8. Chapter 8
Kitty walked up the cliff path after Laura. It was only to be expected that such a pretty girl should have admirers, but she hadn’t anticipated encountering two of them on her first full day on Portland.
To honour Hugh’s request, she must try to guard his daughter from unacceptable suitors. Did he have one of these gentlemen in mind when he had asked her to take on the role of protector, or had he been talking in general terms? How was she to know who he deemed unsuitable unless he was explicit?
Perhaps it was simpler than that. Her presence protected Laura from receiving any amorous attentions that her father might object to, whether or not he approved of the man in question.
She considered the two men they’d met. Did her friend favour either of them? Worse than that, had she planned to meet one of them? It was hard to tell.
Kitty could not criticise Mr Jenkin’s behaviour. Although his protective instincts had been aroused by the other man’s presence, he had acted the perfect gentleman. Only by the tenderness in his gaze when he looked at Laura was it clear he viewed her with anything more than friendly interest.
It was harder to judge the tall, blond-haired artist. The glazed-over look in his eyes led her to believe he was besotted with her friend—a belief that was supported by his persistence.
He was not the sort of man who accepted defeat. She suspected he was too used to getting his own way. The determined glint in his eye when he took his leave warned Kitty to expect another attack.
“You did not tell me you would be besieged by admirers the moment you stepped outdoors,” she said as they entered the garden through the gate in the wall.
“Oh! Do you think they admired me?” Laura asked, a faint blush colouring her cheeks, as though such a notion was novel.
“I would have thought that was obvious.”
“You’re mistaken about Mr Jenkin. He was merely looking out for me as the daughter of a gentleman he knows well.”
Kitty didn’t challenge Laura’s words, but she considered her dismissal of Mr Jenkin’s admiration a little too ardent.
“And the painter?”
Laura scowled. “I wish he would stop pestering me.”
“He’s persistent, but still young. I expect you’re the first woman to capture his fancy, and his infatuation will soon burn out.”
“How disappointing!”
“But I thought you didn’t want his adulation.”
“I don’t, but it is lowering to think that though my beauty engages a man’s interest, it does not last. It must be so much easier to be plain. You would not suspect a man of loving your face and not yourself.”
Was Laura serious? That she envied her and viewed her lack of beauty as a blessing.
It was a line of thinking Kitty had never considered before.
Though accustomed to acknowledging her own plainness, and usually unbothered by it, Laura’s words cut deep.
The worst of it was that her companion did not realise she had hurt her.
Kitty dug up every trace of self-pity before it could take root and smiled to herself. She had little control over the way she looked on the outside, but that did not stop her from becoming more beautiful on the inside. And that was a beauty that didn’t fade.
The following day, Laura begged Kitty to go for another walk down to the sea.
“Aren’t you worried the painter will pester you again?”
“I doubt he would be so imprudent after the way you dismissed him yesterday.”
Kitty was not so sure. Neither was she certain her companion wanted to avoid him. Was she protesting to hide her feelings?
As they left the garden through the gate in the wall, Kitty surveyed the area, seeking any sign of the artist’s presence.
There was none. A twinge of disappointment assailed her, which she dismissed as fast as it had come.
It mattered not a jot that she had enjoyed sparring with the painter, who was more handsome than any young man had the right to be.
White-blond hair, carelessly styled—wild, almost—but it suited him well. Clear blue eyes, which had gazed down at her with such engaging mischievousness as they had battled with words. That in itself was something that elicited her admiration. It was seldom that men had to gaze down at her.
More often, she matched their height or, as with the curate, exceeded it.
The artist’s cheeks were, perhaps, a little too full for perfection, but she imagined the years would bring about the leanness they lacked.
Yes, all in all, he was a remarkably handsome young man, but it would do her no good to dwell on it.
He was interested in Laura—not her. A gentleman like him wouldn’t look twice at her, even if she had a large dowry, which she had not.
Kitty hurried after her companion, who was moving down the path to the bay at a rapid pace. Near the water’s edge, a few men were loading a boat with slabs of stone from the nearby quarry, and they doffed their caps as they passed. Clearly, they were used to Laura’s presence in the cove.
They walked past two huts to the far side of the beach.
The sun shone, but there was a cool breeze, and Kitty appreciated the warmth of her pelisse.
It was then she noticed how lightly clad her companion was, wearing only a Spencer jacket over her muslin dress as protection against the chill.
Had Laura lived on Portland so long that she was immune to the cooling power of the wind?
It seemed not. After standing at the water’s edge for a short while, she shivered.
“Are you cold?” asked Kitty. “Shall we go home?”
“No! We’ve only just got here. Please don’t be concerned. I’ll be fine.”
“We could fetch your cloak from the house and then return.”
“I couldn’t climb up that steep path twice in one day. If I become too chilled, we’ll be forced to curtail our time outside. How foolish of me not to dress in something warmer.”
It was not long before she shivered again.
“We should go back. You’re getting cold. I would fetch your cloak for you, but I can’t—”
“Would you?” Laura bit her lip and shot her a grateful look. “That would be so kind. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
The extra climb didn’t bother her, but Kitty was loath to leave her companion alone on the beach. If the girl was planning to meet someone, this would provide her with an excellent opportunity.
“Your father would not like you to remain here unchaperoned.”
“You’ll only be gone a few minutes at most.” Laura waved her hand toward the jetty, where the men were working on their boats. “They won’t bother me—and there’s no one else about.”
Kitty glanced around. It was true. The rest of the beach was deserted. There was no sign of Mr Jenkin or the painter, but it made her uneasy that Laura was so eager to be left alone. She would be gone at least half an hour. “I still don’t think—”
“What harm do you suppose will come to me? I know these people. They’ll rush to my aid if I call.”
Kitty felt pushed into a corner. Though Hugh would want her to stay with his daughter, if she continued to object, she might lose her friendship.
She cast another look at Laura’s short jacket. “Very well, but you had better exchange your Spencer for my pelisse or you’ll be frozen before I return.”
The two ladies swapped their outer clothing, and after promising not to be long, Kitty turned on her heel and hurried back up the hill. She slipped through the door in the wall and sped up the lawn to the house. With Laura’s cloak in hand, she retraced her steps.
As she left the garden, she almost collided with someone. A tall, male someone.
The artist. His white-blond hair had been mussed by the wind, but there was no smudge of paint on his cheek to mar his appearance today.
He greeted her with a saucy grin, and Kitty’s heart fluttered, despite itself. The man was a nuisance. He had no right to dazzle unsuspecting females with that smile, especially when it was meant for someone else.
She glowered at him, more severely than he deserved, because she was so irritated with herself for reacting like that. He backed off when he saw her scowl and made no attempt to bar her way.
Kitty escaped, hurrying down the path as fast as she could to where she’d left her friend, keen not to leave her alone with this man in the vicinity. She was halfway down before she realised he was trailing behind her.
If she continued to the beach, he would be able to pester Laura again, which was, no doubt, his intent. Her only option was to dissuade him from his pursuit.
She jerked to a halt and turned around to face him so sharply that he almost walked into her. “Please stop following me.”
“Not until your friend lets me paint her.”
Would he never give up? What would it feel like to inspire such determination? She would never find out. No one would seek her acquaintance hoping to paint her.
She pleaded ignorant. “What friend?”
“Miss Barrington. The owner of that cloak.”
“How do you know it’s not mine?”
“Because if it were yours, you’d be wearing it.”
Kitty bit back a smile at his logic. She had to admire his persistence, though his propensity to talk to ladies to whom he had not been introduced was highly improper.
But did she still merit that right? She was no longer Miss Bruce of Lilac Cottage, Pendlebury.
Would she have to get used to men taking such liberties with her?
He folded his arms across his chest. “Please continue down the path or move aside.”
She stood her ground. It was her duty to protect Laura’s reputation. “No.” If she were to obey Hugh’s request, she must try to stop his daughter from meeting with this Adonis, particularly if she had a partiality for him. Kitty could not blame her if she did.
He shot her a boyish grin. “I could lift you out of my way if you’d prefer.”
“It is no more than I would expect. You are no gentleman.”
He raised his eyebrows at that, but she continued to speak. “Harassing young ladies with unwanted attentions and now threatening them.”
He shrugged. “If you think so poorly of me, I have nothing to lose.”
Before Kitty realised what he was doing, he circled her waist with his hands and swivelled her around, placing her behind him on the path.
“Pray excuse me”—he gave a mocking bow—“but my paintbrush has an appointment with your friend.”
She blushed up to the roots of her hair. How dare he? She had never been manhandled like that before. It was not as if he were her brother.
Not pausing to dwell on the fact that she had rather enjoyed the sensation, she hurried after the blond-haired man, who was striding down the hill at quite a speed.
To Kitty’s satisfaction, a glance toward the bottom of the cliff path showed her an empty beach. Laura must have overheard their heated exchange and hidden behind the nearby rocks.
Sure enough, as Kitty reached the foot of the hill, her friend emerged from her hiding place. There were two spots of colour in her cheeks. The question was, who had put them there? The persistent artist or someone else?
She glanced up at the cliffs and spotted a man three-quarters of the way up an even steeper path than the one they used. Was that Mr Jenkin? The man whom Laura was adamant did not admire her?
Her friend rounded on the blond-haired man beside her. “You! Have you nothing better to do than plague my footsteps?”
“Let me paint you, Miss Barrington.”
“What makes you think I want to be painted by a common artist?”
He seemed affronted at the insinuation. “Common? Why would you assume I’m a common artist?”
Laura fell silent, and Kitty stepped into the breach. “If you were a portrait painter like Mr Lawrence, you would have a studio and wouldn’t have to harass unwilling ladies into sitting for you.”
“Another assumption. How can you be sure I haven’t got a studio in London?”
Kitty huffed. “How do we even know you can paint? Maybe it’s just an excuse to approach us. After all, you’re very young to be a proper artist.”
Annoyance flashed in his eyes. Her words had hit their mark. “Did you know Lawrence was painting portraits at the age of ten?”
“So?”
“Talent has nothing to do with age.”
“If you’re so gifted, prove it.”
The man opened the satchel slung over his shoulder and pulled out a sketchbook. Though it was she who had challenged his abilities, to her irritation, he held out the book to Laura, as if hers was the opinion that mattered.
When she refused to take it, Kitty had her chance. Curious to see inside, she snatched it from his grasp.
She flicked through the contents. Some were mere sketches—others were watercolours. One thing was obvious. Despite what a nuisance he was, the man was talented.
Kitty’s admiration melted away, however, when she flipped the page and was confronted with a sketch of Laura. She turned over, and there was another, and another. The book contained more than a dozen images of Miss Barrington. Some full length—others, just her face.
“How dare you draw my friend without her permission?”
“Of course, I dare. It’s not as if she made her face. It’s as much God’s creation as the sea or these rocks.”
Kitty started to reply, but stopped. Bother the man. She supposed he was right. He hadn’t broken into Laura’s home to take her likeness. Her companion had put herself in his path by coming here.
And judging by the number of sketches, Kitty wondered if Laura was avoiding his attentions as much as she claimed.
The tell-tale blush on her cheeks had all the appearance of a secret liaison—a liaison she had interrupted by her presence.
A presence that had been disposed of efficiently by sending her back to the house to get her cloak.
Had she been duped? Could she trust a woman who treated her like that? With deception rather than honesty.
Linking arms with her companion, Kitty forced her to turn away from the artist and walk across the beach toward the cliffs.
Laura might make a mockery of her supposed desire to be her friend, but at least Kitty could do her duty to Mr Barrington and keep a better eye on his daughter.
She would not be so gullible again.