Page 24 of A Misguided Devotion

He was not the sort of man who accepted defeat. She suspected he was too used to getting his own way. The determined glint in his eye when he took his leave warned Kitty to expect another attack.

“You did not tell me you would be besieged by admirers the moment you stepped outdoors,” she said as they entered the garden through the gate in the wall.

“Oh! Do you think they admired me?” Laura asked, a faint blush colouring her cheeks, as though such a notion was novel.

“I would have thought that was obvious.”

“You’re mistaken about Mr Jenkin. He was merely looking out for me as the daughter of a gentleman he knows well.”

Kitty didn’t challenge Laura’s words, but she considered her dismissal of Mr Jenkin’s admiration a little too ardent.

“And the painter?”

Laura scowled. “I wish he would stop pestering me.”

“He’s persistent, but still young. I expect you’re the first woman to capture his fancy, and his infatuation will soon burn out.”

“How disappointing!”

“But I thought you didn’t want his adulation.”

“I don’t, but it is lowering to think that though my beauty engages a man’s interest, it does not last. It must be so much easier to be plain. You would not suspect a man of loving your face and not yourself.”

Was Laura serious? That she envied her and viewed her lack of beauty as a blessing. It was a line of thinking Kitty had never considered before. Though accustomed to acknowledging her own plainness, and usually unbothered by it, Laura’s words cut deep. The worst of it was that her companion did not realise she had hurt her.

Kitty dug up every trace of self-pity before it could take root and smiled to herself. She had little control over the way she looked on the outside, but that did not stop her from becoming more beautiful on the inside. And that was a beauty that didn’t fade.

The following day, Laura begged Kitty to go for another walk down to the sea.

“Aren’t you worried the painter will pester you again?”

“I doubt he would be so imprudent after the way you dismissed him yesterday.”

Kitty was not so sure. Neither was she certain her companion wanted to avoid him. Was she protesting to hide her feelings?

As they left the garden through the gate in the wall, Kitty surveyed the area, seeking any sign of the artist’s presence. There was none. A twinge of disappointment assailed her, which she dismissed as fast as it had come. It mattered not a jot that she had enjoyed sparring with the painter, who was more handsome than any young man had the right to be.

White-blond hair, carelessly styled—wild, almost—but it suited him well. Clear blue eyes, which had gazed down at her with such engaging mischievousness as they had battled with words. That in itself was something that elicited her admiration. It was seldom that men had to gaze down at her.

More often, she matched their height or, as with the curate, exceeded it. The artist’s cheeks were, perhaps, a little too full for perfection, but she imagined the years would bring about the leanness they lacked. Yes, all in all, he was a remarkably handsome young man, but it would do her no good to dwell on it. He was interested in Laura—not her. A gentleman like him wouldn’t look twice at her, even if she had a large dowry, which she had not.

Kitty hurried after her companion, who was moving down the path to the bay at a rapid pace. Near the water’s edge, a few men were loading a boat with slabs of stone from the nearby quarry, and they doffed their caps as they passed. Clearly, they were used to Laura’s presence in the cove.

They walked past two huts to the far side of the beach. The sun shone, but there was a cool breeze, and Kitty appreciated the warmth of her pelisse. It was then she noticed how lightly clad her companion was, wearing only a Spencer jacket over her muslin dress as protection against the chill. Had Laura lived on Portland so long that she was immune to the cooling power of the wind?

It seemed not. After standing at the water’s edge for a short while, she shivered.

“Are you cold?” asked Kitty. “Shall we go home?”

“No! We’ve only just got here. Please don’t be concerned. I’ll be fine.”

“We could fetch your cloak from the house and then return.”

“I couldn’t climb up that steep path twice in one day. If I become too chilled, we’ll be forced to curtail our time outside. How foolish of me not to dress in something warmer.”

It was not long before she shivered again.

“We should go back. You’re getting cold. I would fetch your cloak for you, but I can’t—”