Page 55 of A Misguided Devotion

“It would be my pleasure to take them,” said Mr Jenkin. “I have plenty of room for both ladies in my phaeton.”

“A generous offer,” the older man replied, “but given what happened last night, I am surprised you can spare the time.”

The riding officer’s expression hardened, but his tone remained even. “I doubt the smugglers will operate in broad daylight.”

Mr Barrington gave a nod of acknowledgement, but William sensed he would prefer the man to be caught up with his duties rather than squiring the ladies around Portland.

“Then it is decided. We’ll all go together, as I’m certain our resident artist would not wish to miss out. My curricle needs an airing. How would you like to try out my greys, Mr Merry, and drive Laura to see the spectacle?”

All eyes fell on William. If he wanted to object, now was the moment. He had planned to take Kitty into Weymouth that afternoon, but as she had already expressed a desire to see Cave Hole, the trip would have to be postponed, whether or not he accompanied them. With both ladies looking at him so expectantly, he had not the heart to refuse. “I would be honoured.”

“Excellent. Shall we say three o’clock? Now, if you will excuse us, Mr Jenkin and I have the activities of the nefarious smuggling community to discuss, and Mr Merry has a portrait to complete.”

As William headed for the Long Gallery with the two women, he wondered how wise it was to drive Mr Barrington’s curricle with his daughter as the only passenger. It was foolish of him to risk raising the man’s expectations that he would marry her.

It was one thing to flirt with her when she was set against him, but now she had warmed to him, he was walking on thin ice—and he had no desire for a freezing cold bath.

William painted whilst Kitty continued to read Coelebs aloud. It provided a peaceful backdrop—her alto tone creating a rhythm that allowed him to concentrate on his work. Miss Barrington sat as still as a statue, without complaint. So different from the awkwardness of the early sessions.

Despite the late start that morning, after two hours’ painting, the portrait was all but finished. Not that William was ready to admit it to the others. Brush in hand, he stared at the canvas on his easel. Miss Barrington’s face stared back at him—beautiful, but cold. Something about the eyes still wasn’t quite right. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t reproduce the light he’d seen in their depths the first time they’d met.

“Are you finished yet, Mr Merry?” asked Laura, cutting across Kitty’s reading. “I am sick of wearing this white gown, day after day, and wish to change into something else for our drive out to Cave Hole.”

Her eyes lit up with excitement as she spoke of the planned outing. The alteration arrested his attention. It was not the expression he wanted, but it was closer. Could he prompt it by evoking the correct memory?

“Just a few more minutes.”

“Very well, Mr Merry. Kitty, start reading again.”

“Could we have a break from listening to Coelebs, please? I would like to talk instead.”

Her companion closed the book and looked expectantly at him.

“What is your fondest memory, Miss Barrington?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I can—”

“Please try. It’s important.”

“Very well.” For a moment her eyes glazed over, and William thought his ploy would work, but then she recounted a story about a black cat she had been given as a child. When she finished her lengthy description of the animal’s antics, he was no nearer capturing the desired expression.

“What about you, Kitty? What’s your favourite memory?” she asked.

A humorous smile played about her friend’s mouth. “Why—being rescued from a life of servitude with your grandmother.”

Miss Barrington laughed. “I don’t think she is ever happy unless she’s making someone else’s existence a misery. It’s as though all the joy was sucked out of her a long time ago. I visit as rarely as I can get away with. She always finds something to criticise. It must have been horrendous for you to be at her beck and call.”

“I was grateful enough for a roof over my head, but being your companion is a far pleasanter role.”

“You are the opposite of my grandmother,” Laura said. “Someone pumped you with extra joy. You always seem content, although life has been unfair to you.”

“I’m thankful for what I have.”

There was something in Kitty’s tone that drew William’s gaze, and the expression he saw in her eyes contradicted Miss Barrington’s words. There was an emptiness there that jerked at his heartstrings.

Kitty blinked hard, and the look was gone, but William had seen it. That few others noticed did not mean the pain wasn’t there.

Her friend seemed oblivious. “And you, Mr Merry? What is your favourite memory?”