“I should like to see Father first,” Ann said.
George offered. “Then I think we should do that now—as a family.”
The family quietly filed into Matthew’s room. The body was laid out as George had described and Matthew did look peaceful. There was no outward indication of any wound—except for some scrapes around the face. The family stood by the bed with muted crying and sniffling. Her Grace sat on the edge of the bed and took hold of her husband’s hand, picking it up and kissing it.
Stevens came into the room and went over to George and whispered, “Your Grace the doctor is here.”
George turned to his family and said, “We must leave now. The doctor needs to examine Father’s remains.”
“Might I stay,” Judith pitifully asked.
George put his hand on his mother’s shoulder and said, “Of course, Mother. The rest of us come.”
Lucy was waiting for Ann in the drawing-room, ready to take her to see Isabell. As she sat and waited, she pondered the fact that only this morning at breakfast George had hinted that he wanted to take her for a ride later this afternoon. However, he had given no indication as to why. But, of course, there could be no thought of such a meeting now. Instead of sharing some time with George, she was now about to visit Isabell on a tragic errand with none other than Ann.
Lucy had to admit that Ann had been very gracious in offering to go with her to see her friend. Perhaps the death of her father had mellowed Ann to some extent. After all, none of the family would be considering romance in the weeks and even months to come as the family grieved and spent the appropriate amount of time in mourning.
Finally, Ann appeared at the drawing room door, dressed in a warm coat and bonnet.
“I am ready if you are, Lucy,” Ann said most cordially. “I have ordered the carriage for us.”
“Excellent. It is a bit chilly for a walk to her house.”
Lucy and Ann traveled toward the Harris house in near silence. Lucy wanted to say something consoling but did not know how to begin with the tense history between them. But the carriage had arrived at the Harris’s house and they got out and went to the cottage door.
Lucy knocked, and a surprised Isabell opened the door.
“Lucy… what a pleasant surprise. Please come in,” Isabell offered.
They went inside. Chrissy was stretched out asleep in a large chair with a cat napping on her stomach.
“Isabell, this is Ann Grayson, one of the Duke’s daughters.”
Ann nodded as she surveyed the small cottage.
“It is a pleasure, Miss Ann,” Isabell said. “Might I offer some tea?”
Lucy became serious. “Isabell, I am afraid we are not here on a social call.”
“Oh?”
Lucy then explained about the Duke’s death and what they needed from her.
“I am so very sorry, Miss Ann,” Isabell said with great feeling. “Of course, I will be honored to help however I can. But first, I must run over to my friend Molly’s house. She will watch Chrissy for me. If you will excuse me for just a moment.”
Isabell covered herself with a wool shawl and left the cottage.
Ann appeared to be uncomfortable in this small working-man’s cottage.
Lucy offered, “Would you like to sit until she returns?”
“I would rather not. If you do not mind, I should like to wait in the carriage. Come when you are ready.”
“But Ann, it will be very chilly with no heat. Please stay. There is a nice fire in the grate. Make yourself comfortable. Isabell will not be gone long.”
Ann agreed to the suggestion and went to the fireplace and sat on a straight-backed chair.
Isabell quickly returned with her friend.
“I am ready,” she announced, and the three went to the carriage.
Only the Duchess, George, Harold, and Lucy wore black at dinner that evening. The sisters were unprepared for such an event and could only manage muted colors.
The Duchess eyed her daughters and pronounced. “I will summon Madame Hortense tomorrow morning. It is scandalous to see my daughters dressed thusly as their father lays cold on his bed. You will all be outfitted for suitable mourning attire first thing tomorrow.”
Lucy studied Ann. She had been surprised at how Ann had been treating her since her father’s death. While Ann was not exactly warm toward Lucy, she had at least been civil and even cordial toward her.
George turned his attention to his mother and said, “I have made arrangements with the Vicar for the burial to be held in two days. He said it was customary to hold the ceremony in the church, but I said I thought you would prefer the service to be held here, as we are burying him in our family cemetery. Was I correct in that assumption?”
The Duchess teared up again and pulled her black handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh George, what am I to do now? Now you are the Duke, and I am but The Dowager Duchess. Soon you will be taking a wife and I shall be replaced.”
“Mother, please do not trouble yourself with such thoughts. I shall not be taking a wife until there is a suitable time of mourning.”
Mother looked over at Lucy and smiled rather sourly, knowing what she knew about George’s intentions.
George continued, “Harold is overseeing the construction of the casket. Our Joseph is a good carpenter and will do a fine job. And, as soon as it is completed, I thought it would be proper to lay him in the rotunda for viewing. I feel certain many of the locals would like to come and pay their respects.”
“Oh, George, must we? All those people coming and going. I am not sure I shall survive it,” Mother said.
“I am quite sure you will survive very well. And it is right and proper that our neighbors would want to come and pay their respects.”
“Then if we must.” And she sighed and dabbed at her eyes again.
Lucy smiled inwardly. Never had she seen anyone milk a situation such as this as fully as the Duchess did. It appeared that she was in her element with the glory of wallowing in the outward appearance of suffering.
Lucy looked over and saw that George was studying her. She smiled at him and he returned a wan smile.
George returned his attention to his mother and added. “I was thinking we should have a reception following the burial. It would be fitting for a man of Father’s standing. I have spoken to Stevens and Mrs. Mead, and we are putting together a menu. And I was thinking the reception should be held in the ballroom.”
Lucy spoke up. “Oh, please let me help however I can.”
“But your writing? I would hate to take you away from that,” George said.
“There can be no thought of that right now. I am in mourning too. His Grace was so very kind to me when I was a small child, taking me into his home as he did. It is the very least I can do.”
“Very well, then, let us meet tomorrow morning and see how you may help.”
“And me, too,” Ann added. “I should like to feel useful. All this grieving, moaning, and wallowing does not suit me. I would much rather make myself useful.”
“I am certain we can find a way for you to be helpful.”
George turned to Charlotte. “And, dear Sister, what about you? Do you wish to find something to do?”
“Unlike my dear sister, I am too deep in grief to offer my services,” she said as she speared a small potato and plopped it in her mouth.
Harold leaned in toward George and said, “If you like, I can take over the daily tasks and chores that his Grace usually attended to. At least until you are ready to assume the responsibilities.”
“I want to talk to you about that. I am not certain I care to run the farm. I really need to concentrate on my painting, and I was thinking of giving you full control. I would like to make you the permanent manager—if that would interest you.”
Harold sat back in his chair and considered that. “I should like to discuss that with you further. But this is not the time. Perhaps tomorrow morning?”
&n
bsp; “If you do not mind, I would prefer if we waited until after the funeral?” George said, suddenly feeling the pressure of the next few days ahead.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Chapter 28
Lucy offered her assistance leading up to the funeral. George, however, suggested the best use of her talents would be to assist the Duchess, who was taking her husband’s death extremely hard. He did not have the time to spend with her and Ann had already informed him that she did not want to take on that task.
The next morning, as Harold and Lucy were preparing to go down to breakfast, Harold announced, “His Grace has asked me to become the estate manager on a permanent basis.”
“That is good news,” Lucy replied.
Harold smiled. “Indeed, it is.”
“But what of your plans to purchase an estate?” Lucy asked. “Might this new development not delay that?”
Harold stood looking out the window a while before answering. “I am willing to forego that for the time being if it will assist George at this difficult time. In any case, I know he would prefer to focus on his painting. And it will allow you and me to remain here for the foreseeable future.” He turned back to look at her. “And I believe that would suit you, no?”
Lucy had to admit to herself it did. She so treasured working with George in his studio. Then there was the hint that George had wanted to speak to her privately on some matter of importance. But that was before the Duke’s death, and she knew that conversation—whatever it might be—wwould need to be put aside for now.
She went over and linked her arm with Harold’s. “I must say, I would miss living at Grayson Manor where I have spent so much of my life. So, if this situation suits you, it shall also suit me.” Lucy smiled. “But I somehow think your taking the job has another purpose as well—after what I have seen of you and Betsy together. Might she become my sister-in-law?”
Harold smiled shyly. “Would that please you?”
“She is already dear to me as a sister. And I cannot think of anyone better for you as a wife. It would please me no end.”
“Then there is a distinct possibility your wish might be granted. And it will not hurt that she has such a handsome living attached to her marriage. However, it shall not be soon, as a period of mourning must be observed.”
“At least six months to a year,” Lucy said softly. “I am sorry.”
But she was troubled by what Harold had said about Betsy’s dowry. Why would that matter to him since he had his own considerable fortune? She hoped that he was not interested in Betsy only because of the money.
“And once she and I are married I can think about finding the three of us a house. That is if you decide you wish to live with us. You might prefer to stay here.” Harold smiled. “Or you might, yourself, be married by then. I have seen Mr. Beaumont eagerly courting you. And, as he is not in mourning, he is free to marry when he wishes.”
As bright as that might sound, it troubled Lucy, as she had no inclination toward Mr. Goodwin. Her heart was elsewhere. But even if George was to ask her to marry him, it could not be so until the period of mourning was observed. And then there was the obstacle of her Grace who would almost certainly oppose such a union between her and George.
“Oh, dear brother, I sincerely doubt that I shall accept Mr. Goodwin as a husband.”
“And why not? He is the heir to a title, has a good fortune, and would not be concerned whether you bring a living with you or not. You would be most attractive to such a fine gentleman.”
Lucy was startled. What had her brother just said?
“I might be attracted to him, but you forget that he is not attracted to me.”
Harold smiled. “We shall see. It has been my experience that young ladies often resist what they most desire.”
Lucy looked at her brother but refused to respond to such an inane statement. But then she asked, “You said just now that Mr. Goodwin need not be concerned whether I had a living or not. But I do. Is that not so?”
Harold had a strange look on his face as he fumbled for words. “I ah… did I… what are you asking?”
“You told me you would bestow a substantial living on me soon after we met. I remember what you said clearly.”
“Oh, I think you misunderstood. I said I would like to bestow a living on you but did not promise it immediately. My funds are not liquid at this point in time, and I could not offer that until later. I am so sorry if you misunderstood me, dear sister.”
Lucy was suddenly stricken by anxiety. Could she have misunderstood as he suggested? Was she now without any money to bring to a marriage? She was going to need to think through this revelation but now was not the time.
“I think we best go down to breakfast now,” Lucy said. “I am to assist her Grace this morning outfit her daughters in mourning weeds.”
“And I must assist his Grace. We must do all we can to help at this difficult time.”
Madame Hortense stood next to her Grace and examined the three daughters.
“And how many dresses are we talking about for each young lady?” she asked.
Judith became flustered by the question, and she turned to Lucy. “What is proper?” she asked. “Of course, we have the funeral in just a few days. We need formal wear for that. We must have deep mourning—bonnets, veils, gloves… all semblance of propriety.”
“Your Grace, that will only be for one day—and deep mourning only need be for you after the funeral. Certainly, your daughters will need several dresses for everyday wear as well,” Lucy advised.
“Yes, yes. But the expense… three daughters and myself. I have only what I am wearing now.” She threw her hands in the air. “How very inconsiderate of Matthew to break his neck at this time, just when I was hoping for wedding dresses.”
“Your Grace,” Madam Hortense insisted, “If I am to make suitable attire for your young ladies in time for zee funeral I must get busy immediately. Let us focus on zee funeral attire, and I shall make day dresses after.”
Judith grabbed hold of Lucy’s arm and leaned her head on her shoulder. “Oh, Lucy, why must I suffer so?”
“Would you like to sit down, Your Grace?” Lucy asked.
“I should, yes.”
Lucy led Judith to a comfortable chair as Madame Hortense came forward with fabric samples for her to examine.
“Zis is zee very latest in fashionable fabric for zose in mourning,” she said, handing her Grace a number of swatches.
“But I thought the whole idea of mourning was to avoid fashion,” Lucy offered.
But Madame Hortense brightened up, “Ah… but one must still display one’s position in society. It would never do to appear shabby, however deeply one must grieve.”
That seemed to reassure her Grace. “Then you choose, Ann, my dear. I cannot begin to think of anything else but my dear departed husband today.”
Ann went over with Charlotte and together they examined the samples Madame Hortense handed them.
“How covered must we be?” Ann asked.
“For young ladies, zee hair must be not showing. However, zee face is still permissible. It is only zee widow herself who must be veiled.”
“Perhaps we might endure this for the funeral,” she said holding up a black swatch, “But might we ease into grey in our everyday wear?”
“Not for at least six months to a year,” Madam Hortense insisted.
“Bother,” Charlotte said. “How ever are we to entice Mr. Beaumont looking like Carmelite nuns?”
“By the grace of your personalities,” Judith said. “He will certainly understand, under the circumstances.”
“These fabrics for the funeral and these for the day dresses,” Ann said handing the samples back to Madame Hortense and indicating which fabrics they had selected.
“Excellent. I shall get to work on zee dresses immediately.” She turned to Judith. “Your Grace, good day. I shall bring zee dresses zee morning of the funeral. And am I to include a new gown fo
r you as well?”
Judith struggled with the answer but finally said, “Not for me. I shall make do with what I am wearing now. However, I should like several day dresses later.”
“But you must still be in deeper mourning than your daughters, you understand.”
“Yes, yes…” Judith said testily.
As Madame Hortense was leaving, and before her Grace left with Lucy, Ann pulled Lucy aside and asked, “When do you expect your engagement to be announced?”
The Legend of the Betrayed Duchess_A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 21