9. Chapter 9
Mr Penn’s portrait was finished, and William had run out of time to win Miss Barrington’s favour through charm alone. But there were more ways than one to woo a lady reluctant to be painted. He was confident a word or two with the Governor would gain him an introduction to her father.
He was not mistaken. Mr Penn was so eager to help that he invited his neighbour over for dinner the same evening.
“Lord Droxford, allow me to present a fellow landowner, Mr Barrington.” The Governor rested a hand on William’s shoulder. “This young man is the Duchess of Wessex’s grandson and heir to the new Lord Harting. I have known him since he was a boy, when he was a frequent visitor to Weymouth.”
The gentlemen bowed and took stock of each other. William struggled to see any resemblance between the middle-aged man and his beautiful daughter. He noted, however, that Mr Barrington’s eyes lit up with interest at his credentials—a sure sign that his plan would work.
“What brings you to Portland, your lordship?” he asked as they sat.
“Painting. I’ve just completed a portrait of Mr Penn.”
“An artist? Unusual for someone of your rank. May I see the finished piece?”
The Governor jumped at the chance to show off the picture. Mr Barrington was full of praise. Even William admitted it was one of his best—but a portrait of the man’s beautiful daughter would be better.
“And what is your next project, your lordship? Duty or pleasure?”
“Pleasure, I hope.” Duty could wait.
“That sounds somewhat uncertain,” Mr Barrington said. “Have you no fixed plans?”
“That is the difficulty,” William replied. “I have found my muse, but I need permission to paint her. Your permission.”
The man’s eyebrows snapped together. “You’ve met my daughter? I trust you did not find her alone.”
His voice was thick with disapproval and William thought it politic to gloss over his first encounter with Miss Barrington.
“I confess I was so taken by her beauty I tried to approach her, but her companion did an excellent job of fending me off.”
“Ah yes. Miss Lacey. An admirable woman. So composed in the face of adversity. Not given over to excessive sensibility.”
Adversity? It was said in such a matter-of-fact way that it evoked a sympathetic curiosity.
What trouble had Kitty suffered that had thrust her into her current position?
Had her family fallen on hard times? Surely not.
The lady had overflowed with confidence when challenging him, which seemed at odds with such a notion.
“She has only recently joined our household,” Mr Barrington said. “I hope she will make it her permanent home. It is such a blessing to know my daughter has a respectable companion. Laura is so innocent. She is not aware that her beauty draws men like bees to honey.”
“The first moment I saw Miss Barrington, I knew I had to paint her. Would you allow me—or do I ask too much?—to take your incomparable daughter’s likeness?”
Mr Barrington licked his lips, as if he were a wild animal eyeing up his prey.
A trickle of unease slid down William’s neck.
Was the man reading more into his request than was there, judging him as a prospective son-in-law, not as a painter?
But if it got him what he wanted, did it matter?
Kitty would protect Miss Barrington’s reputation. William was sure of it.
He raked a hand through his hair and waited for Mr Barrington’s answer.
“I would be delighted. I never could persuade her mother to sit for her portrait, and it would be a comfort to me to look upon Laura’s countenance when she has married and left the family home.”
“And that they do, Mr Barrington,” the Governor said with a sigh. “All too soon they are gone. I can’t believe your daughter has come of age without being snapped up.”
There was a slight narrowing of the man’s brow. “You are mistaken, Mr Penn. Laura does not turn twenty-one for another week, but it’s true I’ve been unwilling to let my precious girl go. I will continue to hold on to her tightly until someone I deem worthy aspires to her hand.”
He gave William a significant stare, which sent heat creeping up his neck. If the man suspected him of wanting to initiate a clandestine courtship, then he would be disappointed. All he wanted was to paint his daughter.
“When can you start?” Mr Barrington asked.
“Tomorrow. I’ll drive over to Portland from my grandmother’s home in Weymouth each day—”
“Nonsense. You must stay at Rufus House whilst you are working on Laura’s portrait.”
That would not be a sensible idea. “I would not like to impose—”
The man lifted his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.
“My presence in your home would attract undue notice. It might lead to unpleasant speculation. I could not forgive myself if my desire to paint your daughter cast aspersions on her reputation.”
“That would be unfortunate indeed,” said Mr Barrington, though judging by the gleam in his eye, William doubted he meant it. The man would probably help the rumours if it won him a viscount for a son-in-law.
William’s unease must have shown on his face.
“You are worrying unduly, your lordship. Miss Lacey will keep my daughter’s reputation intact.”
Perhaps he was right. She had bested him in their last two encounters. But if word got out that he was staying with Mr Barrington, it might still cause him some problems.
“Let me be frank. Before my father inherited the earldom, I was plain Mr Merry—of interest to no one.” Not strictly true, but near enough.
“Now I am Lord Droxford, the situation has changed. I fear that were my presence in your house to be known, you would be inundated with inquisitive callers, my work would be interrupted, and I would be unable to complete your daughter’s portrait before duty called me away. ”
The duty he had no intention of bowing to, but Mr Barrington didn’t need to know that.
The man leaned toward him. “Then don’t be Lord Droxford while you’re staying with me.
Return to being plain Mr Merry for a while.
We would not wish Laura or Miss Lacey to be overawed by your title any more than we would want your work to be disturbed by unwanted callers.
I am sure Mr Penn can keep your presence in my house a secret.
As long as you don’t attend church services with us, no one need know where you are until the portrait is done. ”
William’s heart thrummed with excitement.
This was what he had longed for. Freedom to devote himself to painting his muse with no fear of interruption from matchmaking mothers or family members eager to remind him of his duty.
It shouldn’t be hard to maintain the image of an artist who painted for a living.
He could manage without Keating for a few weeks, and he was sure Mr Penn could be persuaded to accommodate his father’s carriage until he was ready to leave.
If he were fortunate, no one would get wind of where he was, and he could just paint.
He bowed his head. “An excellent idea. I look forward to being introduced to Miss Barrington and her companion tomorrow.”
As the words passed his lips, William recalled the speculation in Mr Barrington’s eyes. What if he pressured his daughter to pursue him? Or engineered a situation that forced him to offer for her. Should he cry off?
No. There was a risk, but it was minimal. Even if Miss Barrington set her sights on him, he could rely on Kitty to scuttle any attempt to compromise her friend’s reputation.
Were the risk ten times as big, it would be worth it to paint his muse. If he could capture his Aphrodite on canvas, he felt sure the Royal Academy would accept the portrait for their annual exhibition. Even his father would be impressed.
The ladies were out walking when William arrived at Rufus House the next day, and they didn’t meet until they gathered in the drawing room before dinner.
He rose to his feet as Miss Barrington entered, followed by her companion. At the sight of him, his muse’s smile faltered. He would have to work on changing her attitude toward him. Perhaps he should try a contrite expression, as though he were truly apologetic for intruding on her space.
It was a noble intention, but then his eyes flitted to Kitty’s face. Her tight mouth and flared nostrils were even less welcoming, but they made William want to grin like a boy who had just been victorious in a game of spillikins.
She could flare her nostrils at him all she liked. He had won this battle—and the prize was to paint his Aphrodite.
Mr Barrington drew the ladies forward to be introduced. “Laura, Miss Lacey, allow me to present Mr Merry.”
The two women curtseyed, and William bowed first to Miss Barrington and then to her friend. Unable to resist, he bent a little lower toward Kitty, emphasising his triumph at getting what he wanted.
“It is a pleasure to meet you both at last.”
At her father’s suggestion, Miss Barrington took the seat beside William on the sofa, but she shuffled as far as she could away from him, as if he had an infectious disease.
“Mr Merry has just completed a magnificent portrait of the Governor,” the man said to his daughter, “and I have invited him to be our guest at Rufus House while he paints your likeness.”
Miss Barrington gripped her hands together in her lap and flashed William a half-hearted smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “How lovely.”
Before they could move past a discussion of the weather, the footman announced that dinner was served.
Mr Barrington held out his arm to Kitty, forcing his daughter to accept William’s escort into the dining room. The beauty kept her head bowed, laying her fingertips on his coat sleeve, as if determined to minimise her contact with him.
It was not a promising start, but William had every confidence in his ability to coax a smile out of her before too long.
It was a necessary skill for a portraitist to elicit the expression he most wanted to capture on canvas, and Miss Barrington would doubtless soften toward him now she knew he had her father’s approval.