“I believe I have found the soup spoon, so I am doing quite well, thank you very much, George.”
“Keep up the good work.” And then he was distracted by an enquiry from Horatia Simpson to his left.
Lucy turned back to Mr. Simpson, but he had returned to the conversation with Modesty.
By now the fish course was being served—a finely poached sturgeon with a white wine and cream sauce.
The conversation at the table was lively, and Sir Harcourt and Lord Adolphus were in a fevered discussion about some pending bill in parliament. However, Aunt Hester intervened.
“Gentlemen, no politics this evening, if you please. We are surrounded by guests with a refined sensibility, and we should elevate our discussion to the finer things in life.”
Sir Harcourt let out a generous belly laugh and cried out, “The misses speaks. Lord Adolphus, it seems we are being boorish and must confine our discussion to delicate subjects.”
That set the two men laughing, as Sir Harcourt slapped the table in glee and set all the silverware rattling.
Lucy had to smile. Even though Sir Harcourt was boisterous, he seemed to have a good heart and a sense of humor.
The rest of the dinner passed with little more conversation on Lucy’s part. Aaron was now ignoring her, Mr. Simpson was engaged in a lengthy exchange with Modesty, and George was mostly hidden from sight and unavailable for any discussion.
After the ladies retired to the sitting room, leaving the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars, Lucy hoped to find some interesting talk. But Modesty would sooner saw off a limb than speak to her. Aunt Hester was in her comfortable chair and nodding off to sleep, and Mrs. Horatia Simpson took some crochet work out of her bag and immediately occupied herself, ignoring the rest of the ladies.
Presently the gentleman reappeared, and Lucy began to hope for renewed conversation. And indeed, Mr. Simpson came over to her.
“Miss Lucy, I had hoped we might continue our talk about your writing. Did you, by any chance, bring any samples of your work with you?”
“Oh, Mr. Simpson, I had no idea that anyone would be interested in seeing my work and I did not. However, I would be happy to send you a few pieces via the post when I return home.”
“That would be satisfactory.”
“What are your particular interests, Mr. Simpson? Children’s stories, adult romance, mystery, adventure? What?”
“We publish a number of stories in periodicals. We have a label for crime fact or fiction. We also publish romance, essays, sermons and we are just starting up a new division for children’s stories. Anything within those genres I would be happy to review.”
“Then I shall send you what I have that would be appropriate.”
Mr. Simpson reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced a card. “This is how to reach me. And I do look forward to reading what you offer. Lady Oakley speaks highly of you.”
He bowed and went to sit with his wife.
Lucy was surprised that Aunt Hester had recommended her, as Aunt had never read any of her work. But it appeared that in London, who you knew counted more than what you did.
George was conversing with Aaron, and Lucy hoped that he was getting some good tips from the young artist. But George glanced over at her and smiled, winking at her again. That made her smile, and she went to sit next to Aunt Hester who was now awake.
“What a lovely dinner,” Lucy said. “I especially enjoyed the roasted duckling. Very crispy exterior but still juicy inside. You must have a fine cook.”
“A darling gem. She has been with us from the beginning of her career, and we hope she never leaves.”
At this moment George came over and offered Lucy his hand. “Have you seen Aunt’s lovely back garden?”
“Just from the bedroom window.”
“I fancy a breath of fresh air. It is such a mild and gentle summer evening. Shall we take a stroll? The moon is full and should light our way.”
“I would like that,” Lucy said, taking his hand and standing.
They crossed the sitting room and left through the French doors into the garden. It was indeed a lovely evening, and Lucy barely needed to pull her shawl up around her shoulders.
There was a small pond in the middle of the garden, and the walkway from the house led over to a gazebo covered in night-blooming jasmine where there was a bench. George still held Lucy’s hand and led her toward the bench.
