The Duke and Duchess of Sutherland had three older daughters and one younger son. The daughters were fairly close together in age as his Grace was desperate to have a son and heir. Then her Grace insisted three children were quite enough and instituted a time out—but accidents do happen and their son, George, came along two years after the last daughter.

Judith had learned from Flossy what the fuss at the front door had been all about, but she was in no rush to finish her toilette early to see this child for herself. The child was absolutely of no importance to her. She figured that Matthew would somehow arrange for the disposal of the child and she need never concern herself with these unpleasant facts.

The Duchess had made a habit of having mid-morning tea with her father, David Elkins, who now lived with the family in his own suite of rooms in the east wing of the manor. With her mother being deceased, Judith had her father moved in with the family almost ten years ago.

She considered her exercise for the day to be the walk from her sitting room to his, each morning at eleven.

“Father, dear,” she said as she breezed into his rooms, “Have you heard about our early morning incident?”

David looked up from his reading, the tea tray already prepared on the low table before him. “I do not believe so. Is something worrisome?”

“It appears there was a fire at one of the tenant houses last night, and we have ended up harboring a young girl child for safekeeping.”

“Was anyone hurt?” he asked with some concern.

“It appears that the family was wiped out except for this one.”

“Why, that is terrible.”

“Yes, it is. That means no crops from that family this year. And Matthew constantly complains that the income from the tenants seems to decrease from year to year.”

David frowned. “Daughter, my concern was not for your income but for the family lost.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Terrible. Just terrible.” She then turned her attention to the tea. “Shall I be mother again this morning?” Judith asked as she began pouring.

Her father was in his mid-sixties. His health had not been good these past several years, and he exhibited a frailty that mostly confined him to his rooms. He rarely came down to have lunch or supper with the family, existing almost exclusively in his rooms.

As Judith passed a cup of tea to her father, Ann, her daughter, knocked and entered. Ann was the eldest at fifteen. She had her mother’s slim, wiry figure, but she had dark hair and her father’s middling, plain features.

“Mother, there is someone I would like you to meet,” she said with a smile.

A face peeked around the doorframe. “Hello,” the child said in a tentative but wavering voice as she looked around the strange room with wide eyes. The girl took Ann’s hand, and they came into the room.

“This is Lucy Brighton,” Ann said, shepherding the child up to the tea table.

David’s face brightened. “Hello, pretty young lady. Come. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Lucy looked up at Ann as though seeking permission.

Ann led the girl around the tea table and said, “Mother, Grandfather, Nanny Wilkes says Lucy has just lost her family and is to stay with us.”

Judith pursed her lips and sat up straighter. “What makes her say that?”

“She has nowhere else to go,” Ann said.

David emptied his teacup and poured a new one. “What do you like in your tea, child?” he asked.

Lucy looked up at Ann who nodded that she was allowed to answer.

“Cream and sugar, if you please, sir.”

David proceeded to prepare her tea in his cup. Judith looked Lucy over but did not approve of this scrawny ill-kempt child.

“Come sit by me,” David said, patting the place on the divan next to him. Lucy went over and sat, accepting the cup of tea he offered. She held the cup in both hands and sipped slowly, looking up with her large brown eyes and studying the Duchess who sat opposite. Judith stared back as she examined the Gamine young girl with dark hair and lovely petite features.

“Very pretty child,” she said, without meaning to.

David put his hand gently on top of Lucy’s head. “Yes, and she must still be in shock.”

Judith turned to Ann. “Have you and your sisters had your morning tea yet?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ann answered. “We had tea with Nanny, but she wanted me to bring Lucy to meet you, as she said you had not seen her yet.”

“Most thoughtful.”

Lucy finished her tea and handed the cup back to David. “Thank you, sir.” She then turned and faced the Duchess once again.

“How can she be so calm,” Judith asked. “She unnerves me.”

“I suspect she is in shock and has yet to realize the enormity of what has happened to her,” her father answered.

Judith turned to Ann. “You may take her back to Nanny now. Your father and I will discuss what is to happen to her next.”

Ann took hold of Lucy’s hand and began leading her out of the room when the Duchess stopped her by saying,

“Where did she get that dress?”

“Nanny found it for her,” Ann replied.

“But is that not Betsy’s?”

“It was. But she outgrew it.”

“Why is she not wearing her own clothes?”

“Nanny says they were ruined by the fire and smelled horribly of smoke.”

The Duchess mumbled something indistinguishable and waved for her daughter to proceed.

George Grayson was almost more than Nanny Wilkes could handle by herself. At ten-years-old, the rambunctious boy had much rather be outside, currying his horse, striding across the fields, climbing a tree or—most importantly for him—drawing. Anything, rather than memorizing the absolutely boring succession of kings and queens. Not to mention grammar, maths, or—God forbid—Latin, although he did rather enjoy reading adventure novels, when Nanny would let him, and music.

Fair-haired, good-looking, and with a generous smile, he had avoided the sturdiness of his father or the wiriness of his mother and fell somewhere in between with a strong, slim body well adapted to the many outside activities he enjoyed.

His sisters—Ann, Charlotte, and Betsy had their classes early in the morning, but George was tutored by himself in the late morning and afternoon, as he was the heir and it was thought that he needed a more substantial education.

However, this morning, George was surprised to find a young girl, named Lucy, also attending his instruction.

After being introduced by Nanny Wilkes, Lucy sat very quietly looking up at George as he wrote out his maths assignment on a blackboard. Lucy began touching her fingers in strange ways that made no sense to him. For some reason, this unnerved him, and he finally turned to her and asked, “Miss Lucy, what are you doing with your hands?”

“Just following along with what you are doing,” she said. “And the answer to the second equation be wrong.”

“Is wrong,” Nanny corrected without looking up.

George returned to the problem, studied it, and made the correction. He turned to her with a big smile and asked, “You did that all in your head?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered.

Nanny Wilkes who had been attending to other matters asked Lucy, “Do you attend a school?”

“No, Nanny Wilkes. I just know these things.”

Now George was intrigued, and he intently studied the young girl. How pretty she was, he realized, and smart too it seemed. He went over and kneeled down before her.

“Can you read?” he asked.

“My brother, Harold, taught me some, but I have no writing except with a stick on the ground.”

George looked up at Nanny. “Can you teach her?”

Nanny prevaricated. “Oh, I do not know if there will be time. The Duke and Duchess are yet to tell me how long she will be here.”

Turning back to Lucy, he asked, “Do you have other family somewhere else?”

“Just my family here.” She began to tear up. “Sisters, brothers, Mommy, Papa and me Nan. All gone.”

She threw her arms around George’s neck and began to sob. “I will never see them no more.”

George was moved and held her in his arms.

Nanny tutted and fussed with the papers on her desk. “Master George, it is still lesson time. Best get back to it.”

Lucy let go of George and sat back on her small chair and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.

George turned to Nanny and asked, “What will happen to her if she has nowhere to go?”

“Oh, Master George, there is no way to know. Your mother and father will sort it all out for whatever is best, I am certain. Now finish your math problems and let us move on to Latin grammar, shall we?”

George stood up and offered his hand to Lucy. “No, Nanny. This is a matter that needs to be resolved right now. Lucy? Come with me.”

She took it, and they left the schoolroom.

George marched directly to his father’s study, where he thought he might be at this time of the morning, but he was not there.

“Come, Lucy, Father is not about. Let us find my mother.”

They went next to her sitting room, but Flossy said her Grace was with her father.

Finally arriving at his grandfather’s rooms, he entered and found not only his mother but his father seated facing his grandfather.

They turned to see who had entered.

“George…” his mother said, “Why are you not at your lessons?”

“I need to know what is going to happen with Miss Lucy. She has suffered a great loss and she tells me she has no other family.”

“We are just now discussing this,” Grandfather said.

“But this is for us to decide,” Judith added, “Now leave us, please. We are discussing where we might send her.”

George was not having that. “No, Mother. She should stay with us. It is right and proper that we do so, as they were our tenants, and if there are no other family members, we should care for her.”

Matthew stood up and came over to George and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Son, these are adult matters, and you can be certain we will do what is best for the child.”

“And what is your solution, then?”

Matthew and Judith glanced at each other with troubled looks.

“We are discussing the options.”

“There should be no options,” George insisted. “Lucy has no home, she has lost the only family she has, and she should remain with us.”

“And what interest do you have in this child,” Judith asked.

“I like her. She is smart, and I believe a fast learner. She would be great to have as one of our family. Heavens only know my sisters are not all that sharp or interested in learning almost anything.”

“George, that is totally uncalled for,” Judith said, raising her voice.

David leaned forward, not being able to suppress a smile, and placed his hand on his daughter’s arm.

“My dear, the boy has a point.” He then addressed Matthew. “It seems to me that you, as the Duke of Sutherland, have an obligation to your tenants in a situation like this. If they have served you well, you have a responsibility to care for this child. If she has no family what else can you do with her?”

“I believe there are such things as orphanages, are there not?” The Duchess said, primly.

“I believe there are, but they are dreadful places. And if this child is as lovely and intelligent as she seems, it would be a great disservice to send her to such a place.” David sat back in the divan. “But that is just my opinion.”

“And well spoken, Grandpapa,” George spoke out.

Now Judith stood up. “George, you are a ten-year-old child and know nothing about these matters. It is far better if you leave these types of decisions to us, your parents.”

“I know what is right and wrong. It has nothing to do with my age. I insist Lucy stay with us,” George said, pulling Lucy close to him and facing his mother directly on.

Judith turned to her husband. “Oh, Matthew, what is to be done here?”

Matthew drew his fingers along his jaw several times while thinking. Then he nodded.

“I agree with George and your father, my dear. The girl is our responsibility. I would have her stay with us. She can be trained and eventually when she is old enough, she can be found a service position in some home of standing. In the meantime, Nanny Wilkes can look after her.”

“And me,” George insisted. “I shall make certain she is properly educated.”

Judith and Matthew looked at each other with some surprise. This was not at all the rambunctious young boy they knew up until now.