Page 60 of A Portrait of Love

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.”

Ingram’s mouth curved but his smile never reached his eyes. “I’ve cashed out. Just Ingram will be fine, Saybrook.”

“Please, have a seat,” Honey said, when the silence began to stretch.

Simon took a seat on the settee, the last unoccupied place to sit in the tiny room other than the writing desk or window seat.

“Would you care for some tea? This is cold but I could ring for more?”