11. Chapter 11
Kitty was rapidly losing patience with her friend. Mr Merry had been painting for less than half an hour, and Laura was already complaining.
“How much longer before I may have a break?” she asked, wriggling in her seat.
“I am working as fast as I can, Miss Barrington,” Mr Merry said, although the question had not been directed at him. “I will make more progress if you hold your position. Every time you move your head, the curls fall differently around your face.”
Laura scowled and continued to address her conversation to Kitty. “I don’t know how you sat still for so many hours yesterday. My back is aching.” She rose from her chair. “I must get up and walk about.”
She linked her arm with Kitty’s and strolled down the room away from Mr Merry. “How did you cope with him staring at you like that?”
Staring? Kitty hadn’t even noticed. She’d been so busy conversing with him as he painted. Except when he’d complimented her ankles.
Her friend shuddered. “It makes me feel as if I’ve got two heads or I put my dress on the wrong way around.”
“I’m surprised you’re not used to gentlemen ogling you. It is the price you must pay for being so pretty.” Kitty heard the bitterness in her tone and endeavoured to soften it. “It’s not unreasonable, Laura. How else is he going to paint you?”
“I would rather he didn’t.”
Though much inclined to scold Laura’s stroppiness, Kitty knew she owed it to Hugh to ease the creation of this portrait. “It’s for your father, Laura.”
“I know. He came to my bedchamber and practically dragged me down to breakfast to ensure I didn’t miss another day’s sitting. It’s not fair. I would prefer it if Mr Merry painted you.”
A sharp retort entered Kitty’s mind, but she restrained it. Laura seemed oblivious to the fact that nobody would want to paint her companion. She tried again to encourage her friend to cooperate.
“Why don’t I read to you? It will help the time pass more quickly.”
“What an excellent idea.” Laura moved to one of the bookcases lining the room and perused the shelves. “Let’s choose a novel. That should bore Mr Merry.”
Kitty wondered if it would. With four sisters, she assumed he must have heard a fair number of such stories over the years.
Laura pulled out a selection of volumes and piled them into her friend’s arms before resuming her position in front of Mr Merry’s easel.
Discarding two Gothic romances, Kitty chose Coelebs in Search of a Wife. The moral tone of the book was such that not even Mr Barrington could object. She bit back a smile. Perhaps it might persuade Mr Merry to think more deeply about what he wanted in a bride—other than a pretty face.
Kitty picked up the first volume. She would rather have watched the artist paint, but reading aloud would be preferable to listening to constant moaning. Especially since it was always directed at her, as Laura still refused to address Mr Merry except when absolutely necessary.
The sound of Kitty’s voice seemed to have a calming effect, and the next hour passed with little complaining.
“Shall we take a break?” Mr Merry asked. “Even my arm needs the occasional rest.”
Laura jumped up. “Yes, indeed. That is enough for today. We can continue tomorrow.” Abandoning Kitty, she glided out of the room without a backward glance.
He exuded a heavy sigh as he cleared away his painting equipment. “Not the rapport I choose to have with those I paint. How will I ever get this portrait finished?”
Kitty felt a burst of compassion. The man didn’t deserve Laura’s poor treatment of him.
“Be patient. I’m sure with gentle encouragement she’ll come around. You have her father’s support, and that holds great weight with her.”
Her words were met with a grunt.
“May I see how you’ve progressed today?”
“If you think it’s worth your while.”
Kitty walked around the easel. Her eyes widened as she saw part of Laura’s face staring back at her. It was nowhere near finished, and yet it was most definitely her friend.
“What you have done so far has captured her exactly. Perhaps not a common artist after all,” she said with a half-smile, hoping to cheer him up.
He waved his hand toward his easel. “Her eyes are not right—and if the eyes are not right, the entire portrait will fail. I need to portray the expression that first captivated me. It was like that perfect moment at sunrise when the light hits the horizon and the sky is awoken with glorious streaks of gold.”
The reverence in his tone made Kitty feel like crying. How blessed Laura was to generate such devotion—and she didn’t even want it. A little voice inside her whispered she would respond differently if she were the object of his devotion.
Her breath caught. What was she saying? Mr Merry was selfish and annoying, but extremely talented, and Laura was being so difficult that Kitty wanted to comfort him. That’s all it was. She felt sorry for him. But something told her it was not pity that had threatened her with tears.
Are you developing feelings for him, Catherine Bruce? Because it will not do. He would never look at someone like you. Hasn’t your heart suffered enough without putting it through more? It is much safer not to hope.
With a few words, Kitty excused herself and fled the room. She must guard her heart. It would be beneficial to remember how self-centred Mr Merry could be. How arrogant and careless of others’ feelings. Above all, she needed to avoid being alone in his company.
Deprived of his model, William spent the afternoon out on the cliffs behind the house, sketchbook in hand. It was hard to find any enthusiasm to draw the sea or the ruins of Rufus Castle when Miss Barrington’s face was imprinted on his mind.
Why couldn’t he win her over? All he wanted was to see that expression again. Would it elude him forever? Maybe Kitty was right, and he needed to be patient. He would just have to keep trying.
When he joined the ladies in the drawing room before dinner, William determined not to let his irritation show.
“Did you have a pleasant afternoon?” he asked them, as Mr Barrington walked into the room.
The man’s brow pinched together as his eyes rested on his daughter. “Were you not sitting for your portrait today?”
Miss Barrington’s cheeks reddened under his obvious displeasure. Perhaps here was a chance to win her favour.
“I made excellent progress this morning, and it seemed a crime to let the sunny afternoon pass by without enjoying it. There is no telling how many more we will get this summer.”
His words won a hint of a smile from Miss Barrington. In view of their recent interactions, that had to be deemed a success.
“Mr Merry is very talented,” Kitty said. “He is creating a remarkable representation of Laura.”
“Excellent. Perhaps we can persuade him to paint your portrait next.”
William glanced at her to see how she had taken the suggestion. Her colour was heightened and her lips pursed. Not well, apparently. Did she doubt his ability to depict her likeness?
Painting Kitty would be a challenge. It would be easy enough to capture her features, but she was not classically beautiful, like Miss Barrington. She was always going on about inner beauty being more important. Was there a way he could paint her to let that shine through?
Before he could assure her that he would relish the opportunity to stretch his skills, a visitor was announced. Mr Jenkin.
William recognised the riding officer at once. What was he doing here?
Mr Barrington made the introductions. “Mr Jenkin is a great help to me. I challenge you to find a more conscientious member of the preventive force along the entire coast of England. Mr Merry is our guest here while painting my daughter’s portrait.”
The man acknowledged him with a stiff bow. “I see.”
Yes. Mr Jenkin saw, and judging from his pinched mouth, the news that William was staying at Rufus House was unpalatable.
The newcomer leaned toward Mr Barrington. “May I have a word with you, sir? It is a matter of some urgency. Another couple of officers escaped from their parole of honour in Alresford, and one of them was taken up in Dorchester.”
The older man shook his head. “Only fifteen miles away? That is a concern.” He smiled apologetically at the ladies. “Please excuse us whilst we discuss this business.”
Mr Jenkin’s eyes lingered on Miss Barrington for a moment too long before he moved to the other end of the drawing room with her father. William had seen the signs before. The poor fellow was smitten.
It was only to be expected. The lady was stunning. Should he seek the opportunity to reassure Mr Jenkin that he only wanted to paint her? That he was not competing for her affections?
He doubted it would help. The man wouldn’t believe him, and it would not further either of their causes.
William suspected his invitation to take Miss Barrington’s likeness had only come because her father knew of his wealth and title and hoped there was a match in the making.
His experience of the world suggested that if Mr Barrington had his sights set on a titled gentleman for his daughter, he would not welcome a preventive officer in his stead.
No, Mr Jenkin didn’t stand a chance—and it would be cruel to encourage him to think he did.
Kitty had been studying Laura from the moment Mr Jenkin walked into the room.
She had suspected an attachment since the first time she had seen them together.
The conviction had grown when she’d noticed them exchanging covert looks in church.
Now, she was sure there was a definite partiality—on his side, at least. Nothing else could explain his barely concealed hostility toward Mr Merry.
Laura’s feelings were harder to judge, but perhaps she would give herself away during the evening.
“Mr Jenkin is a most diligent officer to visit your father at such an advanced hour,” Kitty said, “or do you think he has another incentive?”