Page 49 of A Misguided Devotion

The slight tremor in her voice unmanned him. He had hurt her. “I’m sorry. Truly. I meant no harm.”

“You never do.”

Ouch. He was still not forgiven. “I wasn’t lying. Your fingers are elegant.”

“I’m glad there is some part of me that passes muster. Oh no—two parts. I believe you also complimented me on my fine ankles.”

William felt as if he had been slapped in the face. By praising her hands and feet, he had inadvertently insulted the rest of her appearance.

“I see you are speechless. No wonder you thought me so desperate that I would accept the advances of a man old enough to be my father, whether or not they were honourable. What do you think attracted him? My elegant fingers or my fine ankles?”

As he had heard his sisters rant a great deal over the years, William was not overly alarmed by Kitty’s words. It would be wise to let her finish, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaping in with another apology.

“I already said I was sorry for jumping to conclusions.” Conclusions he should never have made, given all he had learned of her upright character.

“Nevertheless, you jumped to them, and without even knowing about—”

Eyes wide, she broke off, sucking in her lips, as if she could recall the words that had just cascaded from her mouth.

That was curious. “Without knowing what?”

Kitty hung her head.

“It might surprise you to know that underneath my bravado, I have a tender heart.” Or he had once. Before he buried it under his self-absorption. It must still be there, because Kitty’s obvious distress was stirring it. “I have four sisters, whom I have listened to on many occasions. Try me.”

The silence stretched out as Kitty struggled to find the words to begin. It was a melancholy tale without a happy ending.

“Do you know how I came to be here—as Laura’s companion?” she asked. “Because no one else wanted me. As you have already guessed, my grandfather left me very little to live on. His final wish was that I visit his sister—Mr Barrington’s mother.”

William paused his paintbrush in mid-air. “Then you and Mr Barrington are family?”

“No, we are not.”

“I don’t understand. Do they refuse to acknowledge the relationship?”

“There is no relationship. I suppose you will pester me until you have the whole—my grandfather was not my papa’s sire. I have been told he was an aristocrat. Whoever he was, he didn’t want his son. My grandmother married the man I’ve known as my grandfather all my life, and he brought me and my brother up after the death of our parents.”

“Was Mrs Barrington kind to you, for her brother’s sake?”

A harsh bark of laughter erupted from Kitty’s mouth. “You have not met her, so I forgive your ignorance, but no, she was not kind. She hated my grandmother and exacted her revenge on me. After telling me the truth about my father’s birth, she ordered me to leave. I had to beg her to let me stay as a servant in her home, and she only agreed to keep me if I took my grandmother’s maiden name.”

She swiped a hand across her face, brushing away the tears she had not realised had formed. “I lost everything—my standing as a lady, my respectability, even my name.”

William laid down his paintbrush and delved into his pocket. He produced a paint-stained handkerchief and held it out to her.

“The paint’s dry. I’m afraid all my handkerchiefs are the same.”

With a weak smile and a word of thanks she took it and dabbed at her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. Mr Barrington’s mother sounds like a veritable dragon, twisted up with spite. Perhaps what she told you isn’t true.”

“I’ve already considered that, but if my grandfather believed my papa was legitimate, as his wife always claimed, why did he never tell me and my brother the truth about our ancestry?”

“You have a point. Is there any way to check? Do you know where your father was born?”

“Here in Dorset. Mrs Barrington said the baptismal record is in the register of St Mary’s Melcombe Regis, in Weymouth.”

“Have you been to look?”