After the mourners had concluded delivering their condolences, her Grace decided she wished to retire to her chambers for a nap and asked Lucy to escort her. Judith seemed shrunken and lost as settled into her chair and asked Lucy to take the puppy outside. Lucy sighed and realized she was right back in her old position as an attendant to her Grace. She was willing to do this until things settled down, but she was not going to accept doing this on a permanent basis again, no matter how much her Grace might wish her to do so.

As she was coming back indoors with the puppy, Beaumont saw her and came over.

“Lovely service, think you not?”

“Yes, it was. But it has taken a terrible toll on the family. You must excuse me. I must return this dog to her Grace. She becomes very unsettled without the dog in her lap.”

“Hurry back. I should very much like to visit with you. I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“Perhaps… unless her Grace requires my further attention.”

“I shall wait for you.”

Her encounter with Beaumont brought back her concern about her brother’s statement about the dowry. She could not understand how she could have misunderstood him. That led her to consider he might be having some business concerns he did not choose to share with her. In which case, it made sense.

She went into the Duchess’s chambers and returned Princess.

“Oh, my dear Lucy, what a godsend you have been to me today. I could never have gotten through this horror of a day if I only had Flossy. She is a dear, but quite useless at anything that really matters. She is fine repairing a dress, or fetching slippers, but she has no concept of my pain and agony.”

“I am pleased I was able to help,” Lucy said as she folded the covers back on the bed so her Grace could take a nap.

The Duchess put on her pouty, pleading look. “My dear Lucy, do you think it possible that you might be able to stay on assisting me? I believe I have found some pocket money that I could use for wages for you. I know I treated you badly before, but you have no idea how much I have come to rely on you.”

Lucy turned from the bed and stood straight and engaged the Duchess with a firm gaze. “Your Grace, it is a very generous offer, but now that I am considered a member of this family, I need to pursue my writing.

The Duchess continued her pout and said, “But it was Matthew who brought you into the family. However, he is now gone… and…”

“And you think the new Duke will not accept his decision? If you will excuse me, I think you are mistaken.”

Her Grace flopped back into her chair and sighed.

“Your bed is ready whenever you want to take your nap. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.” And she walked out the door.

Lucy was livid as she headed back to the ballroom. She was not going to be persuaded to attend to the Duchess any longer than was necessary. Perhaps she might not have a dowry, but she was still independent, and she decided to redouble her efforts on her writing. If she could pull together three more chapters, she believed she might be able to persuade her publisher to give her an advance.

But she was interrupted in her thoughts by Beaumont who came over and offered. “Miss Lucy, might I prepare a plate of food for you from the buffet? There are some quite delightful petit fours and some fine strawberry jam tea cakes. Or perhaps you would like something to drink?”

Lost in her own thoughts, Lucy, just stared at him briefly, before answering. “Nothing sweet, thank you. But a small plate and perhaps a sherry would be suitable.”

As he left to fetch her food and drink, she considered—if indeed she had no dowry, then she might well need to consider an engagement with Mr. Goodwin. As her brother had, so rightly, pointed out, Beaumont was to be titled, he had money, and he seemed unconcerned whether she had a living or not. But could she love such a man? That was another matter upon which she must dwell. As handsome and eligible as he was, she also found him to be boorish and insensitive at times.

As Lucy wandered over toward a free table where she might take her refreshment, she caught sight of George talking with Miss Priscilla. They appeared to be in an animated conversation, and Miss Goodwin smiled and threw her hair back, from time to time, in a most appealing way.

After seating herself, Beaumont appeared with her refreshments, placed them before her and sat opposite.

“Lovely service,” he said, grappling with what to say.

“Yes, you expressed that to me already,” Lucy said taking a piece of ham and dipping it in a dollop of mustard on the plate.

Beaumont laughed. “I did. That is so. But you catch me stumbling for words to express how much I value your company. It seems you are always running away from me. Am I that repellant to you?”

Lucy considered carefully before she spoke. “Not at all, Mr. Beaumont. But, until recently, I did not expect to receive the attention of any fine gentlemen. For all intents and purposes, I was considered more a part of the staff in this family than a member of it.”

“But that has all changed since you were reunited with your brother, and thus I am happy to offer you my suit. I know we have not interacted all that much, but I am hoping you will allow me to get to know you. My admiration for you is sincere, and I hope that you will begin to warm up to me as well. I think we would make a splendid couple and I hope you can find your way to open your heart to me. It is my intention to bring you nothing but joy.”

Lucy looked away at his open declaration. “I shall certainly consider your suit. However, you realize I just lost who to me was like a father, and I cannot consider an open suit until I have experienced a suitable time of mourning.”

“Yes, I can quite understand. But you will offer me some hope?”

“I shall, Mr. Beaumont.”

He sat back in his chair, with his hands on the table, and smiled broadly. “That is all I can ask for—for now.”

* * *

George was finding it difficult to concentrate on his conversation with Miss. Priscilla. She was telling him about her London friends and how much she missed them. He knew none of these people, and they had no meaning for him at all.

He could not help, from time to time, glancing over at Lucy. How lovely she looked with her hair pulled back, revealing her fair face set off against the black of her dress.

But he could not forget what he had just learned about Harold. And although he did not want to judge the man until he had the incontrovertible proof from Sir Cuthbert, still—he could not help but run through the many implications in his mind of what it would mean if Harold were guilty of what Sir Cuthbert had accused him. And what would the implications be for Lucy? He could not help but think she would be devastated by the revelation.

And still, he was plagued by the onslaught of new responsibilities he was encountering as the new Duke. There was no one he could turn to to discuss all of these conflicting thoughts and emotions. His one best ally was Lucy, and he could not yet tell her of these new circumstances. His mother and sisters would never understand and, of course, Harold was at the heart of the problem, and he could not confide in him.

What was to be done about Harold if the accusations were true? There was another problem to be solved.

“Then, my friend, Alice, said she had no idea how she was going to go to the Cosgrave ball without an escort. What would you have done, Your Grace?” Miss Priscilla asked.

George heard his name and snapped back from his rambling thoughts.

“Excuse me, what did you ask?”

“Oh, forgive me, I am just rambling. Funerals always make me nervous, and I talk way too much. I hope you can forgive me. You must be grieving, and here I am going on and on about the most inane trivialities.”

“It is nice to be distracted,” he lied. “But you have to forgive me for now. I must visit with some of my other guests. Many have come a long way to attend the service, and I owe them some of my time and attention.”

“I shall be here for you whenever you need some comfort,” she said with a fetching smile. “You can always count on me.”

* * *

After an exhausting day and the turmoil of her emotions at the funeral; her attending to the needy Duchess; her encounter with Beaumont; and the solemnity of the funeral dinner she should be exhausted—and she was, but she could not fall asleep. Lucy got out of bed and went to the window to gaze across the stillness of the moonlit landscape. Perhaps it could offer her some peace and solace.

However, she noticed in the darkness, a light coming from George’s studio. Could it be he could not sleep as well? Might he be finding his solace in painting this late at night? She glanced at the clock. It was just after two in the morning.

She put on her robe and slippers and a heavy wool shawl and left the suite quietly. She moved through the house, went outside, walked over to the stables, and climbed the stairs to the studio.

Knocking lightly, she entered. Indeed, George was at his easel.

“You are awake, too?” he asked, looking surprised to see her.

“I am exhausted but cannot sleep, although I have tried for hours. I saw your studio light from my bedroom window and thought you might like some company. Do you?”

He smiled. “I do. You are always most welcome.”

Lucy went over to her desk and sat down, even though her manuscript was in her room.

“How are you holding up? All this change must be very stressful, Your Grace.”

George laughed. “Oh, please, not you as well. George. Call me George. Every time I hear someone address me as ‘Your Grace’ I look around expecting to see my father. It is most unnerving,” he chuckled.

“Oh, George, our lives are changing so fast.”

“Mine certainly, but yours? How has your life changed?”

Lucy did not want to tell him about the fact that she did not, in fact, have a dowry anymore, so she said, “I miss your father. I always expect him to come from around the corner with some sweet comment. He was always so kind to me.”

“He loved you. Tell no one, but I think he considered you the sweetest of his daughters, even if you were not of our blood.”

“I should like to think that.”

George’s expression grew dark. She could tell that something was troubling him.

“Lucy,” he asked finally, “What are your long-term plans? Do you ever think of going to London to write? I know you have turned down the offer of employment with her Ladyship.”

Lucy sighed. “I have no idea. I have yet to submit my new chapters to my publisher. But when I do, and if he likes it and will consider publishing it, then I can ponder my options.”

“How can he not love it? I so much enjoyed reading your stories.”

“But stories are much different from a full novel. And I have no idea if what I have written has any value.”

“You look tired. I hope you will be able to sleep some tonight. The overnight guests will be leaving early, so they can get a good start on their way home. It is going to be another busy morning.”

Lucy hesitated but said, “Her Grace was hinting she wanted me to resume my old duties with her after the guests have left. But I needed to make it clear to her that I was not available.”

“And rightly you should,” George said, moving the lamp closer to a point on the canvas where he was working. “She would love to command us all, but I am the Duke now and there are going to be some changes.”

“What sort of changes?” Lucy asked hesitantly, almost afraid to know the answers in case they disappointed. But George looked over at her with the strangest expression on his face. She could not make out what he was thinking.

“I wish I could say, but it is too early to tell. I am still struggling to get used to my new responsibilities as the Duke. I now have all these folks dependent on me. Not just the family but the staff, the community, the House of Lords, the family name, and yes—even myself. I have my own life to consider and, at times, I become almost paralyzed with the awesome responsibility.”

“But you are not alone, George. There are those who love and support you. You need never carry the burden by yourself.”

Lucy realized she might have said more than she meant to. George was staring at the painting, and the only sound was the hissing of the lamp as it burned.

“If I…” she started to say, but then held her tongue.

George suddenly looked very tired. His face was dark after a long day. He would need to shave before the morning if he wanted to look presentable to the departing guests.

“I think I must go,” she said rising from the desk. “I will attend to her Grace one more day, and then I shall try and return to my writing which I have neglected since your father’s death. Not out of duty but for my own grief.”

As she passed by behind George, she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. But he turned to her, took hold of her wrist to stop her leaving and stared at her with such a look of longing.

“Lucy, my darling… you have been such a consolation in these terrible times. How can I express how much you mean to me? How can I ever repay your caring efforts to support this family?”

And in one swift motion, he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on each eye.

Lucy was startled and pulled back.

“I am so sorry. I should not have done that,” he said, also pulling away. “Forgive me. But I was overcome with… gratitude.”

Lucy, in her own agitation, could not help but wonder if he meant even more.

They continued staring silently at each other for a moment or two before Lucy pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and left.