Without Lucy, the Duchess was grumpy. She drove Flossy to distraction with her unending demands. First, she was too hot. Then she was too cold. She wanted her hair done up; then she wanted it down. The dog needed to go out. The wardrobe needed rearranging. She wanted tea. She wanted cinnamon toast. Poor Flossy was being run in circles.

But her Grace finally decided what she wanted to do was meet with her daughters, and Flossy was sent to gather the daughters into the drawing room for tea at the usual time.

“What does she want now?” Ann asked quietly of Charlotte, as they sat playing a hand of cards.

“Oh, not more black dresses, I hope. I fully intend to light a large bonfire at the end of mourning and burn everything that is black.”

“But then we would need to be fitted out all over again next time someone else died,” Ann added with a giggle.

“Good, you are all here,” the Duchess said as she swept into the drawing room. “Tea, Stevens,” she commanded.

“Your Grace,” he said as he prepared her refreshment.

“Now then…” she said as she settled Princess onto her lap. “We need to talk about marriage.”

There was a stony silence for a moment or two before Ann spoke up. “And how exactly do you plan to accomplish that with all of us in mourning? We look disgusting, and we are not allowed to have our Sunday At Homes nor attend parties nor do anything that might possibly attract any interesting and available young suitors.”

“I have been giving that some thought,” the Duchess said slipping Princess a goody from the plate Stevens had set on the table beside her. “I think we need a dinner party…”

Ann started to say, “But how is…”

But the Duchess raised her finger to silence her. “It is possible because I say it is.”

“And our invited guests? Will they not think it inappropriate for us to be entertaining so soon after…?” Betsy started to ask.

“I have decided to frame the invitations as a thank you for all the support from our dear friends during these sad times. We shall, of course, continue wearing our mourning dresses, but a few enhancements might be considered acceptable. Flowers in the hair, pearls, a pastel handkerchief, the slightest hint of rouge on the cheeks and lips.”

Both Charlotte and Ann looked at each other and smiled. They did not need to speak because it was understood between the two of them that they had found their way to meet alone with Beaumont.

“But mother, what about Lucy?” Charlotte asked.

The Duchess pulled in her chin and glared. “She shall be excluded.”

“And George will allow that?” Ann asked.

“I will take care of that. And now, to the next matter. Ann, Charlotte, you need to stop your mutual obsession over Mr. Goodwin. He can only marry one of you. And with you both fawning over him each time he appears, you distract him. Ann, you must give up any thought of him choosing you. It will not happen. You must step back and allow Charlotte to have a chance.”

Ann stood up, indignant. “Mother, how can you say that to me?

“My dear, you need to be realistic. You are too old for him, and you have become increasingly shrill and rather dried out. I think it is time for you to surrender to the idea that you shall remain a maid. And you will start to dress appropriately after the period of mourning is over.”

Charlotte would not speak, but her grin gave away her happy thoughts.

Ann was outraged and swept out of the room.

“She will get over it,” the Duchess said, and then turned to Betsy. “Now then, Betsy… now that we have Charlotte taken care of, I want to ask you… it has become clear to me that you and Mr. Harold are courting. Is that not a fact?”

“It is, Mother,” Betsy said smiling. “He is just the most…”

“Spare me the details. Has he made a proposal yet?”

“Not directly. But we…”

“Then after a suitable length of time… say six weeks… I want you to be engaged. You must make certain that happens. He seems like a suitable young man… despite his attachment to Lucy… and I expect a marriage within six months. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mother.”

The Duchess turned her attention to her tea.

“But Mother,” Charlotte said, “Are you truly going to dismiss Ann out of hand like that? Certainly, there must be someone out there…”

The Duchess looked up again. “Charlotte. It is time we all stop dreaming of impossible alliances. Your sister is what is known as a harridan. Unless she can radically transform her personality, I see no chance for her to find a suitable man—even with her attached living. We must look truth in the face.”

“Then if we are truth-telling, you should know that Mr. Beaumont has his sights set on Lucy. Unless we can get her out of the way, I feel he will continue to pursue her.”

“I am aware of that. And I shall have a word with Mr. Goodwin privately at the dinner. I can assure you he will no longer see Miss Lucy as desirable.”

“What will you say?”

“Just leave that to me.”

* * *

The idea came to George that he should speak to Lucy before he decided what to do about Harold. His conversation with Nanny had reminded him of the bond that he and Lucy had when they were younger and shared everything together. He had become lost in his romantic feelings for her and had forgotten that they were also great friends. And he wanted to talk to her now as his friend.

He sought her out in her suite, but she was not there. He had not seen her about the house and then he thought she might have gone to the studio to write, hoping for more solitude.

He went to the studio and, as he neared, he caught a whiff of linseed oil and turpentine and felt the urge to begin painting again. But his new responsibilities were preventing him from returning to his painting just yet.

He entered the studio and saw Lucy at her desk.

“Oh, hello,” she said with a smile. “Have you come to paint?”

“Not today, unfortunately.”

He walked over to the window to collect his thoughts. This was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. Finally, he turned to her.

“Lucy, may I take you from your writing for a moment?”

“That would be fine. I have been blocked ever since your father died. I tried working in my room but then thought I might do better out here, but it has not been so. Come sit with me,” she said as she left the desk and went to the sofa.

George went over and sat next to her. He picked up her hand and felt its reassuring warmth.

“Lucy, I hardly know how to begin.”

“What?” she asked with some concern.

George looked into her eyes very calmly. “I need to speak to you now as a friend. I had a word with Nanny this morning, and I was reminded of how close we were as youngsters. We shared everything. But over time we grew up, got involved in our own lives, and…” He could not bring himself to say that he had fallen in love with her. This was not the moment.

“Of course, I am your friend. I always have been. Nothing has changed.”

George collected his thoughts then proceeded. “Lucy, I need to talk to you about your brother.” Lucy’s face froze. “This is going to be a very difficult conversation for me. Please listen to all I have to say, and then we can talk about it.”

She nodded.

He told her about what he had learned from Sir Cuthbert and the proof from the articles he had read. When he finished telling her, he studied her face and was surprised she did not register as much agitation as he had expected.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She sighed and said, “I expected something like that,” she said softly.

She then related her discovery that she had no dowry and how she had become suspicious that her brother was lying to her about something more profound.

She said, “I know this must sound strange, but in some ways, I am relieved to know the truth. Thank you for telling me.”

George was amazed at how well she had taken this news.

“What are you going to do now, George? Are you going to send us away?”

“Oh, Lucy, I would never send you away.”

“But Harold—you plan to let him go. Am I right?”

“That is what I want to talk to you about. I am greatly conflicted. On the one hand, I am inclined to call the sheriff and have him taken into custody. But, on the other hand, I am concerned for you, for Betsy, and for the well-being of the estate.” He suddenly remembered he had not told her his other news. “You see, I have been asked to provide more paintings for a major show at the gallery in the fall. And, if I am to provide the paintings, I must have someone manage the estate for me. I cannot do both.”

“George, this is wonderful news. You must be thrilled.”

“I am. But you can see my dilemma. What do you, as my friend and not Harold’s sister, advise me to do? I cannot seem to make up my mind. My heart says one thing, my mind says another.”

Lucy sat silently looking down at her hands in her lap for quite a few moments.

“Oh, George, that you should ask me of all people. The one person who has the most to lose because of your decision. Do you really expect me to be able to answer you without some kind of prejudice?”

“I do because I know your heart and your ability to fiercely speak your truth. I want that heart; I want that wisdom. Tell me honestly what you think. Please?”

“Then I would say, talk to him. Tell him what you have learned but let him tell you his side of the story. If he truly did the things he has been accused of, he should be answerable for the consequences. But temper your justice with mercy. I do believe he is a good man. He may have made mistakes, and if so, he must make restitution for them. But I also believe he should be given the opportunity to redeem himself.”

George nodded. “Would you be with me when I talk to him? He may feel safer if you are there.”

“I will, George. Thank you for asking. When do you want to do this?”

“As soon as possible. I thought the three of us might retire to your suite after dinner this evening.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“But please say nothing to him about this beforehand. I want to get his unplanned reaction to what I have to say.”

“I understand, and I agree.”