Page 2 of A Misguided Devotion

“Exactly. To make the most of my talent, I need to study at the Royal Academy. If they are ever going to take me seriously, the piece I submit to next year’s exhibition must be breathtaking. What I require is a muse, not a wife. Romney painted Emma Hart numerous times before she married Sir William Hamilton. If I could find someone to fulfil the same role for me, I am confident I could achieve what I am looking for.”

Charlotte’s mouth pinched at his words. “I trust your muse will be more respectable than his.”

William spied a blond-haired little boy coming through the gap in the hedge, toddling toward him as fast as he could. “I guarantee it—and here he comes.”

The child wrapped his chubby arms around his uncle’s legs, and William swept him into his embrace and swung him in a circle, eliciting squeals of laughter.

“Henry!” Eliza exclaimed as she caught up with her son. Panting, William’s older sister laid a hand on her swollen belly and sank onto the bench. “I wish you wouldn’t run away from your mama like that. If only I weren’t carrying all this weight, I could catch you in a trice.”

Charlotte hurried to her side and was still fussing over her when Eliza’s husband, Lord Beaumont, joined them.

Henry immediately burst into tears and pulled away from William, extending his arms toward his father. “Dada!”

“Come here, you little rascal,” said Beau, plucking the child from his uncle’s hold and rubbing noses with him until his weeping stopped.

It was an endearing sight that touched a chord inside William. Who would have thought that a confirmed bachelor like Beau would turn into such a doting father? He pictured himself in that role one day—but not yet. He was in no hurry to gain such responsibility, and he desired the freedom to paint all the prettiest ladies without having to worry about making his wife jealous.

“Now that I have you all here, perhaps we can make a start on that family portrait you wanted,” he said.

Eliza huffed. “That’s the urgent need for our presence?”

William threw her a beseeching look. “It is urgent. Time is running out if I’m to paint your family before your confinement.”

His sister shook her head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Will, but I’m not up to it today. I got little sleep. The baby wouldn’t stop tossing and turning all night.”

“Nonsense. It’s the ideal occasion to work on the portrait. It gives you the perfect excuse to do nothing but sit with your delightful offspring on your lap and your husband at your side. I won’t paint your face this morning if you’re afraid you look haggard, though I would say you’re blooming. No doubt Beau would not think you anything less than beautiful. Isn’t that right?”

William raised his brow at his brother-in-law as if daring him to contradict him.

“If Eliza says she’s too tired and uncomfortable—”

Trust Beau not to be able to see beyond his wife’s excuses. What was a little discomfort compared with the satisfaction of the family portrait they would gain? All his sister required was some gentle persuasion. “Having you at her side is just what she needs to distract her from her aches and pains and—”

“Oh, you can tell how it will be, Beau,” Eliza said. “My wretched brother won’t give us any peace until he’s started painting. We might as well submit at once. I will not object to your spending the day with me, provided I’m allowed plenty of breaks to stretch my legs. The sessions will have to be kept short for Henry’s sake. He won’t sit still for long.”

Beau took Charlotte’s place at Eliza’s side and placed Henry on his knee before stealing a kiss from his wife. “Are you sure you want to do this? I won’t let your brother plague you if you’d rather not.”

“I’m not plaguing her,” said William, “but this might be our only opportunity—”

Eliza snuggled up against her husband. “Just get on with it!”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He picked up his paintbrush and set to work, whilst Beau made animal noises to amuse his son.

“How was Grandmama?” Eliza asked.

The question nudged at William’s conscience, but the careless tone of his reply gave no hint of it. “How should I know? I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“I thought you were going to visit her before you came here.”

Another jab at his conscience. “I ran out of time.”

“Did you inform her you were delayed?”

Since when had Eliza taken it upon herself to hold him to account? She had been far less interfering before her marriage. “No, but Grandmama knows what I’m like. She never expects me until I turn up.”

His sister pursed her lips, her eyes flaming with disapproval. “Have you no respect for her rank or circumstances? You seem to forget our grandmother is Her Grace, the Duchess of Wessex, and that she has an elderly husband to care for, whose health is deteriorating. The Duke never really got over the shock of Denmead running away to fight against Bonaparte. It weighs heavily on her that if their son dies, there will be no more Dukes of Wessex after him and—”

She stopped mid-sentence as their younger sister appeared around the hedge and scurried toward them.