“From the journey?” he asked.
“No, from the display of you and Miss Modesty.”
George seemed shocked. “I do not understand. What display was that?”
“Oh, George. She was shamelessly flirting with you, and you were eating it up like a child with an ice cream.”
That caused George to laugh. “Funnily enough, we had an ice in the park. And yes, I did eat the ice with the relish of a child, but I can assure you Miss Modesty’s flirtation ended quite abruptly when she learned that I was not what she was looking for in a husband.”
At that, Lucy had to smile faintly. “Really?” she asked feeling an immense relief.
George looked at her like he never had before. “Were you jealous?” he asked with a chuckle.
Lucy blushed. “Maybe a little. But mostly I did not find her to be a suitable match for you.”
“Oh, and what sort of match would be suitable for me?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Someone not like her,” was all Lucy would commit to.
George reached over and poked her in the arm. “Someone like you, perhaps.”
She pulled away and turned slightly from him. “It is not for me to say. You should ask your family about what sort of lady you should marry. I am certain your mother would have a great deal to say on the subject.”
“I am to be Duke of Sutherland, andIshall choose what sort of lady I want as a wife.”
“George, you are so naïve. I can assure you, your parents have strong opinions about such matters. I may not be a part of the family, but I can see and hear, and you will most certainly have to contend with them when it is time for them to choose your wife.”
“Hmm,” George said gazing down at the floor. “My dear Lucy, you are the wisest young person I have ever known.”
* * *
The next morning, George had the paintings loaded into the carriage once again. He was just the littlest bit nervous about showing his new work to the gallery owner. What if he did not like what he saw? But he would not allow himself to dwell on that. He must move forward and face the inevitable—whatever it might be.
Lucy had told him she would elect to stay with Aunt Hester until he would be free to escort her into central London where she might see the palace and houses of parliament.
However, she still had the shopping to do for Betsy and herself, and she inquired of Aunt Hester at breakfast if there were any shops close by that she might be able to visit by herself while George was at his appointment.
George left the house at nine-thirty for his ten o’clock appointment with Mr. Seth Hardy.
Arriving at the gallery, he had the carriage wait until he found Mr. Hardy.
“Sir, I am George Grayson, here with the paintings you requested to view,” George said after being directed to the director’s office.
Mr. Hardy was a short, middle-aged man with a shock of white hair, a pince-nez, and very elegantly dressed in formal attire.
“Ah, young man, I am so pleased you made it up to London. Please, take a moment and let me finish this letter and I shall be right with you.”
“I think I shall browse the gallery if I might. I should like to see the other paintings you show.”
“Please yourself. I shall be with you, presently.”
George walked around the gallery examining the paintings. Most were landscapes. There were a number of still lifes and a few very fine portraits.
“Mr. Grayson, where are your paintings?” Mr. Hardy asked as he came toward George.
“In the carriage.”
“Let my people bring them in and then I shall view what you have brought me.”
