Page 4 of A Misguided Devotion

“My father will do all that is right.” And very likely more. He would probably make better provision for them than he should, if their papa hadn’t already done so. “I am certain he will make every effort to ensure the change in your situation is as painless as possible.”

“And you?” Louisa asked, fluttering her eyelashes and staring up at him with her wide-open gaze. “Will you help to ease my pain?”

The temptation to roll his eyes at her directness was overwhelming. Had she no subtlety? Was it her idea to make up to him so soon after her father’s passing, or had her mother put her up to it? Either way, it was in poor taste.

“I will support my father in any manner I can,” William said, “and to that end, I must talk with him at once.”

He bowed his head and made his escape. The sooner he could get away from here, the better. When he reached the sofa where his father had been sitting, he discovered an empty place.

“Where’s Father?” he asked, taking the seat beside his mother.

“Talking with your aunt.”

“Oh. I had hoped to have a word with him.” Quite a few words. About his future. The Royal Academy. The townhouse.

“How are you coping with your uncle’s death, Will?”

He threaded his fingers through his hair. Did she expect him to say he was struggling with the loss of his uncle? Impossible! He couldn’t pretend to a grief he didn’t feel.

“I’m sorry for the girls, and for my aunt—”

His mother took his hands in her own. “That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about its effect on you. Your father is now a peer of the realm, which elevates your status in society as his heir. It will take time for you to adjust to the change. How does your new title sit with you, Lord Droxford?”

William cringed to hear the name on his mother’s lips. He was not sure he would ever get used to it. “Don’t use it, Mother—please. I’m William Merry, portrait artist, not some viscount. Whilst I imagine my superior status will open many doors that were closed to me before, I would prefer to achieve success on merit, not position.”

“It is a laudable ambition, but your name will precede you now. You will attract notice wherever you go. When my mother married the Duke, I experienced a sudden rush of interest in my person. The matchmaking mothers will be after you in force.”

He glanced toward Louisa and found her staring at him. He jerked his eyes back to his mother. “They already are.”

“Ah, yes. The Dowager Lady Harting is not one to waste time. She knows well that Louisa will have competition, though I daresay your cousin has never ranked in your sights as a prospective partner.”

Too right! “I am not considering anyone as a potential wife. I’m far too young for that. How old was Father when he married you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Then I have almost another decade before I need to think of marriage, and there are plenty of portraits to paint in the meantime.”

“Be careful, Will. Love doesn’t come on demand. Don’t miss the love of your life because you’re too busy painting to notice her.”

His mother spoke as though she believed that was likely.

“How will I know when I’ve found this mythical woman?”

She widened her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Your painting will be meaningless without her by your side.”

Laughter bubbled up inside him at the absurdity of the notion. Nothing—and no one—was more important to him than his art. It was impossible to imagine that ever changing.

He brushed off his mother’s words with his most charming grin. “I’m sure such a woman doesn’t exist.”

She raised a hand, cupped his cheek, and sighed. “Oh, William.”

Chapter 2

While he waited for his father to reappear, William drew a likeness of his nephew in his sketchbook. The little lad wobbled around the room, as unaware that his grandmother was mourning the loss of her second husband as he was that he was soon to gain a younger brother or sister.

William would copy the image onto canvas and attempt a portrait in oils. It would not be as easy as working from life, but he had spent so long watching the toddler that he had every hope of being able to transfer the salient details into his painting.

It was almost an hour later when his aunt re-entered the drawing room. Her lips were pressed together in a satisfied smile, like a cat who has just stolen cream from the dairy. Whatever she had discussed with the new Lord Harting was clearly to her liking.