10. Chapter 10
The next morning, Kitty woke early and dressed without the help of a maid, as was her custom. If she were going to endure the silent battle between Laura and Mr Merry whilst he painted her portrait, she needed to get outside, to fortify herself for the taxing hours ahead.
She crept down the servants’ stairs and escaped out the back door of the house. The grass was still damp with dew, and she was glad of her sturdy half-boots to protect her feet from the moisture. The sun shone, promising a warm day.
Kitty crossed the lawn and opened the gate that led to the ruins of St Andrew’s Church. She had wanted to investigate further ever since Laura had told her about the site.
The path was enclosed by trees on both sides.
It was overrun with weeds, as if no one cared to maintain it, but it was not hard to follow and ended in some stone steps.
At the top of these, the wooded area opened up into a graveyard, its tombstones battling with the undergrowth to stay upright, their memorials faded, worn away by the elements.
On her right were the remains of the church building, with an arch still intact at the far end, whilst on the left, the land dropped steeply to the shore below.
Kitty stood, looking out over the sea, marvelling at its expanse and colour. The early morning sun shone down on the ocean depths, and the blue of the sky was reflected in the water, making it seem much bluer than before.
She wandered around the ruined sanctuary. It seemed to reflect her life. The building had once been a haven for worship, but then the ground had slipped from underneath it—just as the foundations of her existence had been stripped away.
Her grandfather—her brother—her home. Even her very identity had been ripped from her by Mrs Barrington’s unwelcome revelations.
Why hadn’t Edward written? Was he still alive? If not, she was truly alone. She would have heard if he had been killed, wouldn’t she? But what if he had been taken prisoner? Would he have received her letters? And if he had, would he have been at liberty to answer them?
As Kitty prayed for her brother’s safety, an alternative explanation entered her mind. Mrs Barrington had made no secret of how much she hated her. Could she be continuing to exact revenge by withholding Edward’s reply?
Reluctant to think so ill of another human being, and unpleasant though it was, the notion gave her hope. She must be patient. It was too early to expect an answer to the letter she had sent from Rufus House. Edward might not even have received it yet.
A supernatural peace rested on Kitty’s heart as she walked back up the garden. She was ready to face the trials of the day ahead.
William ate a scant breakfast and made his way to the Long Gallery, trailed by a footman carrying his equipment. He set up his easel in the alcove at the far end of the room, in front of the substantial bay window, as decided the evening before.
After dismissing the servant, he placed a chair for his model and prepared his paints so he would be ready to begin as soon as Miss Barrington arrived. He was yet to see her this morning, as she had broken her fast in her chamber.
Provided she did not dawdle too long at her dressing table, he should have several hours in which to work before the sun moved around to the other side of the house.
His eyes sparkled with anticipation at the task ahead.
He would start with her face. He had sketched it so often from memory he could have begun without her, but it was that elusive expression he wanted to capture.
The one that had captivated him the first time he’d seen her.
Perhaps he could coax it out of her if he had her undivided attention for a few hours.
The door opened with a creak. William raised his head. A single lady stood at the other end of the room. The wrong lady.
“I’m afraid Miss Barrington is indisposed this morning.”
“How very inconvenient.” Or very convenient considering she was doing her best to avoid him.
Kitty glared at him. “Is that all you can say? Are you not the least bit concerned about her wellbeing?”
Guilt pricked his conscience. It mattered not whether Miss Barrington was truly ill. If she claimed as much, it was his duty as a gentleman to believe her.
“Is her affliction serious? Will she still be unwell tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Her maid said she was suffering from a headache.”
“Pray send her my best wishes for a speedy recovery.”
“Thank you. I will do so when I visit her later.”
“Be honest with me, Miss Lacey. It is a most convenient headache, would you not agree? It is obvious she is reluctant to have her portrait painted. Is it such a hardship to be told how beautiful she is and to capture that beauty on canvas?”
“I believe she finds it harder than you can imagine. Or perhaps not. Have you never struggled with being seen as a handsome gentleman with a smooth tongue rather than for who you really are?”
A denial halted on William’s lips. His cousin Louisa viewed him like that, coupled with a title and a fat inheritance—but Kitty didn’t know about that.
“How can I win her over? If I am to produce her portrait, I need Miss Barrington’s cooperation, and much as I desire to paint her for myself, it is her father who has requested the picture.
” He added in a softer tone, “I don’t want to be obliged to tell him of his daughter’s reluctance to sit for me. ”
“I am certain Mr Barrington would not expect her to rise from her sickbed just to pose for her portrait.”
Then his day would be wasted, unless…
“You must borrow one of Miss Barrington’s dresses and sit for me in her stead.”
Kitty’s jaw went slack. “You want me to take my friend’s place? Are you out of your mind?”
Was the idea so preposterous? “Is there a problem with that? If Miss Barrington has taken to her bed, I assume you have no other duties to attend to.”
Her colour paled. What had he said wrong?
“I have no other duties.”
“Then what is the issue?”
“We bear no resemblance to each other. We’re not even the same size. I am several inches taller than Laura, and of a much—um—less rounded figure. I doubt her dresses would fit me.”
A blush rose to her cheeks as she spoke. That was unexpected. It made her appear not beautiful, but…interesting.
“Please try, Miss Lacey. Otherwise, I shall waste a whole day’s painting. You’ll be doing your friend a favour by letting me begin today. The sooner I’ve completed her portrait, the sooner I’ll leave.”
Kitty gave a resigned shake of her head and rolled her eyes at him. “Very well. For Miss Barrington’s sake, I will see what she says.”
Kitty tapped on the door of Laura’s bedchamber and waited. “Laura? May I come in?”
It opened a fraction, and her maid appeared in the gap. “My mistress is unwell. Please go—”
“It’s all right, Sutton,” said Laura, in a weak voice. “Let her in. I need some distraction from this dreadful headache.”
Her friend was in bed, with the covers pulled up to her chin, and sounded most unlike herself. Had Kitty misjudged her? For despite her protestations, Mr Merry had not been the only one to question whether Laura was as unwell as she claimed.
“How are you feeling?”
The younger woman held a hand to her temple and gave a low moan. “Not at all well. Please can you make me some chamomile tea, Sutton? You know how that always makes me feel better.”
“Yes, miss.”
As soon as the maid had gone, Laura sat up in bed.
“I apologise for the deception, but we have to keep up the pretence whilst the door is open, or someone might report back to my father. I’m not really unwell, but I couldn’t face sitting for my portrait today.
Having that man stare at me for so many hours—”
Kitty heaved a sigh. Her first instincts had been correct—as had Mr Merry’s. Her friend was making excuses.
“Mr Merry hopes you will feel better soon.”
Laura folded her arms. “I’m sure he does.”
“He is very disappointed and eager not to lose a day’s painting and so—”
“He’s not suggesting coming in here to paint me, is he?” asked Laura, yanking the covers up around her shoulders.
“Of course not. He might be devoted to his art and irritatingly persistent, but he is a gentleman.”
“Then what?”
“He suggested I wear one of your dresses and take your place so he could get started. I told him what a ridiculous suggestion it was, but he insisted I ask you.”
Laura’s face lit up. “What an excellent idea! You can experience what it is like to have someone stare at you for a change.”
Heat rushed to Kitty’s cheeks. Did Laura even realise how rude she was being?
“You are a little taller than me, but apart from that, we are not so dissimilar in size.”
“But—”
Kitty fell silent as Sutton came bustling back into the room, bearing a cup of steaming liquid.
“Miss Lacey is going to take my place so that Mr Merry can make a start on the painting today. Please help her into the white satin with the rosebud detail and pink sash.”
“But that’s your father’s favourite, miss. Are you sure?”
“It is the dress he wants me to wear for the portrait, Sutton, so it must be that one that Miss Lacey borrows.”
“As you wish.”
Before Kitty could object, Sutton ushered her into the adjoining dressing room and stripped off her gown and petticoat.
The maid tutted at her worn stays and made quick work of them as well.
Standing in nought but her shift, heat flooded her cheeks and brought a tear to her eyes.
She had not been undressed by anyone other than herself since she’d left the nursery.
The servant extracted a set of Laura’s stays from the drawer and laced them up. “I must admit Miss Barrington was correct. You are more of a size with her than I had supposed. Your figure was somewhat hidden by the shabby nature of your undergarments.”
After lowering the white satin gown over her head, the maid fastened the buttons and tied the pink sash beneath her bosom. With a nod of approval, she swept Kitty out of the dressing room.