Books, drawings, letters.
Ridiculously complex handwork pieces that she never seemed to finish.
Honora loved the chaos of her workroom, with the multitude of half-worked projects and scattered books left open at her favourite passages.
Settling herself into her comfortable chair, right by the window where the light was best, she ran her fingers over a volume of poetry she had been enjoying just the day before.
It felt like she had aged ten years since then.
As much as she would love to return to the book, the ache behind her eyes was intense and she doubted she would be able to focus on the words.
Honora pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, massaging her brows against the flaring pain.
Perhaps she had been too hasty in rising from her bed…
Measured footsteps made their way down the passage and the door opened. Silas stalked into the confined space with a thick scowl creasing his brow.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he snapped, stepping to the window beside her and pulling back the curtain just enough that he could examine the street below.
Honora considered his profile as she contemplated whether or not to even answer the boorish question.
His was not a classically handsome face, the bridge of his nose was too prominent, the brows heavy, the twist of his sensual mouth mulish instead of tempting.
But still, there was something about this man that made her pulse race every time she was in his presence, even after all these years and with two Seasons behind her.
He made her feel as if she was a girl of sixteen again, except he was just as out of her reach now as he had been then.
He looked down at her, examining her face intently. All of a sudden, his expression softened.
“Is the pain very bad? You couldn’t sleep?”
Honora nodded mutely. Glad that for once he seemed to understand her.
“Perhaps some laudanum?”
Honora cleared her throat, finding her voice at last. “No. No laudanum.”
His eyes narrowed at the tone of her voice, so she attempted a smile. “No, thank you, my lord.”
“Hmm.” He crossed his arms, glancing around the room with a raised brow. “It looks like a haberdashery exploded inside a bookshop, and then a litter of rambunctious kittens was let loose in here.”
Honora sniffed. “I like it like this, thank you very much.”
Both brows raised now, the earl’s face disbelieving as he turned to take in the full measure of the space. “And Benedict doesn’t mind having a fire hazard of this nature so close to your chambers?”
Honora smiled, amused that Silas seemed to think Benedict cared what she did with her days.
“Benedict has more pressing things to worry about than a lady’s fripperies and vacuous pursuits.”
Silas wandered over to the table across the room that held her painting supplies, flicking through the pages of a sketchbook.
A smile quirked his lips for just a second, so quick Honora almost thought she had imagined it.
“I doubt he knows what mischief you are really up to. He has obviously never seen that particular portrait of himself. Hardly vacuous if you ask me, though.”
Honora smirked. Silas must have spied the cartoons she had done of Benedict in all his parliamentary finery, his pose caught mid-sermon on some serious topic or another.
She did love to sketch people when they were unaware. It was far more interesting than some sedately posed study.
