“A pleasure, sir,” Lucy said curtsying and nodding.
“Miss Brighton, Mr. Grayson.” He nodded and shook George’s hand.
Already in attendance was Modesty occupied in an intense conversation with a young man on the far side of the room.
Just at that moment, another guest arrived.
“Ah, our last guest, Lord Adolphus Kendal, welcome,” Sir Harcourt said, going over to greet the portly, red-faced gentleman—again with a vigorous two-handed handshake.
Lord Kendal went over to Aunt Hester and greeted her. He turned to the other guests and proclaimed. “Sorry to be late, but Lords had a late session this afternoon.”
“My Lords, ladies, and gentlemen, dinner is to be served,” the butler announced.
Chapter 11
George had been able to arrange to sit opposite Lucy, as promised. The only problem was a large flower arrangement blocking her view of him. Lucy panicked for a moment but realized she could follow the two gentlemen seated on either side of her when it came time to choose a knife or a fork.
On her left was the publisher, Mr. Simpson. Lucy surmised that he had been invited so that she might discuss her writing with him. On her right was the young gentleman Modesty had been chatting with.
He turned to Lucy, not yet having been introduced.
“I am Aaron Wilkes,” he said.
“Lucy Brighton,” she said smiling.
“And how do you know the Oakleys?” he asked as the butler shook out Lucy’s napkin and placed it on her lap.
Only momentarily distracted Lucy answered, “I am from Grayson Manor, and I came as George’s guest.”
“Ah…” Aaron seemed to be uncertain of her relationship with George. “And you are… a sister? A fiancé? A…”
“Friend. I am a ward of the Graysons. Like Miss Modesty is of the Oakleys.”
“I am a fellow artist. Lady Oakley thought George and I should meet and have a chat. I have been painting in London now for over five years, and she thought I might be able to offer him some advice in advancing his career.”
“I am certain he would be most grateful for any insights you might have to offer.”
At this point, two tureens of soup were brought to the table, and the butler and an assistant went to each guest offering either a white or brown soup. Lucy selected the brown.
Aaron turned and asked, “Then you and Mr. Grayson are not engaged?”
“Oh no. We are traveling companions on this visit and friends at the Manor.”
“How long will you be staying in London? I should very much like to show you some of my favorite sights if you would enjoy that? There are any number of wonders you might find intriguing,” he said with a large grin.
Lucy suddenly realized he was flirting with her. “How very charming of you to ask, Mr. Wilkes. Let me confer with George to see when we might be free to join you.”
“Oh…” Aaron’s expression changed, and he returned to his soup.
Mr. Simpson had been conversing with Modesty on his left, but he turned to Lucy and said, “Lady Oakley tells me you are an author. Is that so?”
Lucy blushed slightly. “I write. I do not yet consider myself an author. That sounds so professional, and I am only just beginning my first novel.”
“But you have written stories she tells me.”
“That is so. I have a number of stories for children, and I try them out on my friend Isabell’s younger brothers, and they seem to like them.”
“And I believe they would be the best judges. You may fool an adult but never a child when it comes to a good story.” He laughed heartily.
Mr. Simpson seemed to be very good natured, and she liked him immediately. Lucy looked over at George who was peeking at her from around the edge of the flowers and smiling. He gave her a wink.
“How are you doing, Miss Lucy Brighton?”
“I believe I have found the soup spoon, so I am doing quite well, thank you very much, George.”
“Keep up the good work.” And then he was distracted by an enquiry from Horatia Simpson to his left.
Lucy turned back to Mr. Simpson, but he had returned to the conversation with Modesty.
By now the fish course was being served—a finely poached sturgeon with a white wine and cream sauce.
The conversation at the table was lively, and Sir Harcourt and Lord Adolphus were in a fevered discussion about some pending bill in parliament. However, Aunt Hester intervened.
“Gentlemen, no politics this evening, if you please. We are surrounded by guests with a refined sensibility, and we should elevate our discussion to the finer things in life.”
Sir Harcourt let out a generous belly laugh and cried out, “The misses speaks. Lord Adolphus, it seems we are being boorish and must confine our discussion to delicate subjects.”
That set the two men laughing, as Sir Harcourt slapped the table in glee and set all the silverware rattling.
Lucy had to smile. Even though Sir Harcourt was boisterous, he seemed to have a good heart and a sense of humor.
The rest of the dinner passed with little more conversation on Lucy’s part. Aaron was now ignoring her, Mr. Simpson was engaged in a lengthy exchange with Modesty, and George was mostly hidden from sight and unavailable for any discussion.
After the ladies retired to the sitting room, leaving the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars, Lucy hoped to find some interesting talk. But Modesty would sooner saw off a limb than speak to her. Aunt Hester was in her comfortable chair and nodding off to sleep, and Mrs. Horatia Simpson took some crochet work out of her bag and immediately occupied herself, ignoring the rest of the ladies.
Presently the gentleman reappeared, and Lucy began to hope for renewed conversation. And indeed, Mr. Simpson came over to her.
“Miss Lucy, I had hoped we might continue our talk about your writing. Did you, by any chance, bring any samples of your work with you?”
“Oh, Mr. Simpson, I had no idea that anyone would be interested in seeing my work and I did not. However, I would be happy to send you a few pieces via the post when I return home.”
“That would be satisfactory.”
“What are your particular interests, Mr. Simpson? Children’s stories, adult romance, mystery, adventure? What?”
“We publish a number of stories in periodicals. We have a label for crime fact or fiction. We also publish romance, essays, sermons and we are just starting up a new division for children’s stories. Anything within those genres I would be happy to review.”
“Then I shall send you what I have that would be appropriate.”
Mr. Simpson reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced a card. “This is how to reach me. And I do look forward to reading what you offer. Lady Oakley speaks highly of you.”
He bowed and went to sit with his wife.
Lucy was surprised that Aunt Hester had recommended her, as Aunt had never read any of her work. But it appeared that in London, who you knew counted more than what you did.
George was conversing with Aaron, and Lucy hoped that he was getting some good tips from the young artist. But George glanced over at her and smiled, winking at her again. That made her smile, and she went to sit next to Aunt Hester who was now awake.
“What a lovely dinner,” Lucy said. “I especially enjoyed the roasted duckling. Very crispy exterior but still juicy inside. You must have a fine cook.”
“A darling gem. She has been with us from the beginning of her career, and we hope she never leaves.”
At this moment George came over and offered Lucy his hand. “Have you seen Aunt’s lovely back garden?”
“Just from the bedroom window.”
“I fancy a breath of fresh air. It is such a mild and gentle summer evening. Shall we take a stroll? The moon is full and should light our way.”
“I would like that,” Lucy said, taking his hand and standing.
They crossed the sitting room and left through the French doors into the garden. It was ind
eed a lovely evening, and Lucy barely needed to pull her shawl up around her shoulders.
There was a small pond in the middle of the garden, and the walkway from the house led over to a gazebo covered in night-blooming jasmine where there was a bench. George still held Lucy’s hand and led her toward the bench.
Lucy took a deep breath and, feeling the warmth of George’s hand, felt a great peace overtake her—and not just peace, but a deep feeling of gratitude for George’s attention to her. She was thrilled to be in London. She was filled with the joy of his presence, and she was surprised to find her heart was racing as he turned to her and looked with such affection into her eyes.
“Come, let us sit.”
They went to the bench and sat together. He took her hand and caressed it gently. A couple of frogs sang their unmelodic songs in the night air. She was aware of the crickets chirping and a gentle breeze rustling the jasmine and wafting its delicate scent around them.
“Lucy, how have you fared this evening? Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Never as much as I am enjoying this lovely moment, right now.”
She could see George smiling at her. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. Then took hold of her nose and shook it like he was playing with a dog. That startled her, and she recoiled. The mood had been broken.
“What was that?” she asked.
“I felt playful. Did I cross a line?” She did not know what to say. “I must have. I am so sorry. It is something I occasionally do with my sisters on the rare occasions when we are light-hearted together—which is rare, except with Betsy.”
Lucy did not like being compared to his sisters. Deep inside she had to realize she was hoping for more from him. But what could that be? She was what to him? Not a sister. Not a fiancé. A friend? Yes. But she realized she wanted much more. Did he? But how could that be? He was to become the Duke of Sutherland, and she was… a poor tenant farmer’s daughter with intelligence, excellent education, and no future, apart from serving in some nobleman’s house as a nanny or perhaps a lady’s companion.
“Are you cold? Do you want to go back inside?” he asked standing and offering his hand.
“I expect so,” she said sadly, once again realizing the limitations of her current situation.
George was troubled by something when he awoke the next morning, but he could not quite put his finger on it.
He threw back the covers on the bed, sat up, and put his feet on the oriental rug beside the bed. Then he remembered last evening in the garden. He had found himself so profoundly attracted to Lucy that he had become nervous and had acted like a silly boy. Why ever had he tweaked her nose? She obviously was troubled by the gesture. But he had been so disoriented by his feelings that he had acted like a child in the nursery.
He must make this right with her. But he realized he was still a boy—barely a young man—and needed to think before he acted and behave more like an adult.
He stood, put on his dressing gown, and resolved to make things better with Lucy this morning.
After bathing, shaving, and feeling better about himself, he went down to breakfast and found Lucy already seated at the breakfast table.
“Good morning, Lucy. I hope you slept well?”
She looked up at him but showed no eagerness when she said, “fairly well, thank you.”
Modesty was also at the table, and he nodded to her, “Miss Modesty. I trust you enjoyed the festivities last evening?”
“Festivities? Seriously? It was as dull a fiasco as I have ever witnessed. What a boring lot of old fuddy-duddies.”
“They were distinguished,” George corrected. “I think you will find that as you reside in London, you will find a great many such personages.”
“Well, at least Aaron Wilkes was somewhat entertaining—and quite handsome I might add. Do you not think so, Miss Lucy?”
“I believe he certainly thought so,” Lucy said nonchalantly as she buttered and jammed a toast.
George could not help but smile at Lucy’s putdown, and then asked, “Miss Lucy, I believe you are to have the first fitting this morning for your new dresses, is that not so?”
Modesty looked over at Lucy, somewhat astonished that Miss Lucy could be ordering new dresses.
“At ten. And will you be going out this morning?” she asked.
“I was hoping that we might do some sight-seeing. I promise you some delightful venues.”
“We shall see.”
She was still acting very coolly toward him. She had been wounded by his silly behavior last evening, and he was determined to make it up to her.
“The fitting should only take an hour or two, and then I thought we might have lunch at my father’s favorite restaurant, and after, drive by the palace and stop for a tour of the houses of parliament. And you might also enjoy the Tower of London and St. Paul’s Cathedral.”
Lucy seemed to warm to that idea. “If it is not a great inconvenience.”
“Why should it be an inconvenience? It is part of the reason you came to London with me. I promised you a tour, and now I want to make good on my promise.” It was difficult to keep his irritation at her coldness toward him out of his reply.
She looked at him and seemed to realize she was not being as open to his efforts as she might be. “And I thank you for the offer and look forward to us spending the afternoon together exploring the best that London has to offer.”
Excellent, he thought, and he was determined to make this the very best day of the trip, for they were to leave for Grayson Manor the day after tomorrow.
Chapter 12
Lucy was horrified to learn that her friend, Isabell, was sick again. A note was left on her bed which she found on her return from London. She wanted to go to her immediately, but the Duchess had made it known she was so desperately in need of Lucy’s attendance that Lucy could not rush to visit her friend until later in the afternoon.
The carriage had arrived just before noon after an uneventful trip home from London. The last several days in London had been taken up with seeing the sights—one more fitting for the dresses—and a cheerful farewell from Lord and Lady Oakley, who welcomed Lucy to return for a visit at any time.
“Oh, there you are,” Judith said as Lucy came into her sitting room. “It seems as though you have been gone forever.”
“Six days, I believe, Your Grace.”
Judith pointed to her little bottle, shaking her finger. “Oh, Lucy, you are the only one who understands my needs. We already know Flossy is useless, and that other girl, what is her name?”
“Sylvia.”
“Yes… well, she was adequate, but she has no sympathy… no gentle understanding of my condition as you do. Now, will you take Isabell outdoors for me? She has been squirming for the past hour, and I know what that means.”
“Of course.”
Lucy picked up the dog and was headed out of the drawing room when Judith called out, “And hurry back. I need you to change my shoes. These new ones have been killing me. Oh-h-h, how I suffer.”
Lucy left the Duchess’s chambers and was headed to take the dog outside when she was waylaid by Ann.
“Oh, there you are… finally back from your little jaunt to London?”
“We arrived back just before lunchtime.” The dog was now squirming to be let down. “You must excuse me, I should love to visit, but your mother tells me the dog needs to go outdoors immediately.”
“Oh, I do not want to visit with you, I want you to fetch me a basin of hot water. I want to wash my hair. And make certain you do it as soon as possible. I need it to dry before tea time.”
Ann turned her back to Lucy and carried on toward her rooms.
As Isabell, the dog, was relieving herself, Lucy looked out across the vast expanse of the estate and thought about her old home. Many of the memories were fading, but she had a longing to go back and visit the sight of her old house, at least once more. She knew it had been rebuilt and had new tenants, but perhaps Georg
e would indulge her and take her on his horse some morning or afternoon when he was free.
Lucy returned to the Duchess and ensconced the dog once again in her Grace’s lap.
The Legend of the Betrayed Duchess_A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 9