Lucy offered her assistance leading up to the funeral. George, however, suggested the best use of her talents would be to assist the Duchess, who was taking her husband’s death extremely hard. He did not have the time to spend with her and Ann had already informed him that she did not want to take on that task.

The next morning, as Harold and Lucy were preparing to go down to breakfast, Harold announced, “His Grace has asked me to become the estate manager on a permanent basis.”

“That is good news,” Lucy replied.

Harold smiled. “Indeed, it is.”

“But what of your plans to purchase an estate?” Lucy asked. “Might this new development not delay that?”

Harold stood looking out the window a while before answering. “I am willing to forego that for the time being if it will assist George at this difficult time. In any case, I know he would prefer to focus on his painting. And it will allow you and me to remain here for the foreseeable future.” He turned back to look at her. “And I believe that would suit you, no?”

Lucy had to admit to herself it did. She so treasured working with George in his studio. Then there was the hint that George had wanted to speak to her privately on some matter of importance. But that was before the Duke’s death, and she knew that conversation—whatever it might be—wwould need to be put aside for now.

She went over and linked her arm with Harold’s. “I must say, I would miss living at Grayson Manor where I have spent so much of my life. So, if this situation suits you, it shall also suit me.” Lucy smiled. “But I somehow think your taking the job has another purpose as well—after what I have seen of you and Betsy together. Might she become my sister-in-law?”

Harold smiled shyly. “Would that please you?”

“She is already dear to me as a sister. And I cannot think of anyone better for you as a wife. It would please me no end.”

“Then there is a distinct possibility your wish might be granted. And it will not hurt that she has such a handsome living attached to her marriage. However, it shall not be soon, as a period of mourning must be observed.”

“At least six months to a year,” Lucy said softly. “I am sorry.”

But she was troubled by what Harold had said about Betsy’s dowry. Why would that matter to him since he had his own considerable fortune? She hoped that he was not interested in Betsy only because of the money.

“And once she and I are married I can think about finding the three of us a house. That is if you decide you wish to live with us. You might prefer to stay here.” Harold smiled. “Or you might, yourself, be married by then. I have seen Mr. Beaumont eagerly courting you. And, as he is not in mourning, he is free to marry when he wishes.”

As bright as that might sound, it troubled Lucy, as she had no inclination toward Mr. Goodwin. Her heart was elsewhere. But even if George was to ask her to marry him, it could not be so until the period of mourning was observed. And then there was the obstacle of her Grace who would almost certainly oppose such a union between her and George.

“Oh, dear brother, I sincerely doubt that I shall accept Mr. Goodwin as a husband.”

“And why not? He is the heir to a title, has a good fortune, and would not be concerned whether you bring a living with you or not. You would be most attractive to such a fine gentleman.”

Lucy was startled. What had her brother just said?

“I might be attracted to him, but you forget that he is not attracted to me.”

Harold smiled. “We shall see. It has been my experience that young ladies often resist what they most desire.”

Lucy looked at her brother but refused to respond to such an inane statement. But then she asked, “You said just now that Mr. Goodwin need not be concerned whether I had a living or not. But I do. Is that not so?”

Harold had a strange look on his face as he fumbled for words. “I ah… did I… what are you asking?”

“You told me you would bestow a substantial living on me soon after we met. I remember what you said clearly.”

“Oh, I think you misunderstood. I said I would like to bestow a living on you but did not promise it immediately. My funds are not liquid at this point in time, and I could not offer that until later. I am so sorry if you misunderstood me, dear sister.”

Lucy was suddenly stricken by anxiety. Could she have misunderstood as he suggested? Was she now without any money to bring to a marriage? She was going to need to think through this revelation but now was not the time.

“I think we best go down to breakfast now,” Lucy said. “I am to assist her Grace this morning outfit her daughters in mourning weeds.”

“And I must assist his Grace. We must do all we can to help at this difficult time.”

* * *

Madame Hortense stood next to her Grace and examined the three daughters.

“And how many dresses are we talking about for each young lady?” she asked.

Judith became flustered by the question, and she turned to Lucy. “What is proper?” she asked. “Of course, we have the funeral in just a few days. We need formal wear for that. We must have deep mourning—bonnets, veils, gloves… all semblance of propriety.”

“Your Grace, that will only be for one day—and deep mourning only need be for you after the funeral. Certainly, your daughters will need several dresses for everyday wear as well,” Lucy advised.

“Yes, yes. But the expense… three daughters and myself. I have only what I am wearing now.” She threw her hands in the air. “How very inconsiderate of Matthew to break his neck at this time, just when I was hoping for wedding dresses.”

“Your Grace,” Madam Hortense insisted, “If I am to make suitable attire for your young ladies in time for zee funeral I must get busy immediately. Let us focus on zee funeral attire, and I shall make day dresses after.”

Judith grabbed hold of Lucy’s arm and leaned her head on her shoulder. “Oh, Lucy, why must I suffer so?”

“Would you like to sit down, Your Grace?” Lucy asked.

“I should, yes.”

Lucy led Judith to a comfortable chair as Madame Hortense came forward with fabric samples for her to examine.

“Zis is zee very latest in fashionable fabric for zose in mourning,” she said, handing her Grace a number of swatches.

“But I thought the whole idea of mourning was to avoid fashion,” Lucy offered.

But Madame Hortense brightened up, “Ah… but one must still display one’s position in society. It would never do to appear shabby, however deeply one must grieve.”

That seemed to reassure her Grace. “Then you choose, Ann, my dear. I cannot begin to think of anything else but my dear departed husband today.”

Ann went over with Charlotte and together they examined the samples Madame Hortense handed them.

“How covered must we be?” Ann asked.

“For young ladies, zee hair must be not showing. However, zee face is still permissible. It is only zee widow herself who must be veiled.”

“Perhaps we might endure this for the funeral,” she said holding up a black swatch, “But might we ease into grey in our everyday wear?”

“Not for at least six months to a year,” Madam Hortense insisted.

“Bother,” Charlotte said. “How ever are we to entice Mr. Beaumont looking like Carmelite nuns?”

“By the grace of your personalities,” Judith said. “He will certainly understand, under the circumstances.”

“These fabrics for the funeral and these for the day dresses,” Ann said handing the samples back to Madame Hortense and indicating which fabrics they had selected.

“Excellent. I shall get to work on zee dresses immediately.” She turned to Judith. “Your Grace, good day. I shall bring zee dresses zee morning of the funeral. And am I to include a new gown for you as well?”

Judith struggled with the answer but finally said, “Not for me. I shall make do with what I am wearing now. However, I should like several day dresses later.”

“But you must still be in deeper mourning than your daughters, you understand.”

“Yes, yes…” Judith said testily.

As Madame Hortense was leaving, and before her Grace left with Lucy, Ann pulled Lucy aside and asked, “When do you expect your engagement to be announced?”

It was as though Lucy was struck with a bolt of lightning. “What engagement? I do not understand.”

“Why, you and...” Then Ann stopped.

Lucy could barely speak. “There must be some misunderstanding. There is no engagement.” Lucy’s heart was racing, and her mind was confounded by questions.

Ann appeared to be flustered. “But he said…” Then she stopped herself.

“What did who say? Are you talking about George? Beaumont? Who?” Lucy pleaded.

“Nothing. I must have misunderstood, as you said.” And she glared at Lucy and turned away.

“Come, Lucy, I need my drops,” Her Grace commanded.

Even though Lucy followed, she continued to look at Ann as they left the room, hoping for some clarity. But, as they headed back toward the Duchess’s sitting room, Judith complained how her new puppy was still piddling on the rug and Lucy had no time to do anything but attend to her Grace.

* * *

Ann found George in their father’s study going through his desk and sorting the papers he found.

“What is going on, George?” she demanded in an agitated voice.

He looked up at her with some surprise.

“I am going through Father’s desk trying to make sense of his papers—if it is any of your business, Ann.”

She stood for a moment, staring at him with her arms on her hips. “Not that. What about the engagement?”

“Engagement? What are you talking about? Has Beaumont finally proposed to one of you?”

“No. Your engagement to Lucy.”

George appeared to be agitated. “There is no engagement. Father died and…”

“But you said you were going to marry Lucy. And if that were the case, then Beaumont would most likely propose to one of us. And he has not.”

“Well, I did not ask Lucy to marry me. I am much too caught up in Father’s passing, the assumption of the title, needing to run this damned estate, and taking care of all of you to think about marriage just now. In case you have not noticed.” He seemed to realize he was angry and calmed himself before continuing. “Oh, Ann… I can sympathize with your situation, but please, this is not the time to be thinking about such things. We are to bury our father the day after tomorrow, and this should be a time of mourning and reflection on his life. Not moaning about your own.”

That sobered Ann. “You are right. I am sorry.” She turned to leave but stopped and turned back and asked, “But are you going to ask her? Yes?”

George sighed. “Oh, Ann…”

Then she turned and left the study.