Page 28 of A Misguided Devotion

“My presence in your home would attract undue notice. It might lead to unpleasant speculation. I could not forgive myself if my desire to paint your daughter cast aspersions on her reputation.”

“That would be unfortunate indeed,” said Mr Barrington, though judging by the gleam in his eye, William doubted he meant it. The man would probably help the rumours if it won him a viscount for a son-in-law.

William’s unease must have shown on his face.

“You are worrying unduly, your lordship. Miss Lacey will keep my daughter’s reputation intact.”

Perhaps he was right. She had bested him in their last two encounters. But if word got out that he was staying with Mr Barrington, it might still cause him some problems.

“Let me be frank. Before my father inherited the earldom, I was plain Mr Merry—of interest to no one.” Not strictly true, but near enough. “Now I am Lord Droxford, the situation has changed. I fear that were my presence in your house to be known, you would be inundated with inquisitive callers, my work would be interrupted, and I would be unable to complete your daughter’s portrait before duty called me away.”

The duty he had no intention of bowing to, but Mr Barrington didn’t need to know that.

The man leaned toward him. “Then don’t be Lord Droxford while you’re staying with me. Return to being plain Mr Merry for a while. We would not wish Laura or Miss Lacey to be overawed by your title any more than we would want your work to be disturbed by unwanted callers. I am sure Mr Penn can keep your presence in my house a secret. As long as you don’t attend church services with us, no one need know where you are until the portrait is done.”

William’s heart thrummed with excitement. This was what he had longed for. Freedom to devote himself to painting his muse with no fear of interruption from matchmaking mothers or family members eager to remind him of his duty. It shouldn’t be hard to maintain the image of an artist who painted for a living. He could manage without Keating for a few weeks, and he was sure Mr Penn could be persuaded to accommodate his father’s carriage until he was ready to leave. If he were fortunate, no one would get wind of where he was, and he could just paint.

He bowed his head. “An excellent idea. I look forward to being introduced to Miss Barrington and her companion tomorrow.”

As the words passed his lips, William recalled the speculation in Mr Barrington’s eyes. What if he pressured his daughter to pursue him? Or engineered a situation that forced him to offer for her. Should he cry off?

No. There was a risk, but it was minimal. Even if Miss Barrington set her sights on him, he could rely on Kitty to scuttle any attempt to compromise her friend’s reputation.

Were the risk ten times as big, it would be worth it to paint his muse. If he could capture his Aphrodite on canvas, he felt sure the Royal Academy would accept the portrait for their annual exhibition. Even his father would be impressed.

The ladies were out walking when William arrived at Rufus House the next day, and they didn’t meet until they gathered in the drawing room before dinner.

He rose to his feet as Miss Barrington entered, followed by her companion. At the sight of him, his muse’s smile faltered. He would have to work on changing her attitude toward him. Perhaps he should try a contrite expression, as though he were truly apologetic for intruding on her space.

It was a noble intention, but then his eyes flitted to Kitty’s face. Her tight mouth and flared nostrils were even less welcoming, but they made William want to grin like a boy who had just been victorious in a game of spillikins.

She could flare her nostrils at him all she liked. He had won this battle—and the prize was to paint his Aphrodite.

Mr Barrington drew the ladies forward to be introduced. “Laura, Miss Lacey, allow me to present Mr Merry.”

The two women curtseyed, and William bowed first to Miss Barrington and then to her friend. Unable to resist, he bent a little lower toward Kitty, emphasising his triumph at getting what he wanted.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both at last.”

At her father’s suggestion, Miss Barrington took the seat beside William on the sofa, but she shuffled as far as she could away from him, as if he had an infectious disease.

“Mr Merry has just completed a magnificent portrait of the Governor,” the man said to his daughter, “and I have invited him to be our guest at Rufus House while he paints your likeness.”

Miss Barrington gripped her hands together in her lap and flashed William a half-hearted smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “How lovely.”

Before they could move past a discussion of the weather, the footman announced that dinner was served.

Mr Barrington held out his arm to Kitty, forcing his daughter to accept William’s escort into the dining room. The beauty kept her head bowed, laying her fingertips on his coat sleeve, as if determined to minimise her contact with him.

It was not a promising start, but William had every confidence in his ability to coax a smile out of her before too long. It was a necessary skill for a portraitist to elicit the expression he most wanted to capture on canvas, and Miss Barrington would doubtless soften toward him now she knew he had her father’s approval.

As he took his seat at the table, he shifted his gaze to her companion. Kitty had stopped flaring her nostrils at him, but her pursed lips suggested she was yet to forgive him for gaining entry to Rufus House.

He could not remember ever provoking such contempt in a lady, and the experience was unnerving. Though confident of charming Miss Barrington out of her indifference, he was less certain about her companion.

Would Kitty prove to be the one woman who would not succumb to his charm?

Kitty pressed her lips together and glared at Mr Merry. She had not missed the triumphant gleam in his eyes or his exaggerated bow. They had battled for mastery of the situation—and she had lost.