Page 8 of A Misguided Devotion

Having written to her brother to inform him of her new direction, she had sewn her mother’s pearls and two guineas into the hem of her petticoat and packed all her belongings into a battered trunk. With the rest of her money stored safely in her reticule, she had boarded the stagecoach with no regrets and set off for the unknown.

After travelling for three days, Kitty’s confidence was waning. Her stock of coins was running thin, and she’d already broken into one of the guinea pieces in her petticoat. She had also had far too much time to think. What if Mrs Barrington was dead or away? If she was at home, would she welcome her visit?

There was a real possibility she wouldn’t. What did the closing line of the letter say? For the love she once had for me. It sounded as if there had been a falling out and, given the fact that her grandfather had never mentioned he had a sister, Kitty could only assume it had happened a long time ago. If Mrs Barrington refused to see her, what would she do?

Before panic could take a grip, she took herself to task. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Catherine Bruce. You will do what you always do—trust God and use your common sense.

As the stagecoach trundled down the turnpike from Dorchester and passed over the ridge, Kitty glimpsed the sea for the first time and forgot all else until it disappeared from sight as the road dipped on its approach to Weymouth. After passing through the last tollgate, the coach veered right and swept along the seafront. The waves rolled in, white and frothy, over the sand.

The stagecoach turned off the Esplanade and continued down what she thought must be the main street of the town, boasting a variety of shops and the church. Before it reached the end of the road, it turned into the yard of the Golden Lion and came to a halt.

Clutching her reticule to her stomach, Kitty allowed the other occupants of the carriage to leave before descending the steps. Her feet tottered as they touched the ground. The journey had seemed endless, and it took a few moments for her to get used to the lack of motion. She gazed at the busyness surrounding her. The ostlers unharnessing the horses, the coachman shouting to someone on the other side of the yard, and her fellow passengers waiting with growing impatience for the assortment of trunks and parcels and bandboxes stowed on the coach roof to be unloaded.

A man deposited her trunk at her feet, bringing Kitty back to the reality of her situation. This was not her journey’s end. If she were to arrive at Dumbarton House today, she needed to hire a conveyance as soon as possible. She glanced down at her pelisse and grimaced. She was in a far less pristine condition than that in which she’d left. Her clothes were creased from sitting for so long, and her skin was itching for a wash. It was tempting to stop to freshen up her appearance, but she dared not spend any more of her slim funds, as she did not know what lay ahead.

Though she would have liked to walk down to the seafront to more fully appreciate the water lapping over the beach, it would do no good to put off the meeting.

After several attempts, she secured an ostler’s attention. “Please, is there someone who can take me and my trunk to Dumbarton House in Wyke Regis?”

The lad whistled. “Hey, Drake. Lady needs transport to Mrs B’s place in Wyke.”

That was a start. At least it sounded as though Mrs Barrington was alive and still at the address her grandfather had given her.

An older man walked toward her. “That your trunk, miss?”

When Kitty nodded, he lifted it onto his shoulder as if it weighed no more than her bandbox, strode across the yard and deposited it in the back of his cart. He offered her a hand to climb up onto the bench and then took his place beside her.

Mr Drake drove through the archway and along the street where the church stood, and turned right, toward the harbour. Almost at once, they passed over a bridge and headed up a steep hill. As they reached the brow, he gave her a sideways glance before returning his attention to his horse.

“What takes a lass like yourself to Mrs Barrington’s house, miss, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Family,” Kitty replied, unwilling to say more, though the man’s interest sounded fatherly rather than impertinent.

“Oh.” The man lapsed into silence. That didn’t inspire confidence. What manner of woman would she find at her destination?

Kitty concentrated on the pleasure of the drive in the open air after being cooped up in the coach for so long. The road rose high behind the town, and the view over the fields toward the blue sea beyond was delightful.

Mr Drake pulled up his carriage at a modest white building. It seemed rather presumptuous to have named anything so small Dumbarton House. Then her eyes drifted to the imposing iron gates beside it and Kitty realised her mistake. This was just the lodge.

At Mr Drake’s call, a man came outside. “Yes?”

“I’ve a lady to see Mrs Barrington.”

“Leave her here. ‘Tis only a new maid. She can walk.”

“I said I have a lady here, Smith. Open up so I can drive her to the door.”

Amidst excessive grumbling, the man did as he was bid, and Mr Drake drove through the gates, up the tree-lined avenue, and stopped outside a white house with a pillared entranceway.

Mr Drake jumped down from the bench and turned to help her. He might only be a carrier, but he acted like a gentleman. He hefted the trunk out from the back of his cart and placed it on the ground beside her.

Kitty fished into her reticule for the agreed amount, trying not to notice how slim her supply of coins had become. With a word of thanks, she handed over the sum, and he was about to remount the bench when he seemed to have second thoughts.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right, lass? Wouldn’t you rather wait until morning? I can bring you back on the morrow, if you like.”

It was tempting. To arrive on the doorstep of a person whom she had never met would be daunting in the best of circumstances. Travel-stained and weary, the prospect was dismal, but the paucity of her funds swayed her.

“Thank you, but I will be just fine.”