Never in the Grayson family were so many hearts filled with hope as the carriage headed toward Brookdale Estate. That is with the exception of Matthew, George, and Betsy. Matthew hated dressing up and going out for dinner. Betsy saw no reason whatsoever why she should attend as there would not be anyone of interest for her to meet. And George was despondent over Lucy’s news of her leaving Grayson Manor.

George was also plagued by his mother and father’s insistence that he should marry soon. He regretfully realized that the only woman who could truly claim his heart was Lucy—but an alliance with her was an impossibility. As the carriage rumbled its way toward Brookdale, George struggled in his mind with what his options were. Fact: he did need to get married relatively soon. Fact: he had met no one else in all of Dorset that caught his attention, let alone his heart. Fact: Priscilla was just about the only lady he had met that came anywhere close to meeting his parents’ requirements for a suitable bride and who he found at least a little attractive. She was from a good family and brought with her a substantial living, which would delight his parents no end. Therefore, he decided that he must use this evening to more genuinely acquaint himself with Priscilla and see if there might be any possibility of an attachment.

The two eldest sisters were already nervously fanning themselves in anticipation of a significant evening. Each thought they would be the one asked to accept Beaumont’s hand in marriage.

The carriage arrived at Brookdale, and the family was greeted by the butler who helped them out of the carriage and led them into the large sitting room where Beaumont, Priscilla, and their mother were already seated by the fireplace.

Beaumont stood as they entered. “Good evening, Your Graces, and ladies. George, welcome, old man. Might I introduce you to my mother who was absent at the picnic the other day? Lady Goodwin, The Duke and Duchess of Sutherland and their charming children.”

“So pleased,” Lady Goodwin responded.

She was a matronly lady in her fifties, with a wig that was just slightly askew, giving her a somewhat drunken appearance. But in all other ways, she seemed to be a pleasant lady.

Ann and Charlotte jockeyed for a prime seat near Beaumont, and they fell quickly into conversation with him.

George approached Miss Priscilla who was seated near the fireplace working on a piece of embroidery. She looked up as he approached but did not greet him. He realized she was still cold to him after he brushed her off at the picnic.

“Miss Priscilla, how lovely to see you again. I fear you might have taken my last visit here as an affront. But let me say in my own defense that I was distracted by my work awaiting me and I must apologize for acting ungentlemanly toward you.”

Priscilla’s eyes immediately lit up as she put down her work. “Oh, Mr. George, I am most grateful for your apology as I did, indeed, take your behavior toward me as an affront.”

“Then I hope I may make it up to you this evening. I trust we might be seated at the table near each other so that we may converse more fully.” But he felt his heart sink even as he uttered those words and thought of his dear friend, Lucy.

“I shall make certain that we do.”

George sat next to her, and they conversed until dinner was called.

As they headed toward the dining room, both Ann and Charlotte rested their hands on top of Beaumont’s outstretched arms as he led the way. George similarly offered his arm to Miss Priscilla.

The dinner was characterized by the usual, polite and non-confrontational conversation. Beaumont tried to converse with the whole assembly but was repeatedly drawn back into intimate conversations with Ann and Charlotte who were to his left and right.

Her Ladyship conversed most cordially with her Grace, and Matthew mostly focused on his soup, fish, and game courses as no one seemed interested in his views on anything.

Priscilla was animated as she spoke with George, leaning toward him from time to time and brushing his arm with her hand. Her eyes were sparkling, and her laugh was light and breezy. But George was in a state of misery. He was determined to be friendly, intimate, and encouraging but, for all of his willing it, he could not enter into a heartfelt communication.

By the time the dinner was winding down, and it was time for the ladies to retire, her Grace passed by her husband and whispered, “Be prepared for Beaumont to ask for the hand in marriage of one of our daughters. Signal to me when the gentlemen return to the sitting room.”

He nodded and picked up a cigar as one of the footmen offered him one.

The ladies were uniquely silent as they awaited the return of the men, even though her Ladyship attempted to engage them in conversation. The sisters were as sober and silent as sour-faced clergymen. Mother nervously played with her fan, Betsy yawned, and Priscilla returned to her embroidery.

Finally, the men returned, and Judith looked up at her husband expectantly. But he caught her gaze and subtly shook his head. This gesture was not lost on Ann or Charlotte either, and they looked at each other with stricken-looking faces.

The gentlemen sat down, coffee was served, and conversation was light and superficial.

Ann turned to her mother and said, “Mother, I fear I am developing a bit of a headache. Do you think we might be able to leave shortly?”

Everyone had their reason for wanting to escape, and it was agreed it was time to go. Good-byes were brief, and the Graysons fled to the carriage where silence reigned all the way back to Grayson Manor.

* * *

Lucy had escaped to the nursery to visit with Mrs. Wilkes who was rarely included in any of the family gatherings. Lucy had such fond memories of her years of education, and they were reminiscing when Stevens came to the nursery door.

“Ah, here you are, Miss Lucy. I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“Oh, Stevens, I am sorry. How can I assist you?”

The butler had a peculiar expression. “Miss, a strange gentleman has appeared enquiring after you.”

Lucy was surprised. Her first thought was that it was Isabell’s husband, and something might have happened to Isabell or Chrissy, but she immediately dismissed that thought, as Stevens would undoubtedly know that family and would not characterize Isabell’s husband as a stranger.

“Did he say what he wanted of me?”

“No, Miss, but he insisted it was very important and requested to see you privately.”

“Oh, my,” Lucy said, suddenly becoming anxious. “Then where is he?”

“I put him in the servant’s dining room. I thought you might be most comfortable meeting there.”

“Thank you, Stevens. Then I shall go and see what he wants.”

Lucy followed Stevens down to the kitchen and all the way she racked her mind to think what stranger might be asking for her, but she could come up with no answer. She headed to the dining room and entered, finding no one other than the unknown gentleman.

“I am Lucy Brighton, you asked for me?” Lucy said, standing straight and ready to find out whom this man was.

The man turned to her. He was a comely, dark-haired young man—perhaps only a few years older than herself, but he was well dressed and presented a most pleasing appearance.

“Are you the Lucy Brighton of the tenant farmer Brightons?”

“I am.”

“And your father was Hugh, and your mother was Katherine?”

Lucy had a strange feeling come over her. She could not put her finger on what was happening, but she felt it was significant.

“They were. And you are?” she asked.

The man hesitated, and she detected tears appearing in his eyes.

“I am your brother, Harold.”

Lucy’s mind seemed frozen. She could not comprehend what he had just said to her. Her brother, Harold, had been lost in the fire. Then who else could this man be, and why did he come to see her?

“My brother was killed years ago in a fire. Who are you really?” She was becoming agitated.

“No, truly, I am your brother.” He rolled up his left sleeve and presented her with a scar on his arm. “Do you remember this? We were playing in a tree and I fell and ripped my arm open on a branch. You had to wrap your petticoat around my arm to help staunch the bleeding.”

Lucy was filled with a rush of recognition and rushed over and threw her arms around her brother.

“Oh, my darling, brother. I was certain you were lost. How ever did you survive?”

“It is a long story, and we have a lot to relate to each other. I want to hear your story as I am certain you want to hear mine. But might I ask if I might have a bite to eat? I have been traveling from London and then around the countryside seeking to find you. I had a feeling you were still alive and was determined to find you.”

They burst into tears as they held each other and he dotted her face with kisses.

Mrs. Mead came into the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is going on in here? Are you all right Miss Lucy?”

Lucy turned to her. “Oh, Mrs. Mead, you can never guess. I have found my brother, Harold. I thought I had lost him in the fire.”

Mrs. Mead brought her apron to her face, covering her mouth with it as she cried out, “God be praised! It surely is a miracle.”

“Yes, Mrs. Mead it surely is,” Lucy said, laughing now instead of crying, and grasping her brother’s hand and pulling him to her.

She could not wait to hear his story and share hers, but first, she asked, “My brother has not eaten in a spell. Might he have some soup and a piece of bread?”

“Good heavens, child, he may have more than that. Sit ye down, and I shall bring you some roast chicken, a bowl of bean soup, a slice of bread and some of me own special apple pie. How does that sound?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Mead. It sounds like a feast to me,” Harold said.

After he was served, Harold ate with gusto and Lucy sat opposite just gazing at her brother’s face. Lucy did not speak, as she was still so filled with volatile emotion, and felt on the verge of tears if she could not settle herself.

“Brother, do you have any luggage?” she asked trying to become practical.

“I do.” He turned and pointed to a valise at the side of the room. “It is not all of my possessions, but I thought to travel light until I found you.”

“And do you have a place to stay?”

“I was thinking of taking a room in Chiseldon above the King’s Arms Pub.”

“Oh, no, that is a horrid accommodation. You must stay here. Let me speak to Stevens and see what can be arranged.”

“I should like to be close to you. If you think it would not be an inconvenience to the family, I shall accept.”

“Let me speak to George. I am certain he will welcome you with open arms.”

“And he is?” Harold asked.

“Do you not remember? He is the son of the Duke. We are good friends and I know he will agree.”

Harold stopped eating and took Lucy’s hands. “Oh, sister, you have no idea how happy I am for this moment.”

“Certainly not more happy than I am.”