14. Chapter 14
The next morning, Kitty awoke refreshed, despite her lack of sleep. Something had shifted in her last night. In the darkness. When she had been talking to Mr Merry—William. Something she knew it would be risky to explore.
Instead, she concentrated on proving him wrong about Hugh.
Though touched by William’s concern, it was ridiculous to imagine there could be anything romantic between her and Mr Barrington.
With his standing in the community, he could choose a much wealthier and better-connected woman than her to marry. If he wanted a wife at all.
William had a vivid imagination. It was a fatherly arm Hugh had placed around her shoulders—that was all. It meant nothing.
Of course, if it had been William who had put an arm around her in the same manner, it would have signified something quite different. But it was dangerous to dream about what would never happen.
A servant summoned her to Laura’s room whilst she was finishing her breakfast. Kitty gulped down the last mouthful of tea. Was her friend going to plead sick? How very tiresome of her. She would have to resist any entreaty to take her place again. It was far too risky for her heart.
As expected, she found Laura in bed, with the covers brought right up to her chin. She walked to her bedside and examined her face. There were definite signs that she had not slept well. Her eyes were bloodshot, and there was a greyness underneath them that Kitty associated with lack of sleep.
Was she ill? Or had she spent half the night out of her bed? Despite Hugh corroborating Laura’s story about Cousin Silas, had Kitty been right all along? Did he have some reason for wanting to hide his daughter’s indiscretions, even from her?
“Take off your gloves,” Laura said.
What a peculiar request. Nonetheless, Kitty did as she was bid.
“What comely fingers you have. You must take my place and sit for Mr Merry today.”
Though she knew William was yet to paint her friend’s hands, Kitty was puzzled by the demand. “Why? Are you unwell?”
Laura glanced at her maid. “My head is throbbing this morning. Please prepare my chamomile tea, Sutton.”
As soon as they were alone, she withdrew her hands from under the covers and held them out, palms down. Kitty’s eyes widened as she absorbed the state of her friend’s fingernails, which had been bitten right down to the quick.
“What happened?”
“I thought that was obvious.”
It was—but not why her friend had chewed them. “Are you worried about something?” Kitty waited, hoping she would confide in her.
Laura’s gaze dropped to the bedcovers. “What is there to be anxious about? It is my birthday in three days’ time.
Perhaps it has made me a little melancholy, turning twenty-one without Mama being here.
Thinking of her must have caused me to chew my nails during the night.
It is a dreadful habit I gained after she died, and I have worked so hard to stop. ”
She grabbed Kitty’s arm as her gaze flicked up again to meet her eyes. “Have pity on me. Papa would be furious if he discovered the state of my fingernails.”
“I’m sure Mr Merry could paint your hands with your nails as they should be.”
“Please, Kitty. I need to rest. I must look my best for my birthday. Papa will expect it and I don’t wish to give him any reason to be displeased with me.”
Kitty heaved a sigh, even as her spirits soared with joyful anticipation at the thought of having several hours of William’s company to herself.
What was she thinking? She would only end up getting hurt. She was not supposed to be spending any more time alone with him—remember?
No, she didn’t want to. She would gobble up every scrap William threw her way. So what if she ended up with a broken heart? No one else wanted it. Being with him made her feel alive.
“Will you?” her friend pleaded.
“Yes.” It was not wise, but when did wisdom ever trump the call of the heart?
William was surprised when Kitty walked into the Long Gallery, wearing her friend’s white satin dress. A housemaid trailed behind her.
“No Miss Barrington?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“She is unwell and suggested you might like to paint her hands—or rather mine—today.”
“As there is little else left to finish, I will do as she asks. I only hope she won’t regret it.”
Pink suffused Kitty’s cheeks. “I apologise you will have to work with my inferior fingers.”
“That’s not what I meant. Your elegant hands are one of your best features—but your fingers are longer than hers.”
Her blush increased, but her mouth was pinched. What had he done wrong? Most women enjoyed receiving compliments.
She took her seat before him, and he adjusted her position until it matched that of the portrait. “Alas, Coelebs will have to wait until tomorrow. You won’t be able to read today.”
“Are you forbidding me to talk, Mr Merry?”
“William—remember?”
She scowled at him. Did she regret the intimacy of their nighttime encounter? He had a sudden desire to bring it back.
“I have no wish for you to be silent. On the contrary, I expect a lively discussion, but reading is out of the question as I can’t let you hold a book.” He took her right hand and stroked it with his thumb as he positioned it as he wanted, then did the same with her left.
The colour in her cheeks deepened further, and he was disproportionately pleased that touching her hands had evoked such a reaction. Perhaps she was not so immune to his charm as she made out.
Five minutes passed, and she didn’t say a word. He feared he had overstepped the mark.
“I apologise, Kitty.”
“What for?”
“Teasing you.”
“Is that what it was? I thought you had forgotten who was sitting for you. Did you get carried away by my elegant fingers—they are one of my best features after all. Did you fail to recall that they did not belong to Laura? She is the lady you flirt with—not me—and I would ask you not to forget it.”
The slight tremor in her voice unmanned him. He had hurt her. “I’m sorry. Truly. I meant no harm.”
“You never do.”
Ouch. He was still not forgiven. “I wasn’t lying. Your fingers are elegant.”
“I’m glad there is some part of me that passes muster. Oh no—two parts. I believe you also complimented me on my fine ankles.”
William felt as if he had been slapped in the face. By praising her hands and feet, he had inadvertently insulted the rest of her appearance.
“I see you are speechless. No wonder you thought me so desperate that I would accept the advances of a man old enough to be my father, whether or not they were honourable. What do you think attracted him? My elegant fingers or my fine ankles?”
As he had heard his sisters rant a great deal over the years, William was not overly alarmed by Kitty’s words. It would be wise to let her finish, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaping in with another apology.
“I already said I was sorry for jumping to conclusions.” Conclusions he should never have made, given all he had learned of her upright character.
“Nevertheless, you jumped to them, and without even knowing about—”
Eyes wide, she broke off, sucking in her lips, as if she could recall the words that had just cascaded from her mouth.
That was curious. “Without knowing what?”
Kitty hung her head.
“It might surprise you to know that underneath my bravado, I have a tender heart.” Or he had once. Before he buried it under his self-absorption. It must still be there, because Kitty’s obvious distress was stirring it. “I have four sisters, whom I have listened to on many occasions. Try me.”
The silence stretched out as Kitty struggled to find the words to begin. It was a melancholy tale without a happy ending.
“Do you know how I came to be here—as Laura’s companion?” she asked. “Because no one else wanted me. As you have already guessed, my grandfather left me very little to live on. His final wish was that I visit his sister—Mr Barrington’s mother.”
William paused his paintbrush in mid-air. “Then you and Mr Barrington are family?”
“No, we are not.”
“I don’t understand. Do they refuse to acknowledge the relationship?”
“There is no relationship. I suppose you will pester me until you have the whole—my grandfather was not my papa’s sire.
I have been told he was an aristocrat. Whoever he was, he didn’t want his son.
My grandmother married the man I’ve known as my grandfather all my life, and he brought me and my brother up after the death of our parents. ”
“Was Mrs Barrington kind to you, for her brother’s sake?”
A harsh bark of laughter erupted from Kitty’s mouth.
“You have not met her, so I forgive your ignorance, but no, she was not kind. She hated my grandmother and exacted her revenge on me. After telling me the truth about my father’s birth, she ordered me to leave.
I had to beg her to let me stay as a servant in her home, and she only agreed to keep me if I took my grandmother’s maiden name. ”
She swiped a hand across her face, brushing away the tears she had not realised had formed. “I lost everything—my standing as a lady, my respectability, even my name.”
William laid down his paintbrush and delved into his pocket. He produced a paint-stained handkerchief and held it out to her.
“The paint’s dry. I’m afraid all my handkerchiefs are the same.”
With a weak smile and a word of thanks she took it and dabbed at her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. Mr Barrington’s mother sounds like a veritable dragon, twisted up with spite. Perhaps what she told you isn’t true.”
“I’ve already considered that, but if my grandfather believed my papa was legitimate, as his wife always claimed, why did he never tell me and my brother the truth about our ancestry?”
“You have a point. Is there any way to check? Do you know where your father was born?”
“Here in Dorset. Mrs Barrington said the baptismal record is in the register of St Mary’s Melcombe Regis, in Weymouth.”
“Have you been to look?”
Kitty rolled her eyes. “In all that spare time I’ve had? You forget I am at Laura’s beck and call, and without the means to travel to the mainland on a whim.”
“Then I’ll take you.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Why?” It would not do for her to believe he cared for her.
“Why not? It’s the least I can do for allowing me to paint you in Miss Barrington’s stead.”
Kitty hesitated. Did she want to learn the truth about her father’s birth? Wasn’t it easier not to know? That left her free to disbelieve what Mrs Barrington had told her, if she wished. No, she had lived with the lie for too long.
“Very well, I accept. Thank you.”
“Now all we must do is persuade Miss Barrington she would like a trip to Weymouth. I doubt that will prove difficult.”