Lucy found herself at loose ends after the ladies adjourned to the library. There was no one she really wished to converse with, and George was nowhere to be seen. She thought she had seen him leave the dining room, but he had not returned, and certainly did not return with the gentlemen after their port and cigars.

For her, it was a most melancholy evening. She had finally come to accept the fact that George was most likely going to be engaged to Miss Goodwin.

What she really wanted now was to return to her writing, but would it be perceived as rude if she walked out of the party? And if she did, who would she offend? Certainly not the Duchess, who had been shunning her ever since she refused to continue on as her personal attendant. And certainly not the sisters—except for Betsy who was otherwise engaged with her brother. That, at least, pleased her.

Lucy unobtrusively slipped out of the library and returned to her room where she changed into a more comfortable dress and went to her desk to organize her neglected pages and was ready to start writing when the sound of music came from the floor below. Lucy had not realized the Duchess had arranged for dancing after the dinner and, as lovely as it sounded, it was distracting her from what she needed to do.

She got up, put on her wool shawl, and taking up her pages, left the suite and headed for the studio where she thought she might be able to work in peace and quiet.

However, she was surprised, as she approached the stables to see a light at the studio window. So that is where George had gone, she thought. And she could not help but smile. How similarly they thought.

She climbed the stairs to the studio and went inside. And sure enough, George was at work on his latest painting.

“Oh, hello, Lucy. I see you had the same idea I had. Were you bored with the dinner party?”

“Not bored so much as ignored, and my mind kept drifting to my writing so I decided to get away and see if I might accomplish anything for the rest of the evening.”

“I am happy you came,” George said working a brush that had dried stiffly.

“I promise not to bother you,” Lucy said as she settled in at her desk.

“You never bother me.”

They both turned to their work for a while—quiet reining over the studio with the very faint strains of music drifting from the manor.

The only other sounds were the strokes of George’s brush and the scratch of Lucy’s pen as she hunched over her page and found the pleasure of working again.

After a while, George kept glancing over at Lucy. She was totally oblivious for some time but then caught a moment when he was looking at her and smiling.

“Was there something you wanted to ask me?” she said, putting down her pen.

“As a matter of fact, there is.”

She waited while he stood looking at her with the strangest expression on his face.

“I have been thinking that when I go to London for my show, you should come with me again. It has been some time since you were there, and it must be time for some new dresses by now.”

Lucy could not help but notice his subtle, but strange smile. “I am quite content with my wardrobe at the moment, thank you. Would we be staying at your Aunt Hester’s again? I should like to see her. She and Sir Harcourt were so kind to us when we visited before.”

“No,” he said taking steps toward her. “I was thinking that we might stay in a fine hotel near the gallery. We would, of course, visit dear Aunt at some point, but I should like a different arrangement this time.”

Lucy suddenly became apprehensive. “A hotel? Would that be quite proper? I would need my own room.”

“Oh, I think not,” George said. “Because I want you to come to London with me as my wife. Will you marry me, Lucy Brighton?” he asked as he knelt before her and took out his grandmother’s engagement ring he had slipped into his pocket after leaving the dinner party.

Lucy brought her hand to her mouth. She was momentarily stunned, and all she could do was stammer, “But… I… but George… how can this be possible? I thought you were to marry Miss Priscilla?”

“And whatever gave you that idea?” he asked laughing while still holding out the ring to her.

“Your mother… And I have no money… how will your mother ever consent?”

“I do not need her consent, Lucy.” He picked up her left hand and slipped the engagement ring on her finger. Then he looked directly at her and said. “Lucy you must know we have had feelings for each other for some time now. For various reasons we have shied away from acknowledging those feelings, but no longer. Lucy, I love you with all my heart and soul and being. And I ask you again, will you marry me?”

“Oh, George, you know I will,” and she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a passionate kiss that he was not likely to forget.

They then stood up and held on to each other tightly. The music from the manor continued to waft through the window, and George took her hand they began to dance, her head resting on his shoulder.

“George,” she said softly. “You know I have always loved you, do you not?”

“I know, my dearest, and as I have always loved you.”

* * *

The Duchess was nearly overcome by giddiness—there were going to be three marriages in the family. How could life be any better? She ruminated. Ah, but then there is still poor Ann. However, realistically, she realized there was little chance that Ann would ever find someone to put up with her difficult disposition. But it is surprising what the incentive of ten to fifteen thousand more, on top of the yearly living can achieve. Maybe, just maybe, there might be one or two suitors I might be able to dig up. She scurried to her chairside table to find her notebook and began leafing through to see who she might be able to encourage with a sizable bribe.

George came into his mother’s rooms with Lucy on his arm. Her Grace grimaced briefly but turned it into a smile.

George said, “Mother, Lucy and I have been talking about the timing of the wedding. We wish to be married before we travel to London for my show. I was thinking early September, and then we could parlay the trip to London into a honeymoon. I understand Venice is particularly lovely in late September into early October.”

“So far away?” Mother asked.

George turned to Lucy and kissed her on the cheek. “Nothing but the very best for my beloved.”

“And the wedding will be held where?” she asked. “Certainly not here or in the local church.”

“We were thinking of Wells Cathedral. There is bound to be a substantial guest list with many of the peerage attending.”

“That sounds proper,” Her Grace said. “Oh, my, what a lot to plan for. And with Charlotte’s wedding at the end of May, it is going to be a breathless time at Grayson Manor.”

“You should also know I have spoken to Harold and Betsy and they have decided to postpone their wedding until Harold has worked off his encumbrance. They both feel it is the right thing. They want to make a clean and fresh start together.”

“Well, that is one less worry.” But she seemed troubled and added, “Do you really think this is going to work between them. I was so shocked when you told me about Harold’s troubles. I fear Betsy may be making a horrible mistake.”

Lucy spoke up, “Your Grace, I have great faith in my brother. I believe he is a good man and will live up to his responsibilities.” She turned to George and said, “And he has done wonderful work for you so far, has he not?”

“I believe they made a wise and sober decision and I stand by him and their marriage,” he answered.

Mother stood staring at her son and Lucy for a moment, and then she held out her hand and said, “Lucy, since you have no mother, you and I must discuss your wedding gown. You know, as the future Duchess of Sutherland, there are certain standards that must be considered. Madame Hortense is perfectly au courant and knowledgeable about what will be required. Would you be willing to put yourself in my hands so that your wedding will be the most splendid event possible?”

Lucy turned to George and looked at him. He nodded.

“I should be delighted to have you assist me. And you can start by fetching me my slippers.”

That set all of them laughing.