“I do not know who else to talk to,” Betsy said nearly in tears as she stood in the doorway of George’s studio.

George looked up from his easel after adding some cerulean blue to his palette. Seeing his youngest sister in distress, he turned from his painting and opened his arms to her. She came over and laid her head on his shoulder as he hugged her.

“What is it, Betsy-Boo?”

“Oh, George, why would anyone ever choose to be in love?”

He could not help but laugh. “You are in love? I think you had better tell me all about it.” He took both of her hands. “Come. Let us walk outside. A much better place to talk about love than in my smelly studio.”

“But it is so cold outside, and I did not bring a coat.”

“Very well then. Come sit with me on my horrid old sofa and tell me all about it.”

They sat down on what could only be described as the worst looking piece of furniture in all of Dorset.

“And who is the lucky fellow to capture your affections, dear sister?” Betsy suddenly became shy and appeared reluctant to speak. “Come along, nothing to fear.”

“Harold,” was all she would say at first.

George was impressed. “And a fine young man he seems to be from the short time I have known him. Father thinks highly of him as well. And do you think this attraction is reciprocal?”

“You see that is the problem. How does one ever know? We have barely spoken. At tea yesterday, we talked about books. He listened attentively to my narration about the book I am reading, and we discussed horses and our favorite desserts, and he told me about the parents he lost, but he never took my hand and never gave any indication of what he might feel for me.”

George could not help but smile. “My dear, you have only had one conversation with him. Give it some time. It takes a while longer for a gentleman to show his feelings. He needs to get to know you.”

“But I know. I know I love him with all my heart and soul,” she blurted out.

“If you do not mind my saying, Betsy, from what I have observed of you in social situations, you tend to set yourself apart. I do not believe I have seen you openly converse with any gentlemen at all. You usually have your nose in a book and appear to be repelled by any young man that shows you any interest.

“I remember at the ball you hardly danced with anyone. And the few gentlemen you did dance with, was only because Mother forced you to.”

“But none of them were Harold,” she wailed.

“My dear, you have been taken, have you not. You ignore everyone and then all at once you discover the love of your life.”

“What am I to do, George? Mother thinks of him as the son of a tenant farmer, and she will surely poison Father against him.”

“I doubt that. Father thinks very highly of him and has entrusted him to help run the estate. And I have seen them together. They have a very good relationship.”

“Then what do I do now? Should I say anything to him about how I feel?”

George was not used to giving advice on romantic matters and was not certain what to say next. He could not help but think of Lucy as he tried to give his sister the best advice.

“Sometimes the very best action is to wait.”

Betsy looked at him with the most sorrowful eyes. “But why is loving so painful?”

“Now, that I cannot answer.”

“But have you ever felt this way?”

George was suddenly discovering that his little sister was asking questions he did not want to answer. Not because he did not know, but because they were questions he had avoided asking of himself.

“Let me just say, that the course of love is uneven. It takes time to reveal itself, and there are many twists and turns along the way. But if it is true love, the lovers will eventually reveal themselves to each other, and it will lead to the deepest happiness.”

“Then what you are saying is, I should do nothing?”

George laughed. “Yes, for now.”

* * *

After Betsy’s visit, George could not get Lucy out of his mind. What a remarkable circumstance it had been for her brother to find her, and for Lucy to find that he was alive.

But most surprising was her announcement that Harold had bestowed a substantial living on her. There could be no mistake that she wanted him to know about that. Had she been trying to let him know how she felt about him? He had to find out. But then he remembered his own advice to Betsy—love takes time to reveal itself.

But before he could reveal his deepest feelings to her, he needed to find out how his parents would take to him asking Lucy to be his wife. He already knew his mother would disapprove of him marrying the daughter of a tenant farmer—even if she did have a considerable dowry.

He decided to take his own advice and first sound out his father on this matter. If he approved, then George felt he could eventually persuade his mother to his point of view.

George went to the house to find Stevens.

“There you are,” George said to the butler after finding him in the kitchen with Mrs. Mead.

“Sir, how may I assist?”

“Do you happen to know where my father is this morning?”

“I believe he and Mr. Harold have gone into town on errands.”

“Ah… Thank you. And Miss Lucy?”

“She has been spending the mornings in her rooms—writing, I believe.”

Dare he disturb her while she was writing? He longed to be near her and just visit, but he also respected the fact that she had been so deprived of the time to write these past few years that she must now be trying to catch up. Perhaps he would take time from his painting to visit with her at tea time, as he knew she usually took a break then.

He returned to his studio and thought he might also catch his father later that afternoon and talk with him about his intentions for Lucy.

* * *

Tea time that afternoon started out to be nothing special. The usual group appeared, and each family member was settling in for a time of quiet refreshment. As always, tea was served at the sideboard where the tea snacks were put out for each person to select what they wanted, while Stevens served the tea.

Her Grace had collected a napkin filled with treats to surreptitiously feed Princess on the sly. Flossy sat nearby but was nearly ready to fall asleep and nodded off occasionally. But as soon as her head fell she snapped awake, blinking.

Ann was seated with her legs folded under her in a large chair studying some sheet music she wanted to play the next time Beaumont might visit.

Charlotte and Betsy were playing a hand of Bezique—Harold and the Duke had not returned from town yet, or Betsy would have been sitting as near her beloved as possible.

Lucy had just come down from writing. Stevens was pouring her some tea when she saw George come in. He looked around the room, and seeing her, grinned and came over to where she was selecting a few tea sandwiches and a small piece of cake at the sideboard.

“Did you have a good day of writing?” he asked her.

“Thank you, I did, but I have had quite enough work for one day and mean to slack off the rest of the afternoon.”

“Might you wish to come on a walk with me?” he asked. “There are a few things I should like to discuss with you. I was thinking we might stroll along the river. It seems to have warmed up enough this afternoon to not be too uncomfortable.”

Lucy was very pleased. She could only imagine what he might want to discuss with her. “I shall be happy to walk with you. That sounds delightful.”