21. Chapter 21
It irked William that Kitty was trying to get rid of him. Was it necessary to leave at once? Wasn’t she overstating the danger? Mr Barrington had encouraged him to spend time with his daughter and made no secret of his wishes in that regard, but he’d exerted no pressure on him to offer for her.
Kitty might release him from his promise, but he needed to prove he was a man of his word. To restore the damage to their friendship caused by his concealing his title. He would take her to see the parish records, even if it meant going against her wishes. What trouble could another day bring?
Miss Barrington did not join them at dinner, but her father made up for her absence by asking William’s opinion about redesigning his garden and filling in the gaps in conversation with a steady flow of anecdotes.
Contrary to their usual habit of withdrawing with the ladies after the meal, he encouraged Kitty to leave them to their wine.
“I understand the portrait is finished,” said Mr Barrington as he closed the door behind her. “Are you pleased with the result?”
“I am. It is the best I’ve ever painted.”
The man poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to him. “Helped by the loveliness of your sitter?”
William bowed his head. “Indeed. I have every hope the painting will be lauded at the Royal Academy exhibition next year. Your daughter’s beauty is destined to be the talk of London.”
Mr Barrington stroked his chin. “You mean to display the portrait in public?”
Hadn’t he mentioned his intent at the outset? “With your permission.”
“Hmm. I’ll have to think about that…”
William’s chest tightened. It had never occurred to him that the man might object to the painting going in the exhibition. He couldn’t imagine Thomas Lawrence having issues with obtaining consent to show his work in public.
“I don’t wish to inconvenience you, sir. If you wish, I could have the picture copied so you will not miss it whilst it’s on view in London.”
“Excellent. You can begin the second portrait at once.”
Kitty’s warning echoed in William’s mind. Painting the copy himself would mean staying longer. “I need to arrange for someone else to do that, as I must leave in the next few days.”
“Does Laura know?”
“I have been quite open about my plans.”
“Ah. No wonder she has taken to her bed with a headache.”
William scraped a hand through his hair. What was Mr Barrington implying?
The man put an arm around William’s shoulders. “Don’t give up so easily, your lordship. She is warming to your suit. It was a clever ploy to paint her portrait—putting yourself in her company in such an intimate setting. So many hours alone together—”
“You forget, sir. Miss Lacey has been with us throughout.”
“Forgive me. I was not suggesting any impropriety on your part, but Laura can be in no doubt of your intentions. Do not despair of winning her. No woman could hold out against your charm forever.”
William’s mouth went dry. Kitty was right. The man wanted him to marry his daughter. “Miss Barrington has given me no reason to suppose—”
“She may fear I wouldn’t approve, as with other men who have pursued her, but she is unaware of your status in society.
I am sure she won’t refuse you when she knows you have my support.
Stay another week. Woo her whilst you make your copy, and then we will see about sending Laura’s portrait to the Royal Academy exhibition. ”
Was Mr Barrington blackmailing him? Would he withhold his consent for the painting to be exhibited if William didn’t court his daughter?
Plastering a smile on his face, he moved toward the door. He needed to escape. “Shall we join Miss Lacey?”
The man nodded and smiled back, but the avaricious gleam in his eyes suggested he was well pleased with the way the conversation had gone. Mr Barrington thought he had him trapped.
And William had the uncomfortable conviction that he was right. How could he give up the portrait now, when he was so close to achieving his ambition and the recognition he craved? It would break his heart to walk away from it. But was there even a choice?
Would it be dishonourable to leave without offering for Miss Barrington? As he recalled the way he’d behaved, he feared it would.
It was as if Mr Barrington had flicked paint over his masterpiece. Although William’s mind had been consumed by his art, he had displayed his devotion for all to see, single-mindedly pursuing his muse, painting her, and singing praises to her beauty.
Kitty had tried to warn him, but he had been too stubborn to listen. No one could save him from falling into the hole he’d dug for himself.
When the two gentlemen walked into the drawing room, Kitty knew at once that all was not well. “Did you eat something that disagreed with you, Mr Merry? You look rather pale.”
“Ah! It is a sickness of the heart that ails him,” Hugh said to her. “He feared he would have to leave, but I persuaded him to stay another week.”
She jerked her gaze back to William and raised her brow in question. Was he going to ignore her warning?
“I need to make a copy of the portrait.”
It seemed he was. “I see.”
“Will you play for us, Catherine?”
Did she have a choice? She took her place at the pianoforte and chose some music. Before she began, Hugh moved to her side. “I’ll turn for you.”
Kitty muttered her thanks, but she would have preferred not to have him hovering over her while she played.
As the final chord sounded, two maids brought in the tea things and set them down by the urns resting on a semi-circular table situated against one wall.
“Catherine, would you be so kind as to pour for us?”
“Of course.”
Hugh remained uncomfortably close to her while she prepared his coffee with cream and sugar and handed him the cup.
“Thank you. Just as I like it.”
The tone of his voice put Kitty on edge. It implied he set great store on her remembering his preference. She wished she had asked instead of relying on her memory.
“Have you thought any more about my offer?”
Too much—but she was in no hurry to give him an answer. He probably assumed she would fall into his arms because of her lack of options. Because she had no family to go to. Many women in her position would have leapt at the chance.
Not her. “I do not know—”
Hugh held up his hand. “Forgive my impatience. Say no more at present.”
Kitty would have laughed if he did not look so serious. Eagerness was not a word she would have used to describe Hugh’s courtship.
She poured a cup of tea, added a generous helping of milk, and walked across the room to give it to William.
“Do you have some secret system for recalling our preferences?”
“No. Merely years of practice waiting on my grandfather’s cronies. Serving drinks to just two people is simple.”
“It means you took notice when Miss Barrington was in charge.”
“I’ve always found it in my interest to pay attention. You never know when such information might come in useful.”
“I’m very glad you didn’t slip away while we lingered over our brandy. I could not bear any more unadulterated Mr Barrington this evening.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
He nodded.
“How about a game of piquet, Mr Merry?” Hugh asked as William put down his empty cup. “To take your mind off our absent friend.”
“Though I appreciate the gesture, you must pardon me if I decline. I am not in the mood to play cards and think I’ll retire early. Goodnight.”
With an apologetic grimace in her direction, he withdrew.
Kitty felt the double sting of William’s desertion. Not only would she miss his presence, but he had also left her alone with Hugh. After their earlier conversation, the awkwardness was palpable.
“Would you care for a game, Catherine, my dear?”
“No, thank you. The sky is clear tonight, and I yearn to see the stars.”
“As you wish. I have some letters to write, which I should not neglect. Wrap up warm. I don’t want you catching a chill.”
Kitty suppressed a smile. No offer to accompany her on what could have turned into a romantic moonlit walk. How in heaven’s name had Hugh courted his wife? Had he been so eligible that all he had needed to do was ask?
She hurried from the room, relieved to be spared his company. Dressed in her pelisse and bonnet, she went out into the garden. The moon was full and reflected in the dark waters below. The smoothness was unbroken by the white breakers that so often characterised the sea around Portland.
“Watching the stars?” asked William, coming up behind her.
“Yes. I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“I was too restless for that, and for once, I didn’t wish to paint.” He stared up at the sky. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Majestic.”
“Awesome.”
“Breathtaking.”
They grinned at each other and fell into a companionable silence, gazing at the water in the moonlight.
“Doesn’t it make you feel small?” She gestured toward the water below them. “All this is so huge, and we are so tiny. I find it comforting. I figure that if God is so big as to create all this, he is more than capable of taking care of me.”
“Um…I… Yes.”
“It is unusual for the sea here to be so still. As if it’s at peace.”
“Unlike me.”
“Tell me.”
“You were right. Mr Barrington has hinted that his daughter is expecting an offer from me, and he will not let me display the portrait in the Royal Academy exhibition unless I court her.”
“Oh, William!”
It was as she feared. Hugh was set on having the Viscount for a son-in-law, and he held the power to force him into marrying his daughter.
If only William loved her as she loved him, perhaps she could save him, but there was no chance of that. If he cared that much for anyone, he would not commit himself to wedding a woman for whom he had no affection for the sake of his art.
As it was, he would be lost. Because he was devoted to his painting above all else—and nothing but the deepest love would ever shake that.
Kitty’s response stirred something deep within William, and his heart answered the call. Even though he had failed to heed her warning, she hadn’t given up on him. She sounded as if she really cared.