“I have started painting. Drawing is not enough. I need to express myself with color now.”
“Express yourself… express yourself… what are you a prima donna?
“That is dance, Father.”
“Do not be smart with me, young man. You are not too old to get a royal hiding with my riding crop if you do not watch yourself.”
“Yes, sir.” George turned to his mother to gauge her temperament. It was not much better. She had her sour, pouty look which definitely meant disapproval.
“When did you set up that workspace in the stable?” Mother asked.
“Some months ago.”
“And where did you get the money for these art supplies? There are paints, brushes, stretched canvasses and I do not know what all…” Father pushed.
“I saved my allowance and I borrowed a few pounds from Nanny Wilkes.”
His parents looked horrified.
“But I made the canvasses myself. I constructed my own easel and even made some of the paints myself—with Lucy’s help. She knows where to find materials to make some of my paints. I do my best not to spend too much.”
Father turned away. “How is this possible? A son of mine… painting! You know you have a responsibility to run this estate when I am gone. Do you think your mother is going to do that for you… or your sisters?”
“Why can I not do both?” George asked.
That seemed to stump his father for a moment.
Then his mother, turning to his father, said, “Matthew, remember he will be going to university first. He must have a first-class Oxford education.”
Matthew turned and scowled at her. “We shall see about that. I am thinking it is not too early for him to learn how things run around here. He is ten now and needs to accompany me around the estate. He needs to meet with the tenants. He needs to go with me to market. He needs to get his hands dirty.”
“But my studies? What about them?” George asked.
His father seemed to wrestle with that question. “Mornings studying… afternoons with me.”
“But I study in the afternoon; the girls study in the morning.”
“Then you will be with me in the morning. Enough of this backtalk.”
George took a deep breath and stood straighter. “But I am not giving up my painting. Even if I have to work in the dark, you will not deprive me of that.”
“You would defy me and your mother?”
“If I must. Yes.”
His father became calm and smiled faintly. “My son has spunk. Very well, but think of it as a hobby, and nothing more. If we allow this, you must promise never to abandon your duty to your family and your patrimony.”
“I promise. Now, I need five guineas for art supplies.”
Chapter 5
Ten Years Later
Isabell Langley was the daughter of his Grace’s head shepherd, Joshua Langley. Lucy and Isabell had become friends when Isabell was laid up with a cough and a high fever. Lucy, hearing about the illness and knowing that Isabell’s mother was deceased and Isabell was caring for two younger brothers, offered to nurse Isabell until she was well.
The Langleys lived within walking distance of the Manor, and Lucy often walked over to have tea and a gossip with Isabell.
As Lucy approached the whitewashed cottage with its thatch roof nestled in the sunny glade, she could see Isabell struggling to handle a large bed sheet as she tried to throw it over the clothesline in what was proving to be a stiff and persistent breeze. Lucy ran over and grabbed one side of the sheet and helped Isabell settle it onto the line before Isabell stuck clothes pegs over the ends of the sheet.
