Page 19 of A Misguided Devotion

“No. Not since coming to Dorset, but he’s a dreadful correspondent. As I’ve had no word of his demise or capture, I’m sure he’s just been too busy or too lazy to pen a note to his sister.”

“Then you must write again. All the supplies you need are in the writing desk over there.” He gestured to a mahogany bureau in the corner of the room. “Leave your letter on the silver plate in the hall when you’ve finished, and my butler will ensure it is posted.”

“Thank you.”

“No doubt you are tired after the trials of the last few weeks.” What a delicate way to put it. “I’ll ask Mrs Williams to send up a tray with your dinner. Until tomorrow, Miss Lacey.” Mr Barrington took her hand and kissed it, as if she were royalty instead of a pauper who had just been offered a home.

Kitty thanked him again. His thoughtfulness was unexpected after the manner his mother had treated her. She settled down at the desk to write her letter, but it was a long while before she put quill to paper.

Would she be happy here? Befriending a motherless young woman and protecting her from undesirable suitors was not an onerous task, but a niggling doubt remained. Why had Mr Barrington chosen her to chaperon his daughter? Despite his assurances, was that all he required of her?

That night, Kitty lay down to rest in luxury. Her mattress was stuffed with feathers, not straw, and her sheets were smooth against her skin. A heavy quilted blanket warmed her feet, and thick bed curtains kept out the draughts.

But despite the comfort, she could not sleep. In the darkness, doubts crept in, upsetting her confidence.

Contrary to what she’d told Mr Barrington, she was concerned she had received no word from Edward since their grandfather had died. But perhaps his letter was chasing her around the country from their previous home in Pendlebury to Weymouth. She would have to wait even longer for it to find her on Portland.

And what of her life here? Would she be able to win Laura’s confidence? Would she be the restraining influence on his daughter’s behaviour that Mr Barrington required?

After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, she slipped out of bed and walked over to the window, which looked out onto the garden and the sea beyond.

She stared into the darkness, making little out in the gloom until moonlight broke through the clouds. The water glistened with a silver-white glow, giving it an almost magical appearance. She could stare at it all night and not grow tired of the sight.

However, if she didn’t sleep, she would not be able to keep her eyes open in the morning, so she dragged her gaze away from the sea and back to the garden below her window.

As she was turning, intending to go back to bed, a movement caught her eye. Her stomach clenched. Someone was out there. Was it a servant? An intruder? Somebody coming to steal the silver?

Don’t be ridiculous, Catherine Bruce. It’s just Laura’s father, taking a moonlit walk because he can’t sleep.

To prove her assertion, she opened the window and leaned out, hoping to identify Mr Barrington’s silhouette. But the noise had disturbed the nighttime visitor. Whoever it was had gone out of view, but whether into the house or further into the darkness, she couldn’t tell.

An unpleasant aroma hit Kitty’s nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose with distaste. Tobacco—a smell she could not abide.

Kitty pulled the window closed, hoping that no hint of the odour had penetrated her room. She would leave Mr Barrington to smoke in peace.

Chapter 7

Despite the late hour at which she had finally settled, it was a glorious sleep. Kitty had not rested so well since before her grandfather became sick. A feather bed and the luxury of lying in it undisturbed until breakfast was blissful.

The previous night’s worries disappeared with the dawn. Her life had taken an upward turn. Why shouldn’t she enjoy it?

There was every reason to be thankful. No cantankerous old lady to wait on. Her status much improved. No longer a servant but a lady’s companion. A respectable role for a gentlewoman. A definite improvement on being Mrs Barrington’s maid.

Kitty dressed herself and, having discovered that breakfast was not until nine, she made her way out into the garden. She wandered around for an hour, enjoying the pinks of the late summer roses and watching the boats out at sea. With a last glance at the water below, she returned to the house.

Mr Barrington stood as she entered the breakfast room. Some of the ice that had formed in her heart over the past fortnight melted. It warmed her on the inside to be treated like a lady again. Perhaps in time she would forget the dreadful interval in his mother’s household.

“I trust you slept well, Miss Lacey.”

“I did, thank you, sir. The bed is so much more comfortable than my last one.”

Mr Barrington glowered. “The less said about that, the better. And please, there is no need for us to stand on ceremony with each other. Address me as Hugh, and I will, if I may, call you Catherine.”

Kitty didn’t know how to refuse him permission. Was it churlish of her to want to control who used her name? He was only being kind, treating her as if she were part of his family. And it would be preferable to being referred to as Lacey. Calling him Hugh was more disturbing. It was far too intimate for her liking.

“Ah, Laura,” he said as his daughter entered the room. “I’m glad you were able to rouse yourself in time to join us.”

A faint colour suffused the young woman’s face. Was there an implied criticism in his words? She bussed her father’s cheek and bid them both a good morning before taking her place next to him. The servants took this as their cue and filled the table with hot dishes—freshly made toast and eggs—to join the existing spread of muffins, bread rolls, ham, butter, and preserves.