Page 71 of A Misguided Devotion

“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.”