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 asIam 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.”
