Page 15 of A Misguided Devotion

“Bah! You clumsy creature, Lacey. The pins are supposed to go in my hair, not in my head.”

“Sorry, madam.” She knew the complaint was unjust, but there was no point in arguing her case. It pleased her mistress to find fault with everything she did.

The old lady examined her reflection in the glass. “Hmm. It’s still not a patch on the way Greaves used to arrange it, but I suppose it will do.”

Kitty was tempted to ask why Mrs Barrington had let Greaves go if she was going to sing the praises of her previous maid all day long, but as she had no wish to become the next victim of the old lady’s bad temper, she kept her mouth closed.

She knew she was blessed to have been given the role rather than being consigned to help the cook, but it meant she was on the receiving end of her mistress’s caustic tongue.

“I tore the hem of the lilac gown I wore yesterday. Mend it. I won’t be needing you downstairs. My son is visiting today. If I need you, I’ll ring. Mind that you answer without delay.”

“Yes, madam,” she said for the twentieth time that morning and bobbed another curtsey as Mrs Barrington departed with a swish of her silk skirts.

Kitty put the room to rights, picking up the nightgown and wrapper that her mistress had discarded, and tidying her brushes on the dressing table. She went to the needlework box she’d been given and looked for a thread that matched the lilac of the dress with the torn hem.

Fortunately, she had made and mended her own clothes for years, as well as those of her grandfather and brother, and she had often been praised for her neat stitches. But her sewing wouldn’t be good enough for her mistress. Nothing ever was.

Perhaps her indomitable spirit irked Mrs Barrington, making her try harder to break her, but Kitty knew the old woman would fail. Even if the worst happened and she discovered Edward had died, she knew God would never forsake her.

Kitty had just finished repairing the hem of Mrs Barrington’s dress when the bell rang. Putting her mending aside, she brushed down the front of her skirt with both hands, straightened her cap, and made her way downstairs.

Having been scolded on more than one occasion for looking too cheerful, she schooled her face into an expressionless mask and entered the drawing room.

Mrs Barrington sat in her usual winged armchair to the right of the fireplace. Opposite was a middle-aged gentleman and a young lady, whom she guessed to be a few years younger than herself.

The man was well dressed, with thinning brown hair on the top of his head and thick sideburns. Though not handsome, there was nothing unpleasant about his features. Kitty was inclined to approve of him, especially since he had risen from his chair as she entered the room, although she was only a servant.

He glanced at her and then addressed his mother in a deep voice that reminded Kitty of her grandfather. “Will you please introduce me to your new companion?”

Mrs Barrington scowled. “Sit down, Hugh. I told you. The girl is no blood relative of ours and deserves no such civility. She is a penniless orphan, and I have only kept her here out of charity.”

The man ignored his mother and bowed. “I am sorry to meet you under such circumstances, Miss Lacey. I understand my great uncle died recently.”

It was the first time she had received kind words from a Barrington, and they brought a slight smile to her lips.

“Just Lacey,” the old woman growled. “She would be in the kitchens, and even less fit for my drawing room, if I hadn’t needed a new lady’s maid.”

“You let Greaves go?” the man asked.

His mother sniffed hard and raised her nose in the air. “I had no choice. The girl was carrying on with one of the grooms. I’ll not have such wanton behaviour beneath my roof.”

“Of course not,” he said in a soothing voice. “Nobody would expect that of you.”

He turned once more in Kitty’s direction. “Please forgive my mother. Old grievances are the hardest to bear, but they are hers alone. However, her reluctance to introduce us forces me to perform the task myself. I am Mrs Barrington’s only son, Hugh, and this is my daughter, Laura,” he said, motioning toward the young lady.

She rose from her seat and dipped into a curtsey. Mr Barrington nodded his approval and continued to talk to his mother.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Laura said, “though rather disappointing to learn we’re not related. I have no brothers or sisters or cousins, and would have liked a female relative who could be my friend.”

She smiled weakly and fell silent, leaving Kitty free to take in the full glory of her appearance. Perhaps if they were cousins, she would have inherited some of the beauty which the girl had in abundance.

Her chestnut locks were piled on her head, showing off a long, creamy white neck to advantage. One or two stray curls fell at the sides of her heart-shaped face, and her complexion was clear, shining with natural radiance.

Unlike Kitty’s own skin. Forced by her mistress to tie back her hair in a severe style, her pock-marked forehead was visible to all. But she was not here to impress the gentleman. Only to serve his mother.

She returned her gaze to Laura. Her eyes were the deepest blue. Her mouth, a rosebud of perfection. In short, the young woman was stunning, and dressed in a fashionable muslin gown, she would make a fine model for a fashion plate in La Belle Assemblée.

It was as well that Edward wasn’t here. He was at just that age and disposition where he might fall for such a dazzling appearance—at least, he had been before he went to war.