“Father, she is like my sister. What could possibly be improper?” And even as he said that he knew he was lying, for he had feelings for her that were more than brother and sisterly. After all, he had been painting her on and off since he started doing portraiture. He had watched her beauty, grace, and gentility grow and mature. Any other women he met, he compared to her, and they always fell short. It was true they grew up together like a brother and sister, but time had changed them, and he was beginning to explore the deeper feelings he had for her. But this was not the time to tell his father that or to tell Lucy.
“Have you spoken to your mother about taking her? I know she depends a great deal on Lucy’s help. I am not certain she would be willing to let Lucy go from here, even for a week.”
“I will speak to her. And if she agrees to let Lucy go with me, will you agree, as well?”
“Perhaps. Let me know what your mother says, and then I shall decide.”
“Very good, Father.”
* * *
As George left his father’s study, he saw Lucy coming down the hall carrying a load of washed and folded laundry.
“Did you speak to him,” she asked, pausing in front of him.
George placed his hand on Lucy’s upper arm. “I did, and all he will give me right now is a maybe.”
“That does not sound very promising.”
“He wants me to speak to Mother and get her permission first. You are so close to her these days. How do you think I should handle her?”
Lucy grimaced. “Oh… Not certain about that at all. She is so dependent on me. I am doubtful she will agree to let me go.”
“What if we went to her together—you and I—when we can find her alone with no distractions,” George suggested.
Lucy wagged her head. “Perhaps. But she can be very moody and is usually not in a very good mood unless she has just had her drops.”
“Let us time our meeting then to after she has taken them.”
Lucy seemed conflicted. “Is that proper? It seems as though we are taking advantage of her weakness.”
“Perhaps you are correct,” George said feeling deflated and a little hopeless. “Then what might you suggest?”
“She usually perks up after breakfast. She is rested from sleep, feels satisfied from eating, and has not felt the stress of the day just yet.”
“Then join me for breakfast tomorrow morning. I will time my attendance at breakfast to coincide with her arrival.”
“I am usually engaged helping Cook at that time.”
“Then bring in a tray or something. Freshen up her tea… anything.”
Lucy smiled. “I will give it a try.”
* * *
George kept a lookout from his room to see when his mother might be passing by on her way to breakfast, and when he saw her, joined her and let her take his arm to navigate the staircase.
“Good morning, Mother dearest,” George said with some exaggeration.
Judith looked up at him. “You seem very chipper this morning, George,” she said as they entered the dining room.
“It is such a beautiful day. I was thinking to help Father with the shearing and then perhaps ride over to visit with Stephen Rutley this evening.”
“Hmm,” was all Judith could muster in response as she settled into her chair and was looking for her tea.
Lucy’s cue to enter was the mention of Stephen Rutley, and Lucy came in with a fresh pot of tea and a bowl of the season’s first strawberries.
“Your Grace, I have a special treat for you this morning,” she said placing the bowl of strawberries and fresh cream before her. She then nonchalantly poured the tea, giving George the opening to bring up the intended subject.
