Page 10 of A Portrait of Love

A slight knock on the door made her jump.

It was Nounou, Oliver’s nurse.

Serena smiled at her son. “You may take some of Una’s biscuits up to the schoolroom.”

Oliver—who’d been behaving with remarkable composure for a little boy in the middle of a tedious adult conversation—placed another three biscuits on his plate and dropped a careful bow before following the French woman from the room.

Honey waited until the door closed before clearing her throat and asking Freddie the dreaded question. “What do you know of the Duke of Plimpton and his current household?”

Winifred Sedgewick made her living as a matchmaker, even though she despised the term, and there was very little about society that she did not know

“I know His Grace has been married for almost eighteen or so years and that his wife was the Duke of Stanford’s youngest. She is delicate and cannot have more children. I believe the daughter is their only surviving child.”

So, the duchess had never had any more children after their only son died.

“The duke’s younger brother, the Marquess of Saybrook, is heir presumptive,” Freddie continued, unaware of the chaos the name caused in Honoria’s breast.

“Ah, yes,” Serena said in between bites of biscuit. “He was at Waterloo.” She paused and frowned. “Was there not something odd about his return?”

“Yes,” Freddie said, “he was not found until three days after the battle. I have not seen his name this past Season, so I daresay he is still mending.”

Honoria knew all of this. She’d followed the story of his return like a woman obsessed. She took a sip of tea; her hand was white from squeezing the cup’s handle and she forced herself to relax.

“I cannot imagine what he must have endured,” Freddie said, shaking her head.

“Do you think he lives with his brother?” Honey asked.

“That I do not know. Why do you ask? Oh, that’s right—” Freddie said before Honey could answer, “I recall now, your father painted his portrait.”

“What was he like?” Serena demanded, dipping a biscuit into her tea and then popping the soggy mess into her mouth, licking her fingers.

Honey bit back a smile at her friend’s free and easy ways. She could hardly imagine the scandal the voluptuous Frenchwoman must have caused during her brief sojourn among the ton.

“It’s been a long time since I last saw him, Serena.” Fourteen years, three weeks, and five days. Not that she was counting.

Serena gave one of her very gallic shrugs. “You must remember something about him?”

Honey sighed—why bother lying? “He was the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.”

Serena’s biscuit froze an inch from her open mouth and she frowned, her expression one of disbelief. “Surely he is not more handsome than Miles?”

Honey’s face heated, but she jerked a nod.

The Frenchwoman chuckled. “Hmmm, that must be a rare sight to see.”

Honey turned away from her knowing look and fussed with the handle of her teacup.

“I believe he stayed with his brother when he first returned,” Freddie said, mercifully changing the subject. “But he does have an estate of his own.”

“Yes, Everley.” Honoria’s voice was barely a whisper. She set down her cup and saucer with steady hands and then looked at her friends. Freddie’s beautiful, inscrutable face remained expressionless but Serena met her gaze with a bold, challenging stare.

“Well?” The irrepressible Frenchwoman broke the uncomfortable silence, her hazel eyes sparkling. “When will you leave?”

Chapter Three

Simon was flying.

Or the very next thing to it.