort. You are welcome to take the gig, of course, but the loveliest parts of the area are not accessible by cart or carriage.” He closed the newspaper that had been open beside his plate. “I know you will do the painting in London, but I have instructed Philips, my house steward, to show you several rooms which I believe have suitable exposure, if you would like to use them for anything.”

“Thank you, your grace, I look forward to seeing them.” Honey couldn’t help being amazed by how different he was from his brother. Not just different looking, but different acting. She could only suppose his position mediated a certain amount of dignity and steadiness not necessary in a younger sibling. In truth, he quite reminded her of herself—at least when it came to presenting an unflappable appearance to the world.

In the daylight she realized he looked older and far more drawn than he’d appeared yesterday evening. Whatever was ailing him, seemed to be taking its toll. His brown hair was liberally dusted with gray at the temples and there were deep grooves bracketing his mouth. The lines radiating out from his eyes did not look like smile lines. In fact, she could hardly imagine such a cool, remote man smiling.

But then she remembered the loving look he’d given his daughter at dinner last night and decided he must have hidden depths.

He looked up, meeting her scrutiny. “I understand you will be seeing my wife this afternoon.”

“Yes, I will meet her at three o’clock. I was wondering where I might find Lady Rebecca—perhaps we might have a sitting this morning?”

“My daughter has gone to a function with her grandmother today, but she will be ready for you after breakfast tomorrow morning.”

So, that meant Honey would have the first part of today to herself.

The duke stood. “I must meet with my bailiff for most of the day but if you have need of me you can always ring for a servant.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

The duke rose to leave just as the door opened.

Mr. Fairchild stepped into the room, a smile on his face, his gaze on Honey. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then jumped a little when he noticed the duke standing to the side of the door. “Oh, your grace.” He looked nonplussed. “How are you this morning?”

Plimpton’s mouth compressed into a line, as if the question displeased him. “I am well, thank you, Raymond.” He paused, giving his cousin a piercing look that made the other man’s face reddened. “Are you still going to Lindthorpe today?”

“Er, yes, sir. I’m afraid I’m getting a rather late start.”

The duke merely stared.

“But I shall be on my way within the hour,” Mr. Fairchild added when it was clear the other man was waiting.

The duke nodded. “Very well.”

Once the duke had gone Raymond Fairchild turned to Honey, his expression a mix of mortification and something else? Irritation? Anger?

“Did you sleep well on your first night at Whitcomb?” he asked, walking to the sideboard.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Fairchild.”

He chuckled. “Now, now—none of that. Please call me Raymond.” He turned and gave her a smile that deepened his resemblance to Simon.

Well, what else could Honey say but, “Please call me Honoria.”