The family was at the breakfast table the next morning. Matthew had just stood, ready to head out to the fields. “George, I want us to go into town this afternoon to look at the mare Mr. Dunlap is selling. Will you be free?”

“Not today, Father. I am to deliver several paintings to Brookdale then.”

“Very well, how about later this morning?”

George nodded his acceptance as his father was leaving the room.

“Meet me at the stables at ten.”

“Yes, Father.”

“George! How could you not tell us you were going to Brookdale?” Ann wailed.

“And why should I?” he asked not understanding her complaint.

“We have wanted to go to Brookdale ever since the ball. If he had been a true gentleman, Mr. Beaumont would have invited us to supper. It is what is done after one has been a guest at a great ball,” Charlotte explained.

“And we promised to take them on a picnic to Cranborne Chase,” Ann added.

“Then this might be the perfect opportunity,” the Duchess suggested. “Why not send them a note right away saying you want to deliver the paintings and then take them on the picnic. We shall all go, and it shall be such a jolly adventure.” She turned to Ann and Charlotte, “And be sure and wear your new dresses. You must be seen to your very best advantage.”

“Of course, Mother,” Ann replied.

“And you are doing this why?” George asked.

Charlotte rhapsodized, “Mr. Beaumont is simply the best and most suitable of the young men we met at the ball.”

“Perfect for one of your sisters,” Judith said.

“For me,” Ann insisted.

“No, my dear, I know it is me he has in mind,” Charlotte insisted.

“Please, George,” Judith pleaded, reaching up from where she was seated and taking his arm.

“But I am to be in town with Father this morning.”

“Then we shall write the letter and prepare the picnic. Be back here by one. Your father will understand.”

“Must I?”

“Yes, you must,” Judith insisted. “Your sisters’ futures are at stake.”

“Very well, then.”

* * *

The Goodwins had responded with an affirmative to the invitation.

Judith had insisted on the best carriage, and Ann and Charlotte had overseen the preparations for the picnic, even though Cook resented their hanging over her the entire time she was putting it together. Betsy had elected to stay behind—citing her aversion to sitting on damp grass, even if there was a ground cover.

George was only a little late coming back from town, and the Duchess insisted he hurry and change, as he should not be seen in polite company dressed like a tradesman.

Lucy knew which of the paintings were to go to Brookdale and had seen to it that they were loaded onto the carriage before the group was to leave.

“Did you want me to accompany you, Your Grace?” Lucy asked as they were climbing into the carriage.

“Mother…” Ann nudged, shaking her head.

Judith became flustered as she did not have her new puppy yet and felt vulnerable. “Yes, yes. Come along. But stay by my side and be certain you have my drops.”

“Very well, I shall fetch them and return shortly.”

Lucy headed back into the house to grab a shawl and pick up the laudanum.

George did not want to sit with the ladies and decided to sit up with the coachman.

Unfortunately, as they were headed to Brookdale, it began to rain.

Both Ann and Charlotte peered out of the carriage windows, straining to see if the rain would be a short-lived shower or become a more substantial storm. But neither could say with any certainty.

“What should we do?” Ann asked her mother.

“Wait. Just wait. So often these autumn storms just blow themselves out, and it will be sunny again before you know it.”

But when the carriage arrived at Brookdale, it was still raining. George hopped down from the driver’s seat and went to the front door which was immediately opened by the butler.

Beaumont and Priscilla came running over.

“I say, not much of a day for a picnic is it?” Beaumont said, Priscilla at his arm. “And you look soaked, old man. Come in.” He peered at the carriage. “Donaldson will take umbrellas out to the ladies. Might as well all come inside.”

“Let me fetch the paintings.” George said, “They are well wrapped. The rain should not be a problem.”

George scurried back outside and carried in each painting as a footman held an umbrella over him.

The ladies fluttered into the house like a flock of charging geese.

“Oh, dear…” Charlotte lamented. “Our picnic is ruined.”

“Then we shall have it inside,” Beaumont insisted, ushering them to the conservatory. “We can picnic here. It is almost like being out of doors, except we shall remain dry.”

As the picnic was being set up on several tables in a pleasant sitting area, Lucy came over to George.

“You are all wet. Shall I see if I can get you a towel?” she asked, putting her hand on his arm.

“Actually, this coat is waterproof. It is just superficial. But thank you.”

Priscilla came over and took George by the hand. “Come, you must help me find the perfect spot for my new painting,” she said excitedly.

“After the picnic, perhaps. I believe they are just about ready to serve.

Lucy thought Miss Priscilla was a lovely young lady, and that troubled her. She found herself, once again, feeling the pangs of jealousy as she saw George and Priscilla holding hands—which he seemed to be enjoying. But she did not have long to dwell on their flirtation because Beaumont came over to her.

“Miss Lucy. How pleasant it is to see you again. I hope you did not get wet on your journey to Brookdale.”

“No, sir, I was inside the coach. Only George was foolish enough to sit outside. But he loves to play the rebel and defies what is usually expected of him.”

Ann called over, “Mr. Beaumont, we are ready. Will you come and open the wine for us.”

Mr. Goodwin appeared to be annoyed at the request and he nodded to his butler to take care of the wine.

“Will you sit with me while we enjoy the picnic?”

“Oh, Mr. Goodwin, I must not. Her Grace requires my undivided attention, and I must be with her. You see, she recently suffered a loss and feels fragile unless I am there to administer to her needs.”

“Such a pity. Not only her loss but my loss of your company.”

“Oh, sir, I feel certain you can quite easily weather the slight loss of my attention.”

Beaumont smiled. “Perhaps I shall, but I hope you will make up for it another time—quite soon.”

The Duchess was signaling with the wave of her handkerchief that she needed Lucy beside her. Lucy went over and bent down to hear what the Duchess had to say.

“Lucy, I need you to go to the carriage and wait for us.”

Lucy was shocked. “I beg your pardon? You want me to wait outside?”

She then whispered, “Yes, dear, you are distracting Mr. Goodwin from giving his full attention to Charlotte and Ann. It will be so much better if you retire. I am certain you understand. I shall have someone bring you a plate with some tasty morsels. Will that not be lovely?”

Lucy stood straight, surveyed the assembly, caught George’s eye for a moment, and then stormed out of the conservatory, leaving the daughters to enjoy their picnic.

* * *

Ann and Charlotte had fully engaged Mr. Goodwin in, what they thought, was a scintillating conversation during the lunch. Mercifully, the sun broke out near the end and shone delightfully with the air scrubbed clean by the rain.

Priscilla had monopolized the conversation with George, which he did not mind as she was charming, and he could see his sisters were totally focused on Mr. Goodwin. Better to stay out of their way, he thought.

As the butler began to reassemble the large picnic basket after the lunch was completed, Priscilla stood, and taking hold of George’s hand, once again, instructed him to follow her.

“Where have you put it?” She asked as they reached the entrance hall?

“Put what?” he asked.

“My new painting. You promised to help me find the perfect spot to hang it.”

“Did you have a room in mind?”

“Why, my bedroom, of course. I want to be able to study it first thing in the morning when I arise and want it to be the last thing I see before I extinguish the lamp.”

“I have it over here.”

He went to where he had placed the painting against the wall and picked it up, tucking it under his arm.”

“Lead on, Miss Priscilla, and we shall find the perfect spot to hang your painting.”

Priscilla led the way up the fine marble staircase.

Brookdale was a substantial, but not particularly attractive country house—at least on the outside. But the inside was well appointed, pleasantly decorated, and suitable for a young lady and gentleman to spend the season. It was, after all, not to be their permanent home.

“Here we are,” Priscilla announced when they reached her chambers. “Is it not a pretty room? I particularly like the view from the windows. The house has a lovely formal garden and a long vista stretching all the way to those charming little hills. I am quite fond of it already.”

“Most pleasing, Miss Priscilla. Now, let me see where would be the best place to hang your landscape.”

George unwrapped the painting, and while holding it, walked around the room looking for the best spot.

“What about over here?” he asked as he stood at a wall that was well lit by the window and would show the picture off to its best advantage.

“But there is already a painting there,” Priscilla said.

“Then we shall take that one down and hang this one. Do you mind? This other picture is rather dreary. How much better to have my sunny, ever so much larger and handsome painting.”

As George was hanging the painting, Priscilla took several steps backward to view the painting to its best advantage. The light from the window seemed to enliven the colors and add depth.

“Oh, Mr. George, how splendid it is. I am enchanted with the painting.” She went over and took George’s arm and turned her face up to him with a most seductive smile.

He thought she was longing to be kissed, but he gently and gracefully disengaged from her. Not that he was not tempted—but because in his heart he knew Miss Priscilla was not the right woman for him and he did not want to hurt her by leading her on in any way.

He disengaged from her and took a step away. “Miss Priscilla, I am so happy you like the painting. But you must excuse me. I need to get back to my family. I feel certain they will want to be getting back to the Manor, and I must return to my work. I get so little time to paint; I must seize every opportunity.”

“But…” she stammered hoping to restrain him. But he turned and left her bedroom, allowing her to follow him if she wished.

When he returned to the conservatory, he looked around to find Lucy but did not see her. He had not noticed his mother send her away. He went to his mother and asked, “Have you seen Lucy?”

“Oh, yes, I sent her to stay in the carriage. She was distracting Mr. Goodwin from your sisters. But could you be a dear and prepare me a dose of my drops. It is a tarnation of a nuisance not having Lucy with me when I need her.”

“You should have thought of that before you sent her out. That was a very rude thing to do to her, Mother. You should be ashamed of yourself?” George said with sincere but tempered anger.

Her Grace looked at George in astonishment. “George Grayson, you have absolutely no right to speak to your mother in that tone of voice. It is you who should be ashamed.”

Beaumont, spotting George, called out. “I say, old man, now that the showers have passed are we to carry on with our ride, or shall we call it an afternoon?”

Ann and Charlotte protested, demanding they continue on to Cranborne Chase, but George was angry with his mother and her treatment of Lucy and did not feel sympathetic to his sisters’ plight.

“Not today. The weather is still very uncertain, and I fear we would no sooner get there and it would start to rain again. Another day, perhaps. Then you could prepare another picnic and enjoy yourselves more comfortably.”

That seemed to mollify the sisters, and they agreed.

Ann clapped her hands and said, “Oh, yes—another picnic. I should love that would not you, Mr. Goodwin?”

Charlotte leaned in toward Beaumont and said, “Yes, please, you must let us show you the delights of Cranborne Chase. I just know you and your sister will adore its many charms.”

“Very well, why not? Eh?”

Priscilla had come back to the group by now but did not pay any attention to George, apparently feeling slighted.

“Then shall we go?” George asked, anxious to return to Grayson Manor.

“But I say,” Beaumont said, standing up, “Where is the charming Miss Lucy? Are we not to say good-bye to her?”

Her Grace became flustered at the mention of Lucy, as she was still smarting from George’s rebuke. And she could see that both of her daughters were distraught at Beaumont’s mention of Lucy. She stood, and indicated she wanted Ann to help her out.

“Come, my darling beauties. The picnic basket has already been loaded onto the carriage. I think we must depart before it decides to start raining again. I should hate to become mired in the mud on one of our nasty roads.”