Page 13 of A Misguided Devotion

Come to think of it, even if he went, he would be hard pressed to secure a private conversation with her. Augusta and her newborn son would monopolise all Grandmama’s attention. With a twinge of something akin to jealousy, he realised he could no longer claim to be the Duchess of Wessex’s favourite grandson. He wasn’t used to having competition.

As William sloshed water over his face and replaced his travel-stained clothes, he pondered what he should do. There was no question of him returning to Alton, but should he go after his grandmother or stay here?

Mr Rowson was waiting in the hall when he came back downstairs and followed him into the drawing room.

“It is good to see you again,” William said, “but I’m surprised Her Grace didn’t take you with her to Plymouth.”

“Those days are behind us, my lord. My wife and I live in Weymouth all year around now. Our eldest son has assumed my position at the Duchess’s side, and as he has an understanding with Her Grace’s maid, it is an arrangement that suits everyone. I regret to say that the Duchess has taken her French cook with her, but Mrs Rowson is putting together a few courses which I hope you will find to your taste.”

He’d assumed he wouldn’t starve but was thankful all the same. “I am honoured that your wife has stepped into the breach on my behalf.”

“It is our pleasure to serve the Duchess and her family.”

Mr Rowson handed him a letter bearing his grandmother’s seal. “Her Grace left this for you, should you visit whilst she was in Plymouth.”

Sprawled in one of the armchairs, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, he broke the wax and unfolded the paper.

My dearest William,

As I’m sure you will have heard from your mother, Augusta has given birth to a boy. The Duke is eager to see his namesake, so we are travelling post-haste to Plymouth.

I am sorry to have missed you, but I was not surprised. Your father sent word of Harting’s death, and I assume you were delayed by his funeral. I hope your new duties will not keep you from painting. It would be a shame, for I have been boasting about your prowess and all but promised Mr Penn, the Governor of Portland, a portrait.

Accept his commission, if you can, as a favour to me, but if your father needs you, I give you leave to decline it. All I ask is that you deliver your answer to Mr Penn in person.

I hope you will still be in Weymouth when we return.

Your loving Grandmama.

Mr Penn? A middle-aged gentleman? Not quite what William had in mind for his muse. He could ill spare the time if he was to paint a piece worthy of submission to the Academy exhibition in the few months he had before his majority. It might take a dozen more attempts before painting something that satisfied him.

However, the last thing he wanted was to alienate his grandmother. He needed her full support if he was going to stand any chance of studying at the Royal Academy in the foreseeable future. He would have to visit the Governor and decline the commission in person, as requested, before following the Duke and Duchess to Plymouth.

If William surprised Mr Rowson by only staying one night, the trusted servant gave no sign of it. By the time he had finished breakfast, the travelling chariot he’d arrived in was ready for departure, harnessed to a team of the Duke’s horses with his trunk already fastened behind.

William glanced across the bay at his initial destination—the Isle of Portland. He had many fond memories of the place, having visited often in his youth. With sea views on every side, it had been one of his favourite places to paint.

Even the name made him smile. As a boy, he’d argued that it wasn’t a proper island, as it was connected to the mainland by a long beach of pebbles. Chesil Bank had always fascinated him because of all the stones, but he wouldn’t have the chance to go there today if he were to start his journey to Plymouth in good time.

With considerable reluctance, William climbed into the carriage, leaving the morning sunshine behind. He was not looking forward to the awkward interview ahead. However reluctant he was to spend who knew how many hours painting Mr Penn’s portrait, there was a part of him that hated to let people down.

They drove out of Weymouth on the road toward Wyke before dipping down the hill to where the rope ferry took them across the mouth of the Fleet. After travelling through the village of Chiswell, the horses laboured up the steep incline to the top of Portland, but picked up speed again as the ground levelled out, and bowled along until the carriage stopped outside Pennsylvania Castle.

The mansion was as impressive as he remembered. Not the ancient building that the word castle conjured in your mind, but a modern creation whose battlements would never be used for defence. As unfit for war as the romantic clifftop ruin of Bow and Arrow Castle, which towered above the beach nearby.

Leaving Keating to see to the horses, William sought the Governor. It would be convenient if Mr Penn was away, thus relieving him of the need to excuse himself from painting the man’s portrait.

His wish was not granted. The butler informed him that his master was at home, but closeted with the constable. Whilst eager to be gone, William felt obliged to wait until Mr Penn was free so he could turn down the commission in person and take his leave in the dignified manner his grandmother expected of him.

Though invited to step inside, William was too restless to sit clicking his heels. He’d go for a walk along the cliff top instead and reacquaint himself with the area.

He paused for a moment to absorb the view, which fell away from the house toward the cliff edge. Full of breakers, whipped up by the wind, the sea crashed onto the shore below in a froth of white. Above the torrid waters, herring gulls gathered, squawking, and in the distance, he could see ships on the horizon. There was something about the sea that evoked powerful feelings in him. A sense of freedom—and freedom was somewhat elusive of late.

He walked through the woods next to the house and onto the path he had often taken as a youth. To his left were the remains of Bow and Arrow Castle, perched on the cliff edge, whilst in front of him was the steep trackway leading down to Church Ope Cove.

A gull squawked. William halted mid-stride. But it was not the bird that caught his gaze. It was the sight of a lady standing on the path just ahead of him, gazing down the track to the sea. She stood at such an angle that he had a full view of her face—and what a face it was.

His pulse quickened. It was as if he had been walking in darkness and now the sun had come out. He could see nothing else—only her. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.