Page 6 of A Misguided Devotion

“Must I wait until I’m twenty-one? I would benefit from the freedom of having my own space now. You don’t want my clients knocking on your door.”

“I should think not. Your grandmother might dote on you more than is good for you, but even she would baulk at the idea of you turning part of her house into a studio.”

William’s frustration mounted. “Then where am I to paint, or must I keep visiting people in their homes?”

“I want you to spend some time here with me, learning how to run the property that will one day be yours. My father never took the trouble to ensure his sons were educated in estate management, and so I am left to acquire this knowledge rather later in life than I would choose. Thankfully, it need not be like that for you. I’ve seen so little of you of late, and I don’t want my only son to be a stranger. We could learn together—”

The cold snake of duty wound its way around William’s body. It wasn’t fair. His father had been free to do what he wanted all these years. Shouldn’t he be allowed to do the same?

“There is time enough for that. You always said my ability to paint was a gift from God. It is my duty to make the most of my talent, and to do that, I need to be in London so I can study at the Royal Academy.”

“This is not the right time—”

“Why not? I spent three years at Cambridge to please you. Three years when I would rather have been studying art. As a dutiful son, I pushed my own desires aside so I could follow in your footsteps. My studies are finished. I’ve gained my degree. And now, when I’m finally free to pursue my own path, you tell me it’s not the right time?”

His father’s eyes dimmed. “I didn’t realise attending university was so abhorrent to you.”

Guilt tweaked William’s conscience, but he dismissed it. Three years ago, he’d been too unsure of himself to object to going up to Cambridge, but his parents must have known his heart wasn’t in it.

Father laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know it sounds like I’m asking a lot—”

William shook off his touch. “You are. Too much.”

Ignoring his outburst, Father continued. “I regret to say that my brother has not managed the estate well. He has pursued profit over the welfare of his tenants. Even though I have been earl only a few hours, I have seen enough over the past months to realise we have no small task ahead, to right his neglect and care for all who now rely on us.”

“On you, Father. Not us.”

“This is your path too. I do not know how long it will be before you inherit. God willing, I’ll live to a ripe old age, and you’ll have years to prepare for this. But whether or not you like it, this is your destiny. One day, unless God sees fit to take you home before me, you will become earl and take over the responsibility of running this property. You must ensure it is managed well and teach your son to care for the estate and its people after you.”

The snake of duty tightened around William’s throat. He could barely breathe.

“So, I have no choice in the matter. I am to learn to manage land I don’t own and settle down with a wife and produce sons to run the estate after me.”

“Perhaps I am expecting you to grow up too fast. It is a lot of responsibility for your young shoulders to bear.”

William felt the weight of obligation bearing down on him. Part of him wanted to yield, to bring an approving smile to his father’s lips, but if he accepted these duties now, they would suffocate his dreams. He needed more time.

He tried to laugh it off to lessen the disappointment on Father’s face. “Thank heavens it is not my responsibility yet. In your own estimation, I am but a boy. If I’m not to have my own lodgings in London until I reach my majority in March, you cannot expect me to take a hand in the estate until then. Next, you’ll be suggesting I settle down with a wife before my twenty-first birthday.”

“I would not recommend it. Though I imagine the right spouse would ground you as your mother did me, you are of an age and disposition where you would be more likely to choose the wrong woman, and that is a mistake which would lead to a lifetime of regret.”

His words fuelled William’s anger. Did his entire family believe he was unready for marriage and incapable of choosing a suitable bride? Was his judgement so faulty? Charlotte thought nothing mattered to him but beauty. His mother believed he would be blind to love if it stared him in the face. Now his father had joined in the attack.

He returned to the subject closest to his heart. “Does that mean I can’t go to the Royal Academy?”

His father sighed. “Are you not moved by the plight of our hitherto neglected tenants?”

“I am sure you are more than able to look after them. They are just like a fresh set of parishioners.”

“The young Will would have jumped at the chance of spending time with me. Has university changed you so much? Don’t you care for anything other than your painting?”

Of course he did, but like a dog with a bone, William refused to let go of his ambition, and the more it was wrenched from his jaw, the harder he held on. If he remained at Holybourne House for an indefinite period, would he ever get to the Royal Academy? Would he be forced to abandon painting altogether because it wasn’t a fit activity for one of his rank?

William tilted his head up. “Are you ordering me to stay, your lordship?”

“I’m asking you.”

“Then I politely decline. If you do not choose to finance my studies at the Royal Academy, perhaps Grandmama can be persuaded to support me instead.”