Page 59 of A Misguided Devotion

A lesser woman would stoop, bowed down by the blows that life had dealt her, but not Kitty. She held her head up high, and William had a sudden desire to include her in his drawing.

“Go and join your friend, Kitty. Let me draw both of you gazing out over the water.”

Her steely glare was back. “What do you hope to achieve by that? I have no wish for the comparison.”

William refused to be thwarted. “Two ladies looking out to sea is a more interesting composition. Miss Barrington,” he said in a louder voice. “Persuade Miss Lacey to join you, so I can draw you together.”

“What a splendid idea, Mr Merry. You must turn your sketch into an oil painting for me to hang in my house when I’m married. It will be how I’ll always remember you, Kitty. A loyal companion.”

“I have no desire to be painted, thank you,” she said in a tight voice.

“Nonsense!” Miss Barrington walked over to them and looped her arm through her companion’s. “Come, we must appease the artist. Perhaps we’ll end up on display in the Royal Academy exhibition.”

Kitty made no further complaint, though the stiffness of her posture suggested she was still not happy with the arrangement.

“Forget I am here, Miss Lacey. Imagine a boat sailing toward you, bringing your brother home to England.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath, but his words had the desired effect. Her shoulders relaxed, and he thought she showed to advantage as he sketched her willowy figure next to Miss Barrington’s more rounded form.

“You can turn around now,” he said. “I’ve finished.”

Both women walked over, and Kitty took the sketchbook from his hands. Her friend uttered a string of compliments as she studied the drawing, but it was not until Kitty’s lips curled into a gentle smile that he felt satisfied with what he had depicted.

As Miss Barrington raised her eyes from the page, her face lit up. His chest tightened. He snatched his sketchbook from Kitty’s hands and frantically began to draw.

It was the expression he had been waiting for—and he was desperate to capture it on paper before it disappeared.

All else was forgotten as William’s pencil raced across the page. His heart thrummed in his chest as he raised his eyes to Miss Barrington’s face again and again, each time adding a few more strokes to his picture as he reproduced what he saw.

Never in his life had he sketched so fast, but it was worth it. As he stared down at the drawing, he pressed his lips together, struggling to contain his laughter. He’d done it. With this as his guide, he would be able to make subtle adjustments to Miss Barrington’s portrait that would bring it alive.

He raised his gaze one last time to check he hadn’t missed anything, but it was too late. The expressive eyes and soft lips had gone. His muse was gazing across the cove, frowning.

William turned around to see what had provoked the change. Mr Jenkin was strolling over the pebbles toward them. Poor man. That didn’t augur well for him if he had elicited that frown. He must be smitten to pursue Miss Barrington, even though her interest seemed to have waned.

His conscience twinged at the realisation that he might be responsible for that, but he quickly banished it. Mr Barrington would never condone the match with the riding officer, so it was already doomed.

“Ladies, Mr Merry,” the man said with a stiff bow. “May I wish you many happy returns of the day, Miss Barrington?”

“You may. I trust you have recovered from the scare you had at Cave Hole.”

“Thank you, I have. Your father was correct,” he said in a measured tone. “It was a careless mistake. I should have been paying more attention.”

“I see your bruises are yet to heal. You still give the impression of having walked into a wall.”

“Would you have me stay at home until they are better, Miss Barrington?” he asked, lifting his brow and fixing her with an inquisitive look.

Her cheeks pinked under his gaze, and after a moment’s hesitation, she turned away. “No, indeed. There must be urgent matters demanding your attention, which I would not want you to delay.”

“There are. Thank you for your understanding.”

“Why do you need my daughter’s understanding, Jenkin?” demanded Mr Barrington, marching across the beach to where they were standing. William had not even noticed his approach.

“Merely that my duty will not wait for my battle wounds to heal, sir.”

“Alas, no. The perils of your occupation.”

Mr Jenkin twisted to face William. “How is your work progressing, Mr Merry? Is it nearly done?”