Page 69 of A Misguided Devotion

William allowed Kitty to drag him along the street, hoping she knew where to look for her friend. Guilt pricked his conscience. He had been so preoccupied with replacing Kitty’s dilapidated bonnet that he had paid no heed to his muse’s absence.

She halted outside St Mary’s churchyard. “There!”

Her finger pointed at the familiar figure of Miss Barrington, standing behind the rearmost graves, talking to Mr Jenkin, with her maid waiting nearby.

As they watched, the riding officer laid a hand on her arm, and his raised voice floated across the tombstones. “Laura—”

She shook free of his grip. “No!”

“I’m begging you—”

“Please, don’t ask it of me…”

William could not stand by and do nothing. It was his duty to protect Miss Barrington from this man, who appeared to be coercing her to go with him against her will.

He closed the short distance between them and addressed Mr Jenkin. “I believe the young lady said no.”

The riding officer jerked around, his lips pursed. “Mind your own business, sir.”

“It is my business, Jenkin. Miss Barrington came to Weymouth in my care, and I mean to return her to her father.”

William glanced at Kitty, who had followed him down the churchyard, and tilted his head toward her friend.

She interpreted his cue as he’d intended and linked arms with her. “Come with me, Laura. It’s time for us to leave.”

Miss Barrington sucked in her lips and stared at Mr Jenkin, as if begging him to contradict her.

He met her gaze, his mouth tight, and then lowered his eyes. “Miss Lacey is right. You should go home.”

Kitty nodded to the maid, who hurried to her mistress’s side, and together they led a bewildered Miss Barrington out of the churchyard, talking softly to her as they went. No doubt comforting her after her distressing encounter with Mr Jenkin.

William glanced back at the cause of her affliction. The man hadn’t moved. It seemed as if all his joy had left with Miss Barrington. Is that what a broken heart looked like?

Haunted by the distress in the man’s eyes, William hurried after the ladies. What had overwrought Miss Barrington’s nerves? Had she rejected a marriage proposal from Mr Jenkin, knowing her father disliked the match? Or had he been trying to persuade her to elope, to escape her father’s disapproval? If so, he had been right to intervene. The ensuing scandal might have destroyed them.

William wondered if there would be consequences to his actions. If Miss Barrington had refused Mr Jenkin, where did that leave him? Had she turned down the riding officer because she was expecting an offer from a viscount?

When they arrived back at Rufus House, Laura retired to her room with a headache. Kitty was not surprised. Her friend had said little all the way home. Though it appeared she had rejected Mr Jenkin’s advances—or possibly, even, an offer of marriage—she was not unaffected.

Kitty had not forgotten William’s deception. As soon as they were alone, she rounded on him. “Why did you lie about your identity? I thought we were friends. Don’t you trust me?”

He ran a forked hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. He looked like a dog who had just come through a hedge from a forbidden garden and knew he was in trouble. “It’s not a falsehood. My name is William Merry, and I’m not obliged to use my title. I didn’t want to draw attention to my presence here.”

“Does Hugh know? Is that how you secured an invitation to this house?”

“Yes. It was the only way.”

“No wonder he welcomed you into his home. Any man would desire such a match for his daughter. Didn’t you realise the risk you were running in coming here? That he would try to persuade you to marry Laura. Is that what you want?”

He raked his fingers through his hair again. “I had to paint her.”

Exasperating man! Could he never see past his art? “Of course you did. It always comes back to your painting, doesn’t it? Do you flirt with every lady whose portrait you work on? Make them fall in love with you?”

“I came here to take Miss Barrington’s likeness, not to court her. It was hard enough getting her to tolerate my presence, so I could paint her.”

“But then she warmed to you. A miraculous change of heart—or maybe not. What if her father told her you were a viscount and put pressure on her to pursue a match with you? That would explain what we’ve just witnessed. Her seeming rejection of Mr Jenkin—a man I suspected she was in love with when I first arrived.”

“Miss Barrington does not care for me.”