Page 14 of A Misguided Devotion

Her figure was rounded in all the right places, and her heart-shaped face was framed by luscious chestnut curls escaping from their pins, unhindered by any bonnet. Full red lips, an adorable snub nose, and long lashes shielding her eyes, which shone with such intensity that he wondered if he was dreaming.

Who was she? William didn’t care. He had only one thought in his mind. This woman was the muse he had been seeking—and he must paint her.

As he stared with undisguised admiration, she became aware of his presence, and the spell was broken. She started, as if surprised to discover she was not alone, and cast her eyes about wildly, flitting along the cliff to her right, to the trackway down to the beach, and then resting on him, with a hunted look in their depths.

William wished he could have captured her previous expression with his paintbrush, and he desperately wanted to bring it back.

Without a word, she moved past him, scurrying toward Bow and Arrow Castle. William hurried after her. He could not let her leave before discovering who she was. If he did, he might never see her again. There was no sign of a companion. Indeed, her bonnetless, chaperon-free state suggested she was more likely to be a maid than have one.

Her status didn’t bother him. He could charm a maid as easily as a lady, and if she were a servant, he need have no compunction in addressing her.

“Please don’t run away,” he begged, grabbing her arm as he reached her. “Take pity on me—a captive to your beauty. I assure you I do not bite.”

William thought he caught a half-smile on her lips, but it disappeared in a flash, and she glared down at his hand until he released it.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, keeping alongside her as she resumed her walk. “I want to paint you. It would be a crime not to.”

Still, she wouldn’t stop and listen to him.

“At least give me your name. If you don’t, I shall have to call you Aphrodite.”

That made her blush. Perhaps he was getting somewhere. He had thought her face perfect before, but the faint pinkness in her cheeks only enhanced her beauty. He would have to paint her like that.

Should he tell her who he was? Maybe he could dazzle her with his rank. “Would it make any difference if—”

“Is this fellow bothering you, Miss Barrington?”

William jerked around. A dark-haired man strode down the path toward them. A gentleman, judging by his clothing and bearing, though not one of high standing. His pinched mouth oozed disapproval.

Interesting. It was clear from the man’s address that William’s muse was a lady, and not a maidservant. Did this fellow have some claim over her affections? Would his presence conjure that captivating expression on Miss Barrington’s face again? Apparently not. The lady’s colour was high—her mouth as pinched as the gentleman’s.

“There is no need to be alarmed, Mr Jenkin. This gentleman wishes to paint me, that is all.”

“Indeed,” he replied in clipped tones, as if he didn’t believe her. Or maybe he just mistrusted William’s intent. “Your father would not wish you to be walking out alone. You should bring your maid with you to avoid being accosted by strange gentlemen.” He offered his arm to the lady, and she hastened to his side to take it. “I will escort you home.”

He glared at William and gave a stiff bow. “Good day, sir.”

William nodded. “Good day.”

He watched the pair walk away but made no attempt to follow. He had discovered what he needed. No doubt the Governor could supply him with more information now he was armed with her name.

The prospect of painting Mr Penn’s portrait had suddenly become much more inviting.

Chapter 5

Mrs Barrington seemed determined to make Kitty’s life as miserable as possible. For fifty years, the old lady had been eaten up by malice, and for the past fortnight, Kitty had been receiving the full measure of her revenge, as the granddaughter of the woman who had beguiled her beloved Walter.

There was no escape. Though she’d written to Edward again to share what she’d been told about their father, she was yet to receive any word from her brother. Not that he would be able to rescue her until he returned from the war. If he ever came back. No, she was alone and at the mercy of a spiteful old woman.

If another option presented itself, Kitty would grasp it with both hands, but she knew she must be sensible. She possessed little apart from her mother’s pearl necklace, a few books of sentimental value, and a depressingly small pile of coins. It would be too risky to leave with no guarantee of other work, and no one would employ her in a respectable role without a reference—a reference her current mistress would never give.

She might have been tempted to move on, despite the lack of anywhere to go, if it hadn’t been for Mrs Jarvis’s kindness. From the first night, the woman had acted her friend. Shocked to see a lady reduced to working below stairs, the housekeeper had refused to have her emptying chamber pots and had assigned her to help the cook instead.

When Mrs Barrington had dismissed her latest lady’s maid the very next morning, Mrs Jarvis had promoted Kitty to the post. Styling hair was a much more pleasant occupation than chopping vegetables.

The bell rang, summoning her to her mistress’s room to prepare her for the day ahead. The housekeeper shot her a sympathetic grimace, and Kitty drained her teacup before hurrying out the door. Inhaling deeply, she prayed for strength, reminding herself to be grateful for daily blessings—food in her belly and a safe place to sleep.

She bobbed a curtsey and set to work brushing out Mrs Barrington’s grey locks and arranging them in her preferred style.