“O-o-o, woo wittle sweetie,” she cooed and lavished a biscuit on the dog that gobbled it up in two chews and a swallow.
Then the Duchess stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes. “Shoes,” she commanded. “Fetch my slippers—the blue ones.”
Lucy obeyed, and once the Duchess was comfortable again, and after she had comforted herself with another dose of laudanum, she dozed off to sleep.
Lucy escaped the Duchess, headed to the kitchen to inform the kitchen maid that Ann had requested a basin of hot water, and then slipped out the kitchen door and headed to see her dear friend.
As Lucy approached the Langley cottage, she saw the two brothers playing with a hoop in the front garden.
“Hello, boys,” she called out as she came through the gate, “Is your sister at home?”
The oldest boy responded, “She is inside. Feeling poorly.”
Lucy nodded and entered the cottage.
“Isabell?” she called out not seeing her in the common rooms.
“Lucy? Oh, Lucy, I am in the bedroom.”
Lucy went to the door and looked at her friend snuggled up under a mound of covers, even though it was still summer.
“Isabell, what can I do for you?” she asked with some concern.
“I feel rotten. I am shivering, but I think I have a fever.”
Lucy went over and felt her forehead. “You certainly do. Let me get a basin of water. We need to get your temperature down.”
“Are the boys alright?”
“They are playing in the front and seem fine.”
She went to the kitchen poured some fresh water from a pitcher into a basin, found a hand towel, and went back to the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, doused the towel in the water, wrung it out, and applied the cool, wet towel to Isabell’s forehead. Lucy did not want to let on, but she was worried. Isabell was thin, pale, and appeared to be very weak.
“Has the doctor seen you?” she asked.
Isabell waved her hand in dismissal. “It is just a cold or something. It will pass.”
Lucy guessed that Isabell’s reluctance to see a doctor was due to the cost, not the condition.
“How was your trip?” Isabell asked weakly.
Lucy forced a smile and said, “Marvelous, but exhausting as well.” She did not want to talk about the dresses, the sights, or publisher just now. “I will tell you all the details when you feel better.”
Isabell closed her eyes. “The cloth feels good. Thank you.”
Lucy continued to nurse her for the next hour until her father returned. But before Lucy left, she took Joshua aside and said, “Isabell really needs to see a doctor. Her fever worries me, and with her fragile condition, I am concerned for her.”
“Aye, but the doctor costs dear.”
Lucy reached into her pocket where she still had change from the money Betsy had given her for her personal use. She pulled out all she had and pressed it into Joshua’s hand.
He scratched his sun-worn face. “I will send one of the lads to fetch him tomorrow morning.”
“Not this evening?”
“You think I must?”
“I do.”
He nodded and called the boys inside.
“Would you like me to make some supper for you all?” Lucy asked.
Joshua shook his head once. “You done plenty for one day. I can feed the lads and myself. You best go home, and I will fetch the doctor.”
Lucy went back to Isabell’s room, looked in and said, “I am going now. I will come back to check on you sometime tomorrow if I can. Your father is going to call the doctor.”
“You are such a dear friend.”
George and his father were in the sheepfold marking sheep they wanted to cull from the flock with a pot of red paint. The smell of the animals was oppressive, and the dust kicked up by the frightened sheep as they scattered around the fold began to irritate George’s eyes and nose. How he longed to be at his easel working on a portrait of Lucy.
When they were finally done, George pulled off his gloves and escaped outside to cough up the dust and wipe his eyes. As they headed toward the house to wash up for lunch, his father put his hand on George’s shoulder. “Not the nicest work, that. But we need to do that at least once a year.”
“What will happen to the sheep we selected?”
“To market. Mutton most likely.”
“I know just how they feel,” George said with a chuckle.
“Oh? And how is that?”
“Mother has been after me to begin seriously looking for a wife. Since I refuse to go to Oxford, she feels it is time to find a bride.”
“What can be wrong about that? You are twenty. It is not too early to be thinking about marriage, an heir, the continuity of the family name.”
Even though he knew it was a lie, he said, “There is no one locally that I am even remotely interested in.” In his heart, his feelings for Lucy were constantly growing, but he knew his parents would never entertain such an unsuitable match and felt there was no use in suggesting her.
“There are a number of fine families with daughters of marriageable age in the county. And if we must, we can go further afield. I have had enquires from several notable families from as far away as Somerset and York even.”
“Oh, Father, must I? I really feel I should continue my instruction in running the estate before I can even begin to think of marriage. You want me to do the best job possible, do you not?”
His father looked at him, and George could tell he had struck a chord with his father.
“You may have a point. Starting up a family can be very distracting. However, I am still fairly young and healthy, so I do not expect you will be required to run the estate for quite some time yet.”
“But still, I need to focus on learning. Marriage would certainly distract me from that.”
“Perhaps. Let me have a word with your mother. She can be very stubborn once she sets her mind on a particular outcome.”
George put his arm around his father’s shoulders. “But Father, I know you have the knack to get your way when you need to. Am I not right?”
His father did not look at him but gave a sly smile. “If I do this, then I expect you to put your full attention into learning everything you need to know about running the estate.”
“Of course… except for my painting, of course. I already made that perfectly clear.”
His father sighed.
Her Grace would have to wait. Lucy was determined that the first thing she must do this morning was to go and check up on Isabell’s condition.
It was early, and the family might not be stirring yet, but Lucy remembered that Joshua was always up early and prepared to start work.
She knocked on the cottage door and was greeted by Isabell’s father.
“How is she?” she asked urgently.
“The doctor came last night and gave her a potion. I have not checked on her yet. I just got up myself. Come in, and we can look in on her.”
They went to her bedroom, where the boys also slept. They opened the door and peeked inside. All they could see was the pile of blankets with no movement. The boys were still asleep, so they tiptoed and bent over the bed and pulled back the top cover to reveal Isabell’s face. She appeared to be sleeping soundly. She was not restless as she had been the day before, and Lucy felt her forehead and said, “The fever has broken. Thank God. I believe the worst is past.”
“Best to let her sleep then. Think you not?” Joshua asked.
“I do.”
They backed out of the room and closed the door.
“I cannot stay. Will the boys be able to care for her today?” Lucy asked.
“The doctor left several potions and gave instructions for their use. I believe the eldest can care for her.”
“I will try and come back later his afternoon or early this evening. And tell the boys they can come fetch me if it is urgent.”
Joshua took hold of Lucy’s hands. “Y
ou are an angel, Miss Lucy Brighton. God bless you.”
She smiled and left, wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders as she walked through the morning mists and chill.
Lucy fretted all day over Isabell, her mind only partially on the task at hand. The Duchess was restless and constantly calling for Lucy from some other part of the house to come and tend to her. The dog was taken out three times. More than the usual number of doses of the drops were administered, and even though Lucy read to her when requested, the Duchess tended to fall asleep within a few moments of Lucy’s starting to read.
Finally, Lucy was able to break free when the Duchess settled down for a nap. Lucy raced over to check on her friend and could not see the boys as she approached the cottage. She knocked and went inside.
“Isabell?”
“In here.”
Lucy went to the bedroom and was delightfully surprised to find Isabell sitting up in the bed, no longer bundled under a mountain of covers.
“Oh, Isabell, you look so much better. You finally have some color.” Lucy began to cry. “I was so worried about you.”
She went over to the bed, sat on the edge and took Isabell’s hands. “You feel so much cooler. The fever must be gone completely now.”
“I believe so. And I have been able to take some soup and some cheese curds. I feel that I shall soon mend.” Lucy gave her friend a hug, and then sat back and beamed at her with a large smile. “Now then, I want to hear all about London, and what you got up to.”
Lucy was only too happy to oblige, and they nattered away the rest of the afternoon. She did not think of leaving until Joshua returned, and she realized she needed to get back to help Cook prepare supper.
George helped Lucy down from the back of the horse. They were both silent as they stood at the edge of the stream and looked at the rebuilt house. The only part remaining from the old house was the fireplace and chimney, and now a wisp of smoke drifted skyward—perhaps left over from the fire to prepare breakfast. But there seemed to be no one about.
Lucy shivered involuntarily, and George put his arm around her shoulders. But Lucy disengaged from him, went over to the bank of the stream, picked a flower, and went to lay it at the cottage door.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly, as she returned.
She looked up at him with moist eyes, and said, “I am. Thank you for bringing me. I do not think I shall need to come here again.”
Chapter 13
Six Years Later
So much had changed; so little had changed at Grayson Manor.
George was now even more handsome at six and twenty than he had been at twenty. By his hard work on the estate, he had grown into his manhood and lost the soft edges of the younger man. His shoulders had broadened, the chiseled lines of his face had set, and yet when he was painting, he had the grace of a floating swan.
“Turn your head a little more to your right, please,” George instructed Lucy who was posing for him, once again, in his studio.
“You are keeping me from my writing you know?” she said while maintaining her perfect pose.
“Just a little bit longer, then you are free. But for some reason, your portraits are some of my best-selling work.”
It was not difficult to see why. While George had grown more handsome, Lucy had finessed into a quiet and elegantly beautiful young woman at two and twenty. What everyone commented on, when they were studying her portraits in the gallery, was her stunning piercing gaze. Her dark eyes were expressive in ways that no one seemed able to describe. Her eyes showed intelligence, but also held the promise of depths waiting to be explored.
Lucy reached up and massaged the back of her neck.
“I am sorry, are you uncomfortable?” George asked.
“This position… I seem to have a slight spasm.”
“Very well, enough for today. But the light is so perfect just now.”
“A little more then. I have always been told one must suffer for one’s art. But does it not seem unfair that it is I who must do the suffering while it is you who reaps the rewards.”
“But have I not also shared the proceeds from each of your portraits with you?” George reminded her.
“That you have. And for that, I am most grateful, as I am still receiving no pay for my services to your mother.”
George stopped his painting and looked at her. “Is that so?”
“It is, but have I complained?” she said smiling coyly.
“I shall speak to Father about that. That is completely unfair.”
Lucy held her pose but continued. “I have been thinking, George. Perhaps it is time for me to move along. I have heard that there is a position for a lady’s companion with a good family in Mayfair.”
“And how did you hear about that?”
“Your Aunt Hester dropped me a note, thinking of me when she learned of the offer. And I believe it pays two hundred a year.” Lucy cast her eyes toward George to gauge his reaction.
“And would you like to live in London,” he asked, betraying no hint of how he felt about that.
“Perhaps.”
Again, George gave no indication of his feelings when he said, “I know Mother would be greatly upset if you left. She has come to count on your assistance as she struggles with her disability.”
Lucy chose her words carefully. “I think your mother’s disability is more in her mind than in her body. I am not certain her doctor is doing her any service by continually supplying her with laudanum. She has become so dependent on it that I fear she will never free herself from its control.”
“Yes, I have discussed that with Father, and he seems relieved that it keeps her subdued. He fears that without it she will become overly feisty and he would rather keep her quiet.”
“It is not for me to say,” Lucy said backing away from any further discussion of this thorny subject.
George continued to paint in silence, but then said, “I should miss you should you leave for London.”
“You would miss my sitting for you.”
George looked at her with his paintbrush poised, “That too. But you know it is more than that.”
“Do I?”
“Oh, my dearest friend, you know it is a great deal more than that.”
“What then?”
“We have the deepest and most enduring friendship. No one in my life is able to console me as you do.”
“So, I am your source of solace? And while I am glad to know that, it appears to be a rather one-sided arrangement.”
George became agitated. “I did not mean it that way only. Lucy, my dear friend, our relationship is so much more. The feelings I have for you are…” He suddenly stopped and turned to clean his brush. “I am done for now. You are free to leave if you wish, or you may go to your desk and write if you like.”
Lucy was hurt by his abrupt dismissal of her and his refusal to state what those feelings of his were. “Thank you, George. Then I shall retire to the house and draft a letter to your Aunt. I must not pass up the opportunity for a well-paying position. It is important I plan for my future.”
The Duchess’s greatest tribulation was—not a single one of her daughters had managed to find a suitable husband. The men that had proposed were unsuitable, and the suitable men never proposed.
Poor Judith was beside herself with concern. Ann was dangerously close to spinsterhood at the ripe age of one and thirty. Judith’s beautiful Charlotte was still, inexplicably, unmarried at nine and twenty, and raging at the world for this disastrous fact. Only Betsy seemed unmoved. Indeed, she seemed quite content to carry on as a single young lady at seven and twenty.
Flossy had just brought several of the Duchess’s newly cleaned dresses to put away in the armoire. Judith was standing at the window overlooking the estate and despairing that not only had Ann not been asked for her hand in marriage but was not even being courted by a single gentleman at the Sunday afternoon open houses. Her eldest daughter’s features had become coarse a
nd rigid with age and disappointment.
Judith turned to her eldest daughter, who was seated on the divan and asked. “Then what do you suggest, Ann? I am at my wit’s end. I thought for certain Captain Casper What’s-his-name would make you an offer. But he seems to have just disappeared.”
“Captain Patrick Casper, Mother.”
“Yes… him.”
“Well, he has not. We had rather a disastrous discussion last we met.”
The Legend of the Betrayed Duchess_A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 10
