Page 32 of A Misguided Devotion

Laura gave an exaggerated sigh. “Shall we retire, Kitty? I need a good night’s sleep before the tedium of tomorrow, when I’ll be obliged to sit for my portrait.” Without waiting for an answer, she bobbed a perfunctory curtsey and headed for the door.

Mr Merry’s eyes followed her friend until she had left the room, and a twinge of jealousy caught Kitty off guard.

“Goodnight, Miss Lacey,” he said with a bow.

With a quick curtsey, she hurried after Laura, assailed by wistful thoughts.

No one would ever want to paint her. She knew that a gentle and quiet spirit was of more value, but was it wicked of her to wish that one man—just one—might think her beautiful inside and out?

Chapter 10

The next morning, Kitty woke early and dressed without the help of a maid, as was her custom. If she were going to endure the silent battle between Laura and Mr Merry whilst he painted her portrait, she needed to get outside, to fortify herself for the taxing hours ahead.

She crept down the servants’ stairs and escaped out the back door of the house. The grass was still damp with dew, and she was glad of her sturdy half-boots to protect her feet from the moisture. The sun shone, promising a warm day.

Kitty crossed the lawn and opened the gate that led to the ruins of St Andrew’s Church. She had wanted to investigate further ever since Laura had told her about the site.

The path was enclosed by trees on both sides. It was overrun with weeds, as if no one cared to maintain it, but it was not hard to follow and ended in some stone steps. At the top of these, the wooded area opened up into a graveyard, its tombstones battling with the undergrowth to stay upright, their memorials faded, worn away by the elements. On her right were the remains of the church building, with an arch still intact at the far end, whilst on the left, the land dropped steeply to the shore below.

Kitty stood, looking out over the sea, marvelling at its expanse and colour. The early morning sun shone down on the ocean depths, and the blue of the sky was reflected in the water, making it seem much bluer than before.

She wandered around the ruined sanctuary. It seemed to reflect her life. The building had once been a haven for worship, but then the ground had slipped from underneath it—just as the foundations of her existence had been stripped away.

Her grandfather—her brother—her home. Even her very identity had been ripped from her by Mrs Barrington’s unwelcome revelations.

Why hadn’t Edward written? Was he still alive? If not, she was truly alone. She would have heard if he had been killed, wouldn’t she? But what if he had been taken prisoner? Would he have received her letters? And if he had, would he have been at liberty to answer them?

As Kitty prayed for her brother’s safety, an alternative explanation entered her mind. Mrs Barrington had made no secret of how much she hated her. Could she be continuing to exact revenge by withholding Edward’s reply?

Reluctant to think so ill of another human being, and unpleasant though it was, the notion gave her hope. She must be patient. It was too early to expect an answer to the letter she had sent from Rufus House. Edward might not even have received it yet.

A supernatural peace rested on Kitty’s heart as she walked back up the garden. She was ready to face the trials of the day ahead.

William ate a scant breakfast and made his way to the Long Gallery, trailed by a footman carrying his equipment. He set up his easel in the alcove at the far end of the room, in front of the substantial bay window, as decided the evening before.

After dismissing the servant, he placed a chair for his model and prepared his paints so he would be ready to begin as soon as Miss Barrington arrived. He was yet to see her this morning, as she had broken her fast in her chamber.

Provided she did not dawdle too long at her dressing table, he should have several hours in which to work before the sun moved around to the other side of the house.

His eyes sparkled with anticipation at the task ahead. He would start with her face. He had sketched it so often from memory he could have begun without her, but it was that elusive expression he wanted to capture. The one that had captivated him the first time he’d seen her. Perhaps he could coax it out of her if he had her undivided attention for a few hours.

The door opened with a creak. William raised his head. A single lady stood at the other end of the room. The wrong lady.

“I’m afraid Miss Barrington is indisposed this morning.”

“How very inconvenient.” Or very convenient considering she was doing her best to avoid him.

Kitty glared at him. “Is that all you can say? Are you not the least bit concerned about her wellbeing?”

Guilt pricked his conscience. It mattered not whether Miss Barrington was truly ill. If she claimed as much, it was his duty as a gentleman to believe her.

“Is her affliction serious? Will she still be unwell tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Her maid said she was suffering from a headache.”

“Pray send her my best wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“Thank you. I will do so when I visit her later.”