George was overseeing one of the footmen loading and securing his paintings in the cargo section and inside the carriage. He made sure each painting was well wrapped and safe from possible damage.

Lucy came to the carriage with her valise, accompanied by Betsy. She would travel light because she did not have a great deal to take with her. She had thought she might want to shop for some new clothes, but she was reluctant to ask her Grace for any spending money, as she felt lucky just to be allowed to go to London. She would have to make do for the foreseeable future with what she already had. Up until now all of her clothes came as hand-me-downs from the sisters, and she had not complained.

Lucy laughed as she asked, “Is there going to be room in the carriage for us? You do have a lot of paintings.”

“Brother, why do you never let us see your work?” Betsy asked George.

“I did not think any of you were interested. Not a single one of the family, other than Father and Mother, has ever come to visit the studio. And they only came to scold me for what they considered to be me wasting my time.”

Betsy led Lucy aside and, reaching into her pocket, pulled out several pound notes and a list. “Lucy, when you are in London would you please go to a nice bookshop and buy me some of these books, please? Mother is very stingy and rather strict when it comes to what she will allow me to read.”

“Of course, if I am able. I have no knowledge of London or where any of the shops are.”

“Aunt Hester will be able to direct you.”

“Then, certainly I shall.”

Betsy then reached into her pocket and pulled out another pound note and handing it to Lucy whispered, “And this is for you. Please buy something nice for yourself.”

Lucy teared up at the kind gesture. “Oh, Betsy, that is so very sweet of you. Thank you.”

“Very good, my man,” George said to the footman as he slipped him a tip for his help. He turned to Lucy and Betsy. “Are you ready to leave?”

“I am,” Lucy said as George took her hand and helped her into the carriage.

Lucy waved to Betsy as the driver called to the horses to start up, and they began moving down the driveway.

It would take them several days to make the trip to London. For Lucy, one of the surprising pleasures was to be able to have a room of her own. For all the years she had been at Grayson Manor she had always shared a room with one of the kitchen maids. And certainly, as a child, with brothers and sisters in a two-room house, she had never been alone. Now, at the first hotel they stayed in on their trip, Lucy had her own room. It was a luxury that George could not imagine because he had at Grayson Manor, not only his own room but his own suite of rooms. He was tickled that Lucy took so much pleasure in, what for him, was an ordinary fact of his everyday existence.

* * *

Lucy and George had chatted endlessly the first day of the journey—she asking endless questions about London—and he excitedly talking about his hope for a positive reception from the gallery owner.

But on the second day, both were more subdued. Riding in a carriage all day was exhausting, even with occasional stops to water the horses and to get out of the carriage and stretch their legs.

Lucy had tried reading, but the motion of the carriage was jarring, and she found it difficult to concentrate—or, for that matter, to even focus steadily on a page. She put her book away, rested her head back against the seat, and occasionally drifted off to sleep.

When they were on the outskirts of London, Lucy perked up and became fascinated with the sights of the city passing by outside the carriage. Never before had she seen so much humanity in one place, not to mention the squalor. Certainly, all of London could not be like this?

“You look troubled, Lucy,” George spoke up.

“I do not like London, at all. Look at all the filth, poverty, and unhappy faces.”

George chuckled. “Not all of London is like this. You are only seeing the outskirts where the workers live. Once we get into the heart of the city, you shall see its many splendors.”

This troubled Lucy even more. The thought that there was one kind of life for the very wealthy and another for the working poor disturbed her. But then she remembered her own family and how they had lived compared to the way the Graysons lived. It was much the same as in London only on a much smaller scale. At least, in the country, the tenant farmers could grow their own food, glean the harvested fields, and forage for wild edible plants.

Soon, however, the tenements were left behind, and the busy and attractive heart of London came into view. That dazzled Lucy as she ogled the many fine houses, shops, government buildings, and monuments.

Finally, the carriage pulled up in front of a fine Georgian house on a quiet side street in Mayfair. Aunt Hester’s butler appeared at the carriage door and assisted Lucy and George from the carriage.

George gave instruction about managing the unloading of the paintings, and they went inside.

Aunt Hester was seated in her sitting room with tea prepared on a sideboard nearby. She gave a large broad grin as George came over and took her hand and kissed it.

“Aunt Hester, it has been far too long since we have seen each other.”

“It has. It has,” she responded. “And who is this charming young lady with you? She is not your wife, is she?”

That caused Lucy to blush. “Oh, no, Lady Oakley, I am Lucy Brighton. I live at Grayson Manor, and Mr. Grayson and I are friends. He has so graciously invited me for my first visit to London.”

Aunt Hester seemed not to comprehend the relationship and questioned George, “Miss Lucy is a friend? And she lives at Grayson?”

George explained the tragic circumstances under which Lucy came to live with the Grayson family some years ago.

“Ah, a waif in need. I see.” Aunt Hester took her lorgnette and examined Lucy. “Pretty young thing. I suppose you wish her to be quartered with the servants?”

“Not at all, Aunt. She is a dear and trusted friend. It is as if she is part of the family. She is to be treated as I am to be.”

Aunt Hester examined her again. “Very well. You shall have the Battersea room.” She turned to her maid who was standing by to serve the tea. “See to it, will you, Tulk? And for Mr. George, the Davidson suite.”

Aunt Hester Oakley, his mother’s sister, had married Sir Harcourt Oakley, a barrister and one-time member of Parliament from Knightsbridge. However, he had become the Minister of Transport and was on an official visit in Leeds for a few days.

Aunt Hester only remotely resembled her sister. She was much more robust, with a great smile, a ready laugh, and a matronly figure.

At that moment, a young lady entered the room. She was as light in hair and complexion as Lucy was dark. She was slim, elegant, extremely well dressed, and carried herself with the insouciant air that was fashionable in the young, London social set this season.

“Ah, my ward, Miss Modesty Lewis. She is the daughter of my dear friend, Mrs. Agnes Lewis, who passed several years ago. We have been caring for her ever since.

Lucy could not help but notice George’s face light up in the presence of this quite beautiful young lady. And Lucy was equally surprised to find a shock of jealousy surging through her body with a noticeable accompanying tingle and warmth—not at all a pleasant sensation.

Miss Modesty smiled discreetly as George went over to her, took her hand, and kissed it.

“Mr. Grayson, it is such a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your aunt has told me all about you. I hope your stay in London will be pleasurable. And if there is anything I can do make your stay more pleasant, please let me know. I am very conversant with the many London streets and would be happy to direct you to wherever you might want to go.”

“Please, call me George, Miss Modesty,” he said as he smiled, staring into her eyes.

Lucy cringed at the obvious flirting of the young woman. But it was not her place to protest. She was George’s friend, but they could never have a romance. They were too far apart in social station and too familiar as friends.

Miss Modesty cast a glance at Lucy, and she nodded and said by way of introduction, “Miss Modesty Lewis.”

“Miss Lucy Brighton—a family friend,” Lucy said brusquely and gave a curt nod.

“Well then, it is certainly time for some tea, think you all not?” Aunt said, waving her hand to the maid to start serving.

Meanwhile, the footmen were starting to carry the paintings in from the carriage, and George became distracted, excused himself, and left to direct the paintings to his rooms.

Aunt Hester turned to Lucy as she picked up another tea cake from the platter on the tea table before her, and said, “Miss Modesty is most accomplished on the pianoforte, and I hope she will play for us after dinner. What are your accomplishments, Miss Lucy?”

“I am afraid I have not been graced with the talents or training of many of the young ladies these days. However, I do consider myself a writer and have written a number of short stories for both adults and children. And I am currently working on my first novel.”

“How charming. Might you have brought any of your manuscripts with which we might delight ourselves?”

“Alas, it did not occur to me that anyone might be interested.”

“And have you been published, Miss Lucy,” Modesty asked.

“I have not. Unfortunately, there are no publishers in Dorset, and as this is my first trip to London, I have no contacts in the publishing world here.”

“Perhaps I might help you with that,” Aunt Hester said. “My husband knows many established publishers and might be able to direct you to someone who could be interested in your work.”

“That would be so very kind of you,” Lucy said, enthusiastically.

At that moment George returned.

“Is all well with the paintings?” Lucy asked.

“I believe so. I have not unwrapped any, as they must still be taken to the gallery. I was thinking tomorrow morning, if that is not an inconvenience to you, Aunt?”

“Not to me. You have your own carriage and you are the guest. You may come and go as you wish,” Aunt Hester said, wiping the crumbs off her fingers after a particularly delicious and crumbly scone. “However, I should like to reserve one of your evenings for a little supper party I should like to give in your honor. I was thinking to invite some artistic types, whose company you might enjoy.”

“Very thoughtful of you, Aunt. Just let us know when and we shall reserve that evening.”

Miss Modesty was standing by the piano and said, “I have a capital group of friends you might enjoy, as well. We are having a little outing this evening. Do you care to join us?”

George cast a glance at Lucy, who did not respond.

“Perhaps. Might Miss Lucy come as well?”

Modesty hesitated, but reluctantly said, “Why, of course.”

Lucy immediately spoke up. “I thank you, but I shall decline. I am fatigued from the journey and wish to have a quiet and early evening.”

George seemed conflicted, but added, “Yes, that seems reasonable. Perhaps another evening, Miss Modesty.”

“As you wish,” Modesty said as she walked around the side of the piano to the keyboard, sat, and began to play softly, as though she was just practicing. But Lucy could see she was trying to impress George with her talent.

“Then shall you be in for supper?” Aunt asked, “If so, I should like to notify Cook.”

George looked at Lucy who nodded.

“We should like that. It will give us an opportunity for you and me to catch up on all the news from home. And I have a little remembrance in my bag for you from mother. I shall bring that down at suppertime.”

Modesty threw her hands up in the air as she finished the last notes of the piece she was playing.

“There. Enough practice for today.” She stood and turned her attention back to George. “It is such a lovely afternoon, and there is the most delightful little park nearby. Would you care to accompany me on a stroll, George? I often go by myself, but I should also like to introduce you to the park’s many charms.”

George’s face lit up. “Yes, that sounds delightful.”

They left—leaving Lucy behind to converse with Aunt Hester.