Page 59 of A Portrait of Love

“Thank you,” Honey said, absently. “What is wrong, Freddie? You look exhausted.”

“I’m afraid I had some rather disappointing news yesterday and it disturbed my sleep.”

The room was cozy and warm, but Honey’s hands felt like blocks of ice. “What is it?”

“I received a message from the Duke of Shearing letting me know his daughters would not require my services.”

“Why?”

Freddie’s eyebrows arched at the abrupt question. “I don’t know, my dear. It is hardly the type of thing a duke would be likely to share.” She took a sip of tea.

“Well, it’s rather rotten of him, but I daresay something will come along,” Honey said, far more heartily than she felt.

Freddie nodded absently.

Honey took a sip, lowered her cup, and sighed. “Please, you haven’t told me the whole of it, have you?”

“I just received this.” She held up a piece of pale green parchment.

“What is it?”

“Lady Mayfield has changed her mind and, it seems, won’t need me for her niece after all.”

The duke’s voice was clear in her mind. “She is a widow of limited means who makes her way as something of a matchmaker.”

Honey’s full teacup hit the threadbare Aubusson carpet, bounced twice, and then clattered to a stop on the exposed wood.

“Goodness!” Freddie set down her own cup and saucer with the flawless grace for which she was so well known. “What is wrong, Honoria?”

Honey just shook her head, struggling to speak. “Nothing,” she croaked, unable to stop shaking her head. “Nothing.” She stood and went to the bell pull that she almost never used, giving it two sharp yanks.

Freddie came to stand beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “You are frightening me.”

“I need to send a message. Immediately,” she added, staring out the window that looked over the back garden, usually her favorite view. Today she did not even see it. Instead, she saw the duke.

“I ask you not to go against my will on this matter, Miss Keyes.”

Honoria closed her eyes. Oh God.

The door opened behind her. “Miss Keyes, you rang?” her housekeeper asked, her voice breathy from running and pulsing with concern.

“I need to hire a messenger.”

“A messenger?” Freddie and Mrs. Brinkley said at the same time.

“I’m going to quickly write a letter and I need you to summon a boy to deliver it to The Swan with Two Necks. I will pay for their fastest rider.”

Mrs. Brinkley nodded. “Very good, ma’am, I shall go fetch someone.”

The door shut and Honey strode to the small writing desk.

“Honey.”

She stopped and turned at the unprecedented sound of Freddie raising her voice. “I’m sorry Freddie—I don’t mean to act so dramatic. It’s just that I suddenly recalled something I forgot at Whitcomb.”

Now Freddie’s confusion was complete. “Whitcomb? But what could be that important? You will have to pay a great deal to send such a message.”

Honey couldn’t bear to tell her friend that Freddie would have to pay a great deal more if she didn’t send the message.