The Scandal of the Deceived Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “Hello, Lucy,” Betsy said, happy to see her friend.

  “George asked me to bring this to you,” Lucy said holding up the dress and offering it to Betsy. “He said it is his birthday present to you.”

  “Why did he not bring it himself?” Ann asked. “Is he using you as his personal servant now?” Ann asked with a mean chuckle.

  “His Grace has taken George with him into town on some business, and George wanted you to have this in plenty of time for the party.”

  Betsy smiled. “It is beautiful, Lucy. I love it! George is such a wonderful brother.”

  It had only been a few months since Lucy started living at Grayson Manor, and already she had fairly well acclimatized to her new situation. A week after living at Grayson there had been a short memorial service for the lost Brighton family members in the Manor chapel—attended mostly by other tenant farmers and His Grace, David, and George who were there to comfort Lucy. After the ceremony, Lucy was quiet for a few days but her natural exuberance soon returned, and she was once again totally immersed in her new life. Lucy was given a bed in one of the kitchen maid’s rooms. She was also expected to be in the kitchen at five o’clock in the morning to help with breakfast and lunch. However, Mrs. Mead let her slip away in the afternoon to study with George.

  To Nanny Wilkes’ surprise, Lucy was mastering her classes, unlike any student Nanny Wilkes had ever seen before. Even her brightest student, George, was outshone by this young girl. But that was more because of George’s lack of interest in many of the academic subjects than from his lack of intelligence.

  Because they studied in the classroom together, George and Lucy were forming an even closer bond. Each day Nanny Wilkes gave them assignments to prepare for the next day, and they often stayed together after class to discuss the day’s studies and to work together on their assignments.

  However, George sometimes neglected his assigned studies and turned to his drawing instead—using either pencil or charcoal. But he often complained to Lucy that he longed to work with color, but so far, his parents had not allowed him the use of oil paints, hoping to discourage him from his artistic pursuits.

  But today there were no classes as it was Betsy’s birthday, and everyone had a day free from the classroom.

  Nanny Wilkes was in charge of decorations for the party, and Mrs. Mead was preparing the food. When George returned from town with his father, he immediately rushed to the schoolroom where he had his drawing materials. He was surprised to find Lucy sprawled out on the floor with several books open in front of her.

  “What are you doing here when there is no school?” he asked.

  “I could ask you the same,” Lucy said looking up at him with a grin.

  “I came to draw. And you?”

  “I was studying my history book. I am not very good at that. But then I found this book,” she said picking up one of the open books. It is all about the Renaissance, and I got a really good idea.”

  “What is that?”

  “It is to be a surprise. But I know you are going to like it.”

  “Tell me now,” George insisted.

  “Not now. It is time for Betsy’s party. Come.” she insisted as she got up off the floor and took George’s hand. “And she liked your present, by the way.”

  “Yes, I thought she might. She always complains to me that all she ever gets to wear is hand-me-downs from her sisters and never anything new for herself.”

  “Like me,” Lucy said with a touch of sadness.

  “I would talk to Mother about that, but she is not very giving when it comes to you.” George thought for a moment. “I am afraid you will have to make do for the time being. I do not know about buying clothes for girls—except for party dresses—and besides, my allowance is very small.”

  “That is all right. And besides, we have a party to go to right now.”

  Judith always said she had no preference for any of her children—they were all equal to her. But nobody believed her. Of course, George was the little prince, but to her, the little princess was Ann, her first child. They were also much alike in temperament, and this afternoon at the birthday party they were sitting next to each other passing whispered comments to one another like conspirators.

  In particular, the two often conspired against Lucy, considering her an outsider. Much to the conspirators’ displeasure, the entire rest of the family appeared to be under the thrall of this cunning waif, and unfortunately, arrayed against them. But there was nothing they could do about it as his Grace was adamant in his support of Lucy. They also noted that George absolutely doted on her and would never hear an unkind word against her. How it galled the united mother and daughter.

  Nanny Wilkes was hopelessly trying to organize some party games in the library where the party was being held, but no one seemed the least bit interested. Betsy kept eyeing the table with her birthday presents. Ann was sequestered to the side of the room with her mother, and Charlotte, who had just had a spurt in growth and sprouted a fresh array of spots on her face, cowered in the corner to avoid the crowd of neighborhood children invited to the party.

  Only George and Lucy interacted with the guests. Finally, Nanny Wilkes was able to organize a game of Cock-a-Roosty—a rowdy game where an “it” player stands before the group, and each player must try and get past “it” to home. But everyone has to hop on one leg.

  The noise level increased manyfold, and Grandfather David was forced to retreat to the seclusion and peace of his quarters. His Grace escaped to his study, and Judith and Ann looked on with disapproving pinched faces.

  Eventually, Betsy was allowed to open her presents, most of which were books—which she liked, undergarments—which embarrassed her, and a saddle from her father and mother—which perplexed her, as she seldom rode and had a perfectly suitable saddle already. Maybe it was a hint for her to get outdoors more.

  A cake was presented; the guests were fed, and before long, parents were whisking their children away in carriages, carts, and on horseback.

  With so much food so late in the afternoon, there was no thought of a sit-down supper, and if anyone was hungry later in the evening, trays could be brought from the kitchen.

  The Duchess was the first of the family to rise and say as she clapped, “That is the end of the party. Betsy, make certain your presents are taken to your room. We must leave the library in the condition we found it before the party.” She turned then to Lucy and said, “And you help clean up. It seems you have done nothing useful all afternoon.”

  Ann stood next to her mother, and the two marched out of the library together. Charlotte followed with her head bowed. Betsy looked at her presents and sighed, before searching for a chambermaid to help her remove the loot to her room. She did not want to call upon her friend, Lucy, to help her, despite what her mother had just said. Nanny Wilkes had disappeared after the games and only George and Lucy were left. They were seated on a window seat overlooking the rolling hills of the valley.

  It had been only a couple of months since the fire and Lucy, her head leaning against the window frame asked, “Do you think I could go back to see my house?”

  George was surprised by her question and said, “I believe Father has sent some of his staff over there to see about rebuilding. After all, it is an active tenancy, and he wants it to put it to good use.”

  Lucy lowered her eyes and quietly asked, “Was anyone found after the fire?”

  George’s sympathy was aroused, and he answered, “Oh, Lucy, the fire was much too intense. I was told there was nothing to recover except for ashes, pieces of metal, and a few crockery pieces. I am so sorry.”

  Lucy turned her head and looked out the window, but not before George saw tears appearing in her eyes.

  “I would still like to go back to see for myself.”

  “I will take you over on my horse sometime soon.”

  Lucy crouched before the foundation of her home. The debris had been cleared away, and there were indications t
hat workmen had started rebuilding, but there was no one working there at the moment. George stood by a large tree and waited silently for her to pay her respects.

  Lucy had a stick in her hand, scribbled something in the earth, and then wiped it away with the palm of her hand. After some moments of silence, she stood up and went over to George and asked, “Are your parents going to make me come back to live here after the house is rebuilt?”

  George had to laugh. “No, they are going to find new tenants. They want the property to be productive and will need more than you to get what they want.”

  She nodded. “Good. I do not want to come back.” Then she took hold of his hand and smiling said, “There are some things I want to show you. It is the surprise I promised you.”

  George was relieved she had finished here, as it made him uncomfortable to think about his friend losing her family in such a terrible way.

  “Fine. Where do we start?” he asked.

  “Over there,” Lucy said, pointing toward the stream.

  They walked along the stream’s bank; Lucy with head down examining the stream bed and bank, several times poking with her stick. Finally, she stopped and began digging with her fingers.

  “Here, see this?” she asked as she held up some yellow clay.

  “What is that?” George asked.

  “It is for the colors you want to paint with.”

  George was astonished. “What? How am I to paint with that?”

  “I do not know. How are paints made?”

  “Color materials are mixed with linseed oil, and then the different colors are mixed to make the color you want to use when painting.”

  “And where do those colors come from?”

  George thought about that. “I have no idea. From the shop, I suspect.”

  Lucy laughed. “Yes, but where do they come from before they go to the shop?”

  “You know, I have no idea.”

  “Why not collect colors from around here and mix them with your linst oil?”

  “Linseed oil,” George corrected.

  Lucy nodded, and then took George by the hand and led him farther along the stream to an exposed earth bank. There were streaks of dark red, terracotta, and more of a deeper yellow color.

  “See. If you were to collect these colors and more along here, you could make your colors. And my nana also showed me some plants that have colors I think you could use.”

  “Your nana showed you?”

  “Yes, we used to go looking for plants to use in making medicines when the twins got a cough, or I fell and scraped my knee, or mommy was feeling poorly. And some of them were wonderfully colorful, and I often thought they were parts of the rainbow broken off and dropped to the ground to take root.”

  George laughed. “Oh, I like that. Can you show me some of those plants?”

  “Of course.” Lucy left the stream and headed along a trail that led toward a grove of trees. She stopped along the path, picked a few plants and then headed into the trees and began looking for more plants and mushrooms.

  After an hour or so, Lucy had her apron filled with clippings, scrapings of rocks and soil, and leaves, roots, and fungi.

  “There. That should be enough to get you started. And if you need more colors, you tell me what you need, and I may know where to find them.”

  “What a clever child you are, Lucy Brighton.”

  “Maybe. But it is just what I know and what my nana taught me. And when you said you needed color, I thought of these.”

  Chapter 4

  There was no way Nanny Wilkes was going to allow George to mix his paints in her schoolroom. She was very sensitive to odors, and she reacted even to old paintings where the paint had dried a long time ago.

  He had no other space of his own to set up his painting, as his mother would immediately recognize the smell of the linseed oil and bring her wrath down upon him for painting if he used his rooms.

  “Come with me,” George said, conspiratorially to Lucy, one afternoon after the schoolwork was done and there was still plenty of afternoon light and no one watching over them.

  George led her to the stables, up a flight of stairs, and along a hallway to an unused attic room where there was a large window, ample light, and the sounds and smells of stamping horses wafting up from the stalls below.

  “Here. What do you think of this place as a studio?” George asked.

  “What is a studio?” Lucy asked as she went to the window and peered out as though looking for the answer outside.

  “It is where an artist does his painting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he needs an uninterrupted time away from others and an inspiring environment. Is this not a splendid space?”

  “It looks like a dirty old attic to me,” Lucy said with absolutely no enthusiasm.

  “But I can fix it up. Will you help me?” he asked as he began moving boxes, crates, harnesses, and bags of feed away from the window to create a workspace for himself.

  “Are you going to sleep up here too?” she asked, picking up a dusty, cobwebbed harness with two fingers and gingerly removing it from its nail by the window.

  “No-o-o. Why would I do that?”

  “Because it might be the kind of thing you would do.”

  George had brought a box with him to the attic, and when he had created enough space to work in for the moment, he moved a small table near the window, set the box on it, and opened it up.

  Lucy went over and peeked inside. “Those are the colors we collected,” she exclaimed, happy to have helped with that.

  “And linseed oil. And I am going to mix my first colors now.”

  “Can I help?”

  “If you like. If you do not think this place is too filthy for you.”

  “I can make do,” she said reaching inside the box and taking out some dried blue flowers. “I want to make blue.”

  “Try it,” he said, handing her a mortar and pestle, some small jars, and the linseed oil.

  They spent the whole afternoon trying to mix paints. Some were successful and produced lively vivid colors, and others just turned into a muddy brown or produced no color at all and were lumpy and unusable.

  At the end of their efforts, they assessed their paints and had assembled only a few useful ones. George was disappointed. “We have more work to do. The soil and ground rock samples made the best colors. Might we go looking for more?”

  “We can try. But it would seem to me your best solution would be to persuade some adult to buy you some readymade paints in a proper art store—if such a thing exists.”

  “In London perhaps,” George mused. “But I have an idea. I believe paints can be ordered by mail. And if I can get some cash in hand, I might be able to find the address of a store in an art periodical and order them myself.”

  “What a splendid idea!” Lucy exclaimed.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon working on the studio—well, George did. Lucy was not able to do much lifting, so she let her friend manage the heavy pieces while she gazed dreamily out the window.

  Finally, the space was to George’s liking, and he stood in the middle of his studio, looked around and said, “You know what I am missing?

  “I have no idea.”

  “An easel and canvasses to paint on,” he said thoughtfully.

  “What about the art store where you are going to get your paints?”

  George waggled his head. “We are talking about a substantial sum of money for all of these things. I do not have that.”

  “Maybe you could make an easel. And what about using pieces of wood to paint on,” she asked. “And what about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “Where is my desk?”

  “Why would you want a desk?”

  “I am thinking I might want to write. I keep imagining stories I would like to tell. And with all the reading I have been doing, I do not see why I should not give it a try.”

  “You want a desk up he
re?”

  “I could write while you paint. Besides, you are going to need something to paint. You could paint me while I work.”

  “Hmm. Not a bad idea. Come, I have an idea for the easel, and I think I know where there is a spare table. It would not be a proper desk, but I do not see why it would not work for you.”

  “What are your mother and father going to say when they find out what you are doing out here?” she asked thoughtfully.

  “I am not going to tell them.”