There was no getting away from it; Louise de Kérouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth, was a beautiful woman and needed no enhancement from me to show it. In truth, I had rather a strong desire to do the opposite but what would be the point? Apart from childish spite ensuring a refusal to pay on her part. My watercolour had gone well, so I had spent more time helping Hugo with his than I had done on my own.
This was my first time back at court working on a commission since my illness and it felt wonderful to be able to do it. I had even managed to fit into one of my old gowns – a rather fetching damson silk – that had escaped alteration to accommodate Mateo. That it might be a touch out of fashion was of little consequence. Hetty cared for my child while I worked and, surprisingly, I found mysel
