“Now, let’s not keep the countess waiting. She’s had a long journey.”
As Drake escorted them upstairs, Honoria tried to match Drake’s words to his actions. His comforting touch on her face and the soft look in his eyes when he said she rescued him didn’t agree with his insistence he was not pursuing her.
And the incongruity troubled her.
Drake didhis best to maintain his composure until Honoria left him and Aunt Kitty at the top of the staircase, assuring him she could find her room from there.
“It’s all over her face, you know,” Aunt Kitty said. “She still loves you.”
“No disrespect, Aunt, but perhaps your eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”
“Bah! Perhaps it is you who is blind. Now, where is my room?”
After asking a footman where Frampton had placed Aunt Kitty’s belongings, Drake followed her into her room where a maid busied herself emptying his aunt’s trunks. A large framed painting leaned against a wall, the back facing outward.
“You can finish that later,” Drake said to the maid.
When the maid curtsied and scurried away, Aunt Kitty nodded toward the painting. “Does your staff know of this deception of yours? It seems odd the portrait should be left in this manner.”
Drake nodded, wondering the same about the portrait.
“Turn it around,” she said.
When he did, he understood exactly why Frampton had instructed the image to be hidden.
It was as if Drake were staring in a mirror at a slightly younger version of himself in clothing of an earlier era. “It’s uncanny.”
Aunt Kitty came beside him. “Now do you understand why I wouldn’t believe your farce? You can’t deny he’s your father.” She turned toward him, meeting his eyes. “Nor should you. He was a man you would be proud to call Father.”
Something caught in Drake’s throat, hard and unmovable. He’d missed out on so much, and as much as he had loved Francis, he wished he could have known the man in the portrait before him. “You said this was painted right after he met my mother. How old was he?”
“One-and-twenty. It was painted in celebration of coming into his majority, I believe. A handsome young man.” She sighed. “As are you.”
Drake stared again at the light brown eyes and sandy hair, the lopsided smile that caught—what he hoped was—a similar personality trait he’d inherited from his father. A Springer Spaniel sat at his father’s feet, gazing adoringly at his master.
“His name was Flash,” Aunt Kitty said, pointing to the dog. “Your grandfather forbid Henry to take the dog with him when he left. Flash died six months later, and to this day, I think it was due to a broken heart.”
Drake knew about feelings of despondency and losing the will to live. It’s what Simon had saved him from when they met not long after his arrival in India. He touched the face of the man he didn’t remember.
Aunt Kitty patted his arm, pulling him from his maudlin thoughts. “It’s yours if you want it.”
He nodded, unable to speak. The lump in his throat seemed to have grown even larger. Gathering his courage, he forced it down. “Thank you. I’ll have it moved to my room. I don’t expect anyone to wander in and see it there. Only my valet and the maids.” He patted his aunt’s hand, even more grateful for her impromptu visit. “I’m glad you’re here, Aunt Kitty.”
She swatted his arm. “Lady Gryffin, my boy. We must keep up the deception.”
He kissed her on the cheek and left her, then gave instructions tothe hall footman to have the portrait moved discreetly to his chambers.
No one must see it until the charade was over.
In the safetyof her room, Honoria sat at the escritoire and stared out the window. Dusk settled, casting the horizon in streaks of blue and pink. She’d always loved that combination of colors. It was as if the sky offered both a message of hope and regret all at once.
Exactly how she felt.
A soft knock sounded at her door. She brushed away the wetness still coating her cheeks. “Enter.”
Doing her best to smile when her mother entered, Honoria rose from the desk to greet her. “Are you and Papa very angry?”
With the gentleness Honoria always loved, her mother took her hands in her own and led her to the settee. “We’re both more surprised than angry. I’ve never heard you speak in such a manner.”
