Robert Rochfort, son of the Rt. Hon. George Rochfort and Lady Elizabeth Moore, daughter of Henry Hamilton-Moore, 3rd Earl of Drogheda, inherited one of the largest fortunes in Ireland - the Rochfort's having been the wealthiest and most powerful families in Co. Westmeath from the time of his grandfather, Robert Rochfort, Chief Baron of the Irish Exchequer. He succeeded his father as MP for Westmeath in 1731, and six years later was elevated to the peerage as Baron Bellfield, advancing the Earldom of Belvedere in 1757.

The family life of the 'Wicked Earl', as he became known, is a case of fact being more fantastical than fiction. After the death of his first wife Elizabeth Tenison, he married the Hon. Mary Molesworth, daughter of Field Marshal Richard Molesworth, 3rd Viscount Molesworth who was ‘very handsome though no fortune’, and was then but sixteen years old. After the birth of their fourth child in 1743, Baron Bellfield heard a rumour that his wife had been unfaithful to him with his younger brother, Arthur. When he questioned his wife on the subject, she made no attempt to deny it, telling him that their last child was in fact his brother’s illegitimate son. Upon learning this, the Baron flew into a rage; he had his wife imprisoned in the garret of their home in Gaulstown, charged his pistols and rode off to hunt down his brother. However, Arthur had heard of his brother’s discovery and so fled to England that same night, narrowly escaping death. Instead, in 1759 Lord Belvedere, as he then was, sued his brother for adultery and was awarded the astronomical sum of £20,000 in damages. Arthur was unable to pay the fine, and was subsequently thrown into Dublin’s debtors prison, where he languished until his death.

Belvedere’s vendetta against his wife continued unrelentingly; she was kept in solitary confinement in their Gaulstown house from 1743 until the Earl’s death in 1774. (He himself moved into Belvedere House to be away from the wreckage of his marriage). Though Mary was allowed to walk in the grounds she was always followed by a footman ringing a bell to warn others to stay away. Understandably, Mary was profoundly damaged by her imprisonment; she never regained her trust in people, and would wander the halls of her son’s home whispering to the portraits, whose company she chose over that of the living. It is possible that the present portrait was executed posthumously, and is of a piece with the other two family portraits offered in this sale (see lots 189 and 190).