9. Chapter 9 #3
Despite her annoyance, her eyes flashed with admiration at his quick reply. “It would be my pleasure to let you have it, sir.”
“As it is mine to allow you to keep it.”
Very clever—but Kitty was not beaten yet. “I have something particular I wish to say to Miss Barrington, and I could do so more easily from your place than from my own.”
Mr Merry hesitated. She could almost see the battle going on within. Would he do the gentlemanly thing and offer her his place? She raised a brow in challenge, and she knew she had won.
“Then, of course, you must take my seat, Miss Lacey. I am sure you are eager to disparage me to your friend, and that is a conversation I would not care to overhear. It would bruise my confidence no end.”
With a smug smile, Kitty took his place next to her friend, who clasped her hands in her own and whispered, “Thank you.”
Mr Merry drew his chair as close as he could to the sofa and, perched on the edge of his seat, he leaned toward Laura, so he was almost as near to her as he had been before.
“Are you angry with me for being here?”
So much for his excellent manners! It was not polite to force his way into their conversation. Nor was it gentlemanlike to press his attentions on a lady who had made it clear she wasn’t interested in him.
Laura kept her eyes fixed on her lap and said nothing.
Should Kitty do the same? It was tempting to give Mr Merry the silent treatment and see how he liked it, but he was a guest in Hugh’s house and deserved the same politeness she would show to anyone.
If Laura’s father approved of him and was keen to curry his favour, it was her duty to behave with dignity toward one who was doubtless her superior in social standing.
“She feels nothing for you—anger or otherwise,” Kitty said, answering for her friend.
“That’s an improvement—a clean slate for me to work with.”
“It was not meant as a compliment. You’ve forced your way into Miss Barrington’s home and got what you wanted—the chance to paint her—though a fool could have seen how unpleasant she found the notion. Be satisfied with that.”
Mr Merry crossed one leg over the other and, cupping his hands around the back of his head, he reclined in his chair. “Can’t Miss Barrington speak for herself?”
“She could—but she chooses not to.”
He uncrossed his legs and tilted his position toward Kitty. “Then I will talk to you, Miss Lacey, and perhaps your friend will answer for you.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“How do you enjoy living in Dorset, Miss Lacey?”
“Well enough.”
“And what about your companion? Is she demanding?”
“A pointless question. She is not, but even if she were, I could not admit as much with her sitting right beside me. We will not discuss Miss Barrington, if you please.”
Mr Merry nodded his head toward her in acknowledgement. “As you wish, but I’m delighted to learn that her character is as beautiful as her countenance.”
Kitty met his gaze without flinching. “And which is more important to you? Did no one teach you that a meek and quiet spirit is of greater worth in God’s sight than a pretty face?”
“Yes, my father frequently quotes that scripture to my sisters.”
“Only to your sisters? My grandfather often reminded me and my brother of that truth.” When Edward had been in danger of falling in love with a comely barmaid with a sharp tongue, or when Kitty was bemoaning the deficiencies of her appearance.
“Aha! You do have family. I thought you had appeared out of nowhere like a pixie to taunt me.”
“My brother and I were raised by our grandfather.” Or rather, by the man they had believed was their grandfather. “He died a few months ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
The unexpected sympathy in Mr Merry’s voice brought a tear to her eye. “Thank you.”
“And your brother?”
“He’s a lieutenant in the army, fighting in the Peninsula.”
Kitty felt the emotion welling up at the thought of Edward, not knowing if he were still alive. She needed to shift the focus away from herself, or she would burst into tears.
“Do you have any brothers serving in the war against France?”
“No. I have no brothers on the Continent or anywhere else. Just four sisters—but my mother’s half-brother is a colonel in the army. He is more like a cousin than an uncle, as he’s only a few years older than me.”
“You were not tempted to join him?”
Mr Merry shook his head. “My path lies in a different direction—painting such ravishing creatures as Miss Barrington.”
Laura gave an exaggerated sigh. “Shall we retire, Kitty? I need a good night’s sleep before the tedium of tomorrow, when I’ll be obliged to sit for my portrait.” Without waiting for an answer, she bobbed a perfunctory curtsey and headed for the door.
Mr Merry’s eyes followed her friend until she had left the room, and a twinge of jealousy caught Kitty off guard.
“Goodnight, Miss Lacey,” he said with a bow.
With a quick curtsey, she hurried after Laura, assailed by wistful thoughts.
No one would ever want to paint her. She knew that a gentle and quiet spirit was of more value, but was it wicked of her to wish that one man—just one—might think her beautiful inside and out?