George was excited to meet with Lucy and ask her to marry him. However, he wanted the setting to be just perfect and the moment to be memorable. The first thing he wanted to do was to find his paternal grandmother’s engagement ring. It had been given to him by his father for his future bride when he had turned of age. At the time, he had no use for it and put it somewhere safe. So safe he had forgotten where he had put it.

He rummaged through the drawers of his dresser. He looked in a box of keepsakes he had collected as a boy and smiled when he found the ribbon Lucy had given him when he had done splendidly on an exam Mrs. Wilkes had made him take. He had done so well; Lucy drew first place on a hair ribbon, tied the ends together, and placed it around his neck.

But he could find the ring nowhere. Then he remembered. He went to his armoire and rummaged through his suits until he came to his very best, formal suit. The one he never wore. He had remembered putting the ring in the waistcoat pocket thinking he would only ever wear that suit if he were going to ask that special lady to marry him.

“I guess today is the day to wear the suit,” he said aloud to himself.

It was just after breakfast, the day after the family meeting, and he had planned to take Lucy in the carriage later that afternoon to her favorite spot—the setting for the landscape painting she so admired. He would take a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne and just as the sun began to set—creating the image from the painting—he would ask her to marry him.

In some ways, he wanted to do that right now. He wanted to run up to her room, burst in and shout out, “Will you please marry me, Lucy Brighton?”

But he was so enjoying the anticipation of asking her to marry him that he held back and chose the location that would please her the most.

George was too restless to try painting this morning, so he went to his studio and began to sort through his paintings, selecting those he wanted to send to the gallery in London. He stacked the chosen ones against a wall and planned to start wrapping each one when he heard shouting coming from outside. At first, he thought nothing of it but, when he looked out of the studio window, he was surprised to see Harold shouting and riding at a furious pace toward the house.

Harold rode right up to the back of the house, pulled the horse up short, and jumped off, before running to the kitchen door and going inside. George, sensing that something was amiss, left his studio and ran over to the same door and went inside.

He saw Harold gesticulating wildly as he talked to Stevens. George went over, and when both Harold and Stevens turned to him, he could see from their expressions that something grave had happened.

“What is it?” George asked in a hollow voice.

Harold with an ashen face said, “It is your father, George. There has been a terrible accident, and I am afraid he is dead.”

George was too shocked at the moment to ask how his father had died.

“Your Grace,” Stevens said, bowing his head. “I shall make arrangements while you and Mr. Harold depart to recover the body. And when you return, I am certain you will want me to collect the family together so that you may speak to them.”

Your Grace. The realization that he was now the Duke struck him like a physical blow. “Yes, Stevens. Please call the family together, but do not tell them why just yet. I would like to announce it myself. I believe it will be best for everyone if they can hear it from me at the same time. We need to be there for each other.”

And, as George was leaving with Harold, he realized, with a sinking heart, he would not be able to ask Lucy to marry him today.

* * *

Stevens had quietly gathered the family together in the drawing room. Flossy was administering a dose of drops to her Grace, and the daughters were casually chatting amongst themselves. Lucy had also been called, but she sat apart from the rest.

“What is this all about?” Betsy asked, pulling at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Is this yet another boring family meeting to scold us for something or another?”

“Are we at least to have some tea?” Charlotte finally asked, looking over at the sideboard.

The drawing room door opened, and George and Harold came in, both looking grave. George stepped forward, and holding his hands together in front of him, said quietly, “I need you to prepare yourselves. I have some terrible news.”

He immediately had everyone’s attention. He gave them a moment to brace themselves, then said, “I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but Father has been killed in an accident.”

Judith brought both of her hands to her mouth to cover a gasp. Betsy burst into tears, and the two other sisters were frozen with their mouths open as if trying to say something, but unable to.

“Harold and I have just returned with the body, and we have Father laid out on his bed. Stevens has called for the doctor to make a determination of death.”

He went over to his mother and put his hand on her shoulder. She leaned forward and let out a heartbreaking cry of sorrow, covering her face with her hands.

“How did it happen?” Ann asked hoarsely.

George turned to Harold. “Harold was with him. I will let him tell you.”

He nodded to Harold who stepped forward. He looked to be having a difficult time preparing to speak. He held the brim of his hat with both hands and nervously turned it clockwise.

“His Grace and I were riding out together. There had been reports that one of the sheep may have been attacked by some roaming dogs. We were going out to investigate. On the way, we needed to cross over a stone wall. We pulled the horses up, and I said I wanted to go out of the way to where there was a gate. I planned to dismount and take the horses through that way. But the Duke wanted to just jump the wall and head more directly to where we believed the sheep to be.”

Everyone was riveted by Harold’s narration.

“His Grace disregarded my suggestion and spurred his horse, heading for the wall at a hard gallop. I thought the Duke must know his horse could make the jump. But I held back and waited to see if he made the leap successfully. I was new to my horse, so I did not want to try the jump myself.

“As his horse neared the wall, she suddenly pulled up, and his Grace catapulted forward and flew off the horse, striking the base of the wall head first. I dismounted and rushed over to him. But it appeared he had broken his neck and was dead. However, I can say that he did not suffer. His death was instantaneous. I am so very sorry. I wish there were something I could have done, but it was sudden and unexpected.”

When he finished, Harold stepped back, allowing George to take over.

“Might we see him?” Betsy asked between sobs.

“If you wish. He looks quite peaceful.” He turned to his mother. “Mother, I am not certain what happens after the doctor leaves. Of course, we shall bury him in the family cemetery, and I shall make burial service arrangements with the Vicar. But I have no idea how the body is prepared or how we go about constructing a casket. Or even if we need to have some sort of a public viewing. I have never been called upon to consider these matters before.”

Mother looked up at him. “Oh, my son, I have no idea, and I am much too agitated to give thought to anything other than your father at this time.”

“I understand.” George turned to his sisters. “And any of you?”

“Perhaps Stevens would know. Or some other of the staff,” Ann suggested.

Lucy stood. “I know what needs to be done,” she said quietly.

The family turned to her. George extended his hand for her to come over which she did.

“What do you suggest?” he asked.

“My friend, Isabell, is often called upon to assist in preparing a body within the community. I am certain she would be able to help. Would you like me to ask her?”

George turned to the daughters who nodded. But then Ann stood and spoke up. “I should like to go with you, Lucy. I might be able to assist in some way.”

“Then we can leave at your convenience. I shall go and get my wrap,” Lucy said.

“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?”

“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.”