Page 43 of A Misguided Devotion

To give her credit for her acting, her friend maintained a straight face. “Oh no. The butler, Blake, looks after him. He was a prize-fighter before he came to work here, so he’s not afraid of anything.”

Laura clasped Kitty’s hands. “We don’t talk about Silas. Just think what it would do to our status in society if word got out that a madman lived in our basement. People would refuse to dine here. Please don’t mention what I’ve said to Papa. He doesn’t like it being discussed.”

Of course he didn’t. He would not be pleased to discover his daughter had concocted a wild story to cover her indiscretion.

“I will not repeat our conversation, but if I smell smoke in the garden at night again, I will go to your father. He would want to know if Cousin Silas was roaming freely around the grounds after dark. If the man is dangerous, someone could get hurt.”

Laura yanked her hands away. “You must do what you think is right—but please don’t cause unnecessary trouble. Papa wouldn’t like it.”

He would dislike it even more if he thought his daughter was compromising her reputation by meeting a man at night. Especially as that man was not Mr Merry.

Chapter 13

William was dreaming. He was standing at the altar. Beside him was Miss Barrington, but he couldn’t see her face. His father stood before them, reading the marriage ceremony in a tone of voice more suited to a funeral.

The lady turned, and he saw that breathtaking expression again. He tried to raise his right hand, eager to capture the look that had eluded him for so long, but he discovered his wrist was shackled to the lady’s left. He pulled and pulled, but it held tight. Helpless, he watched as the expression on her face melted away until she had no features at all.

He awoke with a start. Throwing back the covers, William got out of bed, desperate to shake off the remnants of his dream. A blast of cold air hit him, and he grabbed his banyan from the chair and slipped it on over his nightshirt. How late was it? One o’clock, maybe two. The fire must have gone out long ago, as the embers had ceased to glow.

He walked over to the window and drew back the shutters. The clouds had cleared, revealing an almost full moon. The intensity of his dream played on his mind. Why had Miss Barrington’s attitude changed so dramatically toward him?

It had begun the evening Mr Jenkin had dined with them. One moment she had been ignoring him—the next, she was flirting outrageously. Was it to make the preventive officer jealous? But if that was the case, why did she commandeer his time when Mr Jenkin was not there to observe?

Had Mr Barrington urged his daughter to secure him as a husband? The notion was unnerving—as his dream proved. William wanted to paint her, not marry her.

Over the past few days, Miss Barrington’s entreaties had been endless. Would Mr Merry draw her silhouette? Could he turn for her whilst she played the pianoforte? Would he accept her challenge to a game of cards?

He knew he should have refused, but he had been helpless to resist, forcing poor Kitty to endure countless games of backgammon with Mr Barrington. Each time, he had hoped to provoke that look for his painting. But no matter what he did, it eluded him. Perhaps Kitty was right. He had become obsessed.

William shivered. It would be warmer in bed, but he couldn’t face going back to sleep. Not if he would have to relive that dream. The emotions it conjured were still raw. Overwhelming frustration and failure. He had gone against his father to devote himself to his art, and yet he seemed doomed to fail.

What he needed was a brisk ride or a swim in the sea to shake off this melancholy, but neither was possible at this time of night. What he could do was to stretch his legs, walking up and down the Long Gallery until he was ready to drop.

William tossed aside his nightcap and left his bedchamber. The corridor was dark. Not a single sconce was lit. Unperturbed, he fumbled his way along the hallway with his hands held out in front of him until they met the door leading to the landing at the top of the main stairs.

To his relief, it opened silently. He had no wish to draw attention to his presence, as he didn’t relish the prospect of explaining why he was prowling around the house at night if he was discovered.

Moonlight streamed through the window to his right, illuminating the uppermost part of the staircase. It grew dimmer as he passed down the hallway to the door of the Long Gallery ahead. Before he entered, William flicked his eyes down the passage to his left, where the family bedrooms were. He froze.

A tiny light flickered near the end of the corridor. He was not alone. Someone else was wandering around in the middle of the night.

Who? Mr Barrington? The man was not obliged to retire at the same time as the rest of the household and had the right to walk the corridors of his own house in the dark if he wanted. But what if it were not him? What if it were an intruder? William could not in all good conscience do nothing.

Reluctant to confront the person, who was in all probability Mr Barrington, he slipped across the hall into the Long Gallery and sped along its length. Provided he made no noise, he should be able to check if the candlelight belonged to someone who was not supposed to be there without alerting them to his presence.

William eased the door open. The corridor in front of him was dark. He took a step forward so he could see down the family corridor to his left and stopped. The flickering light was only a few feet away from him. It had not moved. Had he made too much sound? Did the person holding the candle know he was there? Were they doing as he was…waiting?

His own breath sounded loud in his ears. Should he creep back into the Long Gallery or wait it out? He stayed where he was and his patience paid off. The tiny glow started to move down the corridor. Away from him. William stayed stock still in the darkness, watching. Even if someone glanced in his direction, they would not be able to spot him in the shadows.

At least he hoped they wouldn’t.

Her candle held out before her, Kitty inched her way along the dark corridor to Laura’s room. It was a wonder the light didn’t wobble. She was so irritated by her friend’s behaviour.

Despite her warnings, the smoker was in the garden again. She might as well have saved her breath. It seemed Laura was determined to persist in her nighttime assignations. Did she have no care for her reputation?

And what about Mr Jenkin? Kitty had thought him a sensible man, but this did not raise him in her estimation. How could a riding officer, who must be used to keeping his presence a secret when tracking smugglers, be so careless as to light a cigar when visiting his sweetheart? Perhaps love had addled both of their brains.

She had a good mind to go straight to Hugh and alert him of his daughter’s wayward behaviour, but the notion of knocking on his door in the middle of the night filled her with trepidation. It was unlikely the smoker was a gardener wandering around the grounds at night, and even less likely it was the mad soldier who supposedly lived in the basement, but a seed of doubt remained. How embarrassing if she were wrong.