9. Chapter 9 #2
As he took his seat at the table, he shifted his gaze to her companion. Kitty had stopped flaring her nostrils at him, but her pursed lips suggested she was yet to forgive him for gaining entry to Rufus House.
He could not remember ever provoking such contempt in a lady, and the experience was unnerving. Though confident of charming Miss Barrington out of her indifference, he was less certain about her companion.
Would Kitty prove to be the one woman who would not succumb to his charm?
Kitty pressed her lips together and glared at Mr Merry. She had not missed the triumphant gleam in his eyes or his exaggerated bow. They had battled for mastery of the situation—and she had lost.
How had the arrogant artist wheedled his way into Hugh’s good graces and become his guest? There would be no avoiding him now.
Kitty continued to glare at him, and the longer she glared, the more she saw. His evening clothes were of the highest quality. His speech, his polished manners, even his impudence spoke of a society man who was used to getting his own way.
It began to make sense why Hugh would welcome him into his home. Mr Merry was not a penniless artist.
“I am eager to start painting your incomparable daughter tomorrow, Mr Barrington,” he said.
Hugh gave him an approving nod. “That is what I like to see—a man committed to his path. It is providential when inclination and duty collide.”
Mr Merry dipped his head in response. “Indeed, it is.”
Kitty couldn’t help noticing that when he raised his gaze again, his smile no longer reached the well-established crinkles around his eyes.
Interesting. Had Laura’s father inadvertently touched on a sore point?
As she could not doubt the younger man’s inclination to paint, she surmised it was the reference to duty that had caused his grin to falter.
“Where would you like my daughter to sit for her portrait?” Hugh asked.
“I need a room with plenty of natural light where she will be at her ease. Where would you suggest?”
The question was directed at Laura, but she did not raise her eyes from her plate.
“Laura?”
Hugh spoke her name gently, but colour rushed into his daughter’s cheeks.
“How about the Long Gallery?” she said, lifting her chin as she replied to her father.
“An excellent suggestion. I believe the alcove on the south side of the house has enough windows to provide sufficient light. We will examine the space after dinner and judge whether it is suitable for your needs, Mr Merry.”
“That would be most welcome. Thank you.”
Hugh gave a sharp nod and took the conversation in a different direction. “Do you sail?”
“I’ve not had the opportunity.”
“It’s the reason I live on the coast. Racing my yacht is my favourite pastime. If only my work allowed me more time to indulge my passion. You should try it.”
Encouraged by Mr Merry, Laura’s father spent the rest of dinner detailing the excellencies of his vessel.
As if he expected his guest to purchase his own boat if sailing took his fancy.
Which he wouldn’t have done unless he knew the artist did not have to work for a living.
No, more than that. Hugh must know he had money.
No wonder he was so ready to let him paint his daughter.
The younger man made a few attempts to draw the ladies into the conversation, but Kitty had nothing to contribute and neither, it seemed, had her friend. It wasn’t surprising, given the subject. Laura was probably as ignorant of the topic as she was—and equally bored.
After the cloth was cleared from the table, Laura met Kitty’s eyes, and they stood together, with the gentlemen following suit. “We will leave you to your wine.”
As they passed Hugh, he laid a hand on his daughter’s arm. “Not tonight. I’m sure our guest is eager to examine the Long Gallery, so he can start painting tomorrow. Why don’t you lead the way?”
Mr Merry followed his host’s cue and offered his arm to Laura. After a brief hesitation, she took it, and they left the room together.
Poor girl! She couldn’t avoid the man now, even if she wanted to.
Kitty hastened to follow them, keen not to leave her friend alone with him for long, but she was obliged to halt her steps when Hugh addressed her.
“Miss Lacey?”
He was holding out his arm to her, and she felt her cheeks pinking as she took it. After working as a maid, she would never tire of these little attentions that made her feel like a lady again.
By the time they had mounted the stairs and entered the Long Gallery, Mr Merry and Laura were already at the far end, where the room opened out into a large bay window.
“I see your wisdom is as great as your beauty, Miss Barrington,” he said, the mellow tenor tone of his voice floating down to them as they walked the length of the house to join the others. “How clever of you to suggest this alcove as the setting for your portrait. It’s perfect.”
Hugh puffed out his chest. Was he priding himself on his daughter’s manifold perfections or rejoicing in the artist’s praise of them?
Mr Merry gestured with his arms as he enthused about the location and sprinkled compliments on Laura, who stood as if she were made of stone, silent and still.
“Although it is dusk now, I can see how the light will fill this space and enable me to capture every inch of your matchless beauty on canvas.”
He put his hands on Laura’s shoulders and tilted her toward the window and then back again. Kitty would have laughed at his excessive enthusiasm if her friend had not looked so uncomfortable.
“Yes. You must sit here, with the shutter behind you and the view outside over your left shoulder, and I will set my easel up”—he backed away from her, step by step—“here.”
“It appears you have staged my daughter’s portrait sitting without any intervention from me,” said Mr Barrington. “Let us retire to the drawing room for tea.”
“Then, please excuse us, Papa. We must ensure everything is ready.”
With a nod of approval from Hugh, Laura linked her arm through Kitty’s and almost dragged her out of the library.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered as they walked downstairs. “And please—do not make me talk to him.”
Kitty pursed her lips. How was her friend going to get through hours of sitting for her portrait without talking to Mr Merry? Was it a hardship to be the focus of such a handsome—albeit annoying—gentleman?
A glance at Laura’s pale face squashed all her arguments for adjuring her to be rational. If she was truly bothered by Mr Merry’s attentions, Kitty would endeavour to protect her.
She gave her hand a squeeze. “Trust me. I won’t desert you.”
Laura took up her place by the urn and poured the tea. Kitty stayed by her side and made no complaint when asked to discover how Mr Merry liked his drink, and then to pass him his cup.
Hugh was called away by a footman before he could be served, leaving the three young people alone in the drawing room.
Laura prepared two more cups. After handing one to Kitty, she hovered by the urn, as if hoping it would offer her some protection from Mr Merry.
It did not stop him from addressing her. “Please, take a seat,” he said, waving toward the sofa beside him.
She shook her head.
“Have pity on me, Miss Barrington. You know I can’t sit until you do, and these long legs of mine are weary of standing.”
Kitty suppressed a smile, but rather than be amused, Laura huffed. She strode across the room to the sofa and sat down, hunching herself up toward one end as she had done before dinner, as far away from Mr Merry’s place as possible.
He did not react to her hostile behaviour. Either he hadn’t noticed how averse Laura was to his company, or he’d chosen not to let it bother him. He flicked out his coat tails, ready to sit down beside her, but before he sat, he glanced over at Kitty and paused.
It took her a moment to realise why he was waiting.
For her to be seated. A wave of pleasure swept over her at the gentlemanly gesture.
It was one thing to be treated as a lady by a man old enough to be her father, but quite another to be shown the same courtesy by such a personable gentleman as Mr Merry.
Laura cleared her throat, reminding Kitty of where her loyalty lay. It was a pity her friend had taken him in such dislike. He had excellent manners.
The admission gave her an idea. Perhaps she could use them against him. “I think you will find this seat much more comfortable.” She indicated a high-backed chair next to the sofa.
“Then I would be loath to deprive you of it.”