Page 27 of A Misguided Devotion

Mr Penn’s portrait was finished, and William had run out of time to win Miss Barrington’s favour through charm alone. But there were more ways than one to woo a lady reluctant to be painted. He was confident a word or two with the Governor would gain him an introduction to her father.

He was not mistaken. Mr Penn was so eager to help that he invited his neighbour over for dinner the same evening.

“Lord Droxford, allow me to present a fellow landowner, Mr Barrington.” The Governor rested a hand on William’s shoulder. “This young man is the Duchess of Wessex’s grandson and heir to the new Lord Harting. I have known him since he was a boy, when he was a frequent visitor to Weymouth.”

The gentlemen bowed and took stock of each other. William struggled to see any resemblance between the middle-aged man and his beautiful daughter. He noted, however, that Mr Barrington’s eyes lit up with interest at his credentials—a sure sign that his plan would work.

“What brings you to Portland, your lordship?” he asked as they sat.

“Painting. I’ve just completed a portrait of Mr Penn.”

“An artist? Unusual for someone of your rank. May I see the finished piece?”

The Governor jumped at the chance to show off the picture. Mr Barrington was full of praise. Even William admitted it was one of his best—but a portrait of the man’s beautiful daughter would be better.

“And what is your next project, your lordship? Duty or pleasure?”

“Pleasure, I hope.” Duty could wait.

“That sounds somewhat uncertain,” Mr Barrington said. “Have you no fixed plans?”

“That is the difficulty,” William replied. “I have found my muse, but I need permission to paint her. Your permission.”

The man’s eyebrows snapped together. “You’ve met my daughter? I trust you did not find her alone.”

His voice was thick with disapproval and William thought it politic to gloss over his first encounter with Miss Barrington.

“I confess I was so taken by her beauty I tried to approach her, but her companion did an excellent job of fending me off.”

“Ah yes. Miss Lacey. An admirable woman. So composed in the face of adversity. Not given over to excessive sensibility.”

Adversity? It was said in such a matter-of-fact way that it evoked a sympathetic curiosity. What trouble had Kitty suffered that had thrust her into her current position? Had her family fallen on hard times? Surely not. The lady had overflowed with confidence when challenging him, which seemed at odds with such a notion.

“She has only recently joined our household,” Mr Barrington said. “I hope she will make it her permanent home. It is such a blessing to know my daughter has a respectable companion. Laura is so innocent. She is not aware that her beauty draws men like bees to honey.”

“The first moment I saw Miss Barrington, I knew I had to paint her. Would you allow me—or do I ask too much?—to take your incomparable daughter’s likeness?”

Mr Barrington licked his lips, as if he were a wild animal eyeing up his prey. A trickle of unease slid down William’s neck. Was the man reading more into his request than was there, judging him as a prospective son-in-law, not as a painter? But if it got him what he wanted, did it matter? Kitty would protect Miss Barrington’s reputation. William was sure of it.

He raked a hand through his hair and waited for Mr Barrington’s answer.

“I would be delighted. I never could persuade her mother to sit for her portrait, and it would be a comfort to me to look upon Laura’s countenance when she has married and left the family home.”

“And that they do, Mr Barrington,” the Governor said with a sigh. “All too soon they are gone. I can’t believe your daughter has come of age without being snapped up.”

There was a slight narrowing of the man’s brow. “You are mistaken, Mr Penn. Laura does not turn twenty-one for another week, but it’s true I’ve been unwilling to let my precious girl go. I will continue to hold on to her tightly until someone I deem worthy aspires to her hand.”

He gave William a significant stare, which sent heat creeping up his neck. If the man suspected him of wanting to initiate a clandestine courtship, then he would be disappointed. All he wanted was to paint his daughter.

“When can you start?” Mr Barrington asked.

“Tomorrow. I’ll drive over to Portland from my grandmother’s home in Weymouth each day—”

“Nonsense. You must stay at Rufus House whilst you are working on Laura’s portrait.”

That would not be a sensible idea. “I would not like to impose—”

The man lifted his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.