10. Chapter 10 #2
Laura eyed her up and down. “Well done, Sutton. I daresay Miss Lacey has never appeared to such advantage in her life. Turn around so you can see yourself in the looking glass.”
Kitty stared into the mirror and blinked hard. The effect of stays that were not three years old and an elegant gown was astonishing. Though she would never match her friend, she looked passably pretty.
She glanced down at the foot of the dress and grimaced. Her extra height exposed her ankles, but that couldn’t be helped. Her nose twitched. Would Mr Merry notice they were one of her better features?
“Thank you, Laura. I—” Kitty supposed she must keep up the pretence. “I hope your headache eases soon.”
She returned to the Long Gallery to find Mr Merry busy with his sketchbook.
He raised his gaze to watch her as she walked toward him, and her heart fluttered more than it should have to see the light of approval in his eyes.
“There! I told you my plan would work. If you could just—”
He paused and peered behind her.
“Were you expecting someone else? I assure you, Miss Barrington is in her bed, as she claimed.” Even if she wasn’t as sick as she had made out.
“Didn’t she send a maid to sit with us—for propriety’s sake?”
He thought her reputation was that of a gentlewoman and worth preserving? How…touching.
“Do you normally engage a chaperon when you paint servants or actresses?”
“What has that got to say to anything?” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “You may have fallen on hard times, but you are still a lady.”
She wanted to believe it, but he didn’t know how far she had sunk. That being a lady’s companion was a step up from her previous position. “I have no right to call myself that now.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “A lady is who you are, Miss Lacey. Not what you do.”
Mr Merry strode to the bell rope and gave it a sharp pull. “And as such, I will ensure you have a chaperon.”
His insistence was touching, most gentlemanlike, but given her recent past, somewhat ridiculous. “Do you fear I’ll compromise your reputation and you’ll be obliged to marry me?” she asked, while they waited for a response to his summons.
Mr Merry’s shoulders shook with laughter. “I can think of nothing less likely, but as I am sure you would not wish to be forced to wed a man you despise, it will be as well for us both to engage a chaperon.”
Kitty bit back the smile that jumped to her lips at the sound of his mirth. It was hard to keep despising him when he made her laugh.
Kitty paced up and down the Long Gallery until the requested maid entered, holding a cloth bag, which she assumed was full of mending. The girl bobbed a curtsey, sat in a chair near a window, and extracted some sewing.
Unable to delay any longer, Kitty walked the length of the room and took her place in front of Mr Merry’s easel. At that distance, the servant would not be able to catch anything they said.
He dipped his brush into a pot of paint and fixed his eyes first on her and then on his canvas. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Lacey. How did you come to be at Rufus House?”
There were some things Kitty would rather not talk about. “Does it matter?”
He shrugged. “I like to know something about those I paint. It helps me bring their portraits to life.”
“May I remind you it is not my portrait you are painting?”
“Humour me.”
Kitty maintained her silence. If she related her story, she would lose Mr Merry’s respect. A respect she had not foreseen, and did not deserve, but which she found herself reluctant to forgo.
“Very well. Tell me about your family.”
That was a safer topic. “My mother died giving birth to Edward, and my father was killed in the Battle of Tournay in Belgium a few years later. As I’ve told you already, my grandfather passed away a few months ago and my brother is fighting Bonaparte. There is no one else.”
“What is he like?”
Kitty pictured Edward’s face, the last time she had seen him. If he had not been so set on following in their father’s footsteps, she would not be alone now.
“Similar to yourself—arrogant, selfish, handsome—except that he is not here.”
Mr Merry grinned. “You think I’m handsome?”
How conceited! He had picked on the only positive trait she had mentioned—and that had snuck out without permission. She refused to bolster his self-importance any further.
“Did you overlook the part where I told you he is not here? He’s at war. Even now, he might be dead. I have no family. No one.”
“You can have some of mine. My father desires me to follow in his footsteps, whether or not I want to, and as for my sisters, they are always nosing into my affairs. Telling me what to do. Chiding me for worrying them if it slips my mind to tell them where I’ve gone, when all I desire is to be left alone to paint—”
Kitty could not believe what she was hearing. He was complaining about having people who cared about him. “Is that all you value? Do you think of nothing other than your art?”
“Little else when I’m painting.”
“Is it comfortable to be so obsessed?”
“Obsessed? That suggests an unhealthy fixation.”
“Is it?”
“I am merely pursuing my God-given gift.”
“Regardless of who you hurt in the process.”
“I’m not hurting anyone.”
“Yet you put your painting before those who care for you. Did you even hear what I said? I have no one. You have no notion what it is like to be alone. How dare you belittle your family—a family who sounds as if they love you very much.” She paused and added in a gentler tone, “They do, don’t they? ”
He acknowledged the truth of her words with a brief nod.
“Don’t take your blessings for granted, Mr Merry. You do not know when they might be taken away. Examine your heart. Which would cause you greater pain—the loss of a parent or sister, or the loss of your right hand?”
Mr Merry said nothing for several moments. When he spoke again, it was in a much lighter tone.
“What prettily turned ankles you have, Miss Lacey. What a shame the picture is only three-quarter length and so does not merit their inclusion.”
His remarks made Kitty wish to tuck her feet away under her dress, but she set no store by the compliment. It was an effort to distract her from more serious topics. She allowed him to succeed.
His reaction showed that her words had twinged his conscience. And if that was the case, there was hope they might do some good. Only time would tell.
After clearing away his paints, William stood for a long while, staring out the windows of the Long Gallery, mulling over what Kitty had said. Each of her accusations had stung him like a mosquito, leaving an itch that would not cease.
He had claimed that pursuing his passion for art was not hurting anyone, but the image of Father’s disappointed face had sprung to his mind, and now it wouldn’t go away.
Was it so unreasonable to have refused his request? It was only for a time. He would return home and help. Make him proud. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. Of course, his family was more important to him than his right hand. How dare Kitty suggest otherwise?
But he needed to paint this portrait. Even if he disappointed Father for a while.
Having dressed for dinner, William descended the stairs to the drawing room.
He was not surprised Miss Barrington failed to join them.
She still claimed to suffer from the headache which had prevented her from posing for him.
An indisposition—real or not—that he had induced by forcing her to sit for her portrait, when she didn’t want to.
“I regret that Laura’s illness has delayed the start of your painting,” Mr Barrington said.
William lifted his brow. Did the man not realise Kitty had posed for him instead? He shot a glance across the room at her, but she failed to meet his gaze. It did nothing to lift his spirits.
He shifted his attention back to his host. “You need not apologise, sir. I was able to have a day’s painting without her.”
“I am delighted to hear it, but I hope you can make a start on Laura’s portrait tomorrow.”
“You mistake me, Mr Barrington—”
A movement caught his eye. Kitty was shaking her head, ever so slightly. Why did she always disapprove of him?
William brushed the thought aside. “Miss Lacey took her place, and I made excellent progress with your daughter’s portrait, whilst she lay on her sickbed.”
“I don’t understand. Catherine looks nothing like Laura.”
“The most prestigious portraitists rarely paint the entire picture. They have a school of artists at their disposal trained to portray the clothing and the scenery, leaving the master to complete only the most skilled areas—the face and hands. These people don’t work with the subject of the portrait, and I did likewise.
Miss Lacey wore one of Miss Barrington’s gowns, allowing me to create the setting for your daughter’s incomparable beauty without her presence. ”
William glanced across the room at Kitty again. Her frown implied he had said the wrong thing.
He jerked his eyes back to Mr Barrington, expecting to see the unctuous smile that he regularly bestowed on him, but instead, the man’s mouth was pinched together.
It was the first sign of displeasure on his host’s countenance that had ever been directed at him, and he found it unnerving. Couldn’t he please anyone today?
In a moment, the smooth beam was back on Mr Barrington’s face. “That was most gracious of you, Catherine. I am sure Laura will be delighted you have saved her some hours of sitting still when she takes your place tomorrow.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go into dinner?”
William trailed behind Mr Barrington and Kitty along the corridor to the dining room. After her revelations about how alone she was, the sight made him uncomfortable.
The man was staking his claim on her, but why? Was it to ensure William focused his attentions on his daughter, or did he want Kitty for himself?