* * *
After the dinner was over and the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the library for coffee, her Grace hovered nearby where Mr. Goodwin and Charlotte were seated on the far side of the library away from most of the other guests.
Mr. Goodwin caught her eye for a moment and looked back to Charlotte who was coyly lowering her eyes in anticipation of the next crucial moment.
“I am sorry I have been so otherwise engaged,” Mr. Goodwin said. “Coming down to Dorset from London, I needed to attend to my mother while she was staying with us. But now that she has returned, I am able to free my mind and concentrate on what really matters to me. Do you understand my meaning?” he asked seductively.
“I believe I do, Mr. Goodwin,” Charlotte said, flushed and almost quivering with anticipation.
“You must forgive me if I have seemed to be distracted from time to time, but with so many new people to meet in the area, it has taken me a while to appreciate the finest. It has been a matter of sorting the wheat from the chaff.”
“Oh, Mr. Goodwin, how eloquently you put your meaning.”
He smiled and looked again at the Duchess who was motioning with her hand for him to get on with it.
“And so, my dear Miss Charlotte, could you find it in your heart to care for a humble gentleman like myself?”
Charlotte blushed and lowered her eyes. “Mr. Goodwin…”
“Beaumont,” he insisted.
“Beaumont… I think you know the answer to that question.”
He took a deep breath and, closing his eyes for just a second before asking the fatal question, said, “Then, Miss Charlotte, might I ask for your hand in marriage?”
“Oh yes, Beaumont you may. And I shall happily accept.”
Beaumont looked up at the Duchess and nodded ever so slightly.
* * *
In a corner across the library a similar, but slightly different scenario was also playing itself out. Harold was holding Betsy’s hand and tears were threatening to spill from his eyes as he said, after telling her of his tale of misadventure, “My dearest, I am so ashamed. I feel I do not deserve you. However, I cannot but hope and pray that you might be able to forgive me and consent to take me as your husband.”
“Oh Harold…I do love you.” Betsy said, her tears flowing freely and squeezing his hand.
“Can you? Can you please say you will forgive me? Will you be my wife?”
Betsy lowered her head for a moment before asking, “And have you spoken to my brother about this? Will he accept you as my husband?” Betsy sensibly asked.
“I have,” Harold said, “And I have agreed to the conditions he has stipulated, as I have explained.”
“Then I shall accept you as well, my beloved Harold—you naughty boy.”
Chapter 36
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.
