“A little more then. I have always been told one must suffer for one’s art. But does it not seem unfair that it is I who must do the suffering while it is you who reaps the rewards.”
“But have I not also shared the proceeds from each of your portraits with you?” George reminded her.
“That you have. And for that, I am most grateful, as I am still receiving no pay for my services to your mother.”
George stopped his painting and looked at her. “Is that so?”
“It is, but have I complained?” she said smiling coyly.
“I shall speak to Father about that. That is completely unfair.”
Lucy held her pose but continued. “I have been thinking, George. Perhaps it is time for me to move along. I have heard that there is a position for a lady’s companion with a good family in Mayfair.”
“And how did you hear about that?”
“Your Aunt Hester dropped me a note, thinking of me when she learned of the offer. And I believe it pays two hundred a year.” Lucy cast her eyes toward George to gauge his reaction.
“And would you like to live in London,” he asked, betraying no hint of how he felt about that.
“Perhaps.”
Again, George gave no indication of his feelings when he said, “I know Mother would be greatly upset if you left. She has come to count on your assistance as she struggles with her disability.”
Lucy chose her words carefully. “I think your mother’s disability is more in her mind than in her body. I am not certain her doctor is doing her any service by continually supplying her with laudanum. She has become so dependent on it that I fear she will never free herself from its control.”
“Yes, I have discussed that with Father, and he seems relieved that it keeps her subdued. He fears that without it she will become overly feisty and he would rather keep her quiet.”
“It is not for me to say,” Lucy said backing away from any further discussion of this thorny subject.
George continued to paint in silence, but then said, “I should miss you should you leave for London.”
“You would miss my sitting for you.”
George looked at her with his paintbrush poised, “That too. But you know it is more than that.”
“Do I?”
“Oh, my dearest friend, you know it is a great deal more than that.”
“What then?”
“We have the deepest and most enduring friendship. No one in my life is able to console me as you do.”
“So, I am your source of solace? And while I am glad to know that, it appears to be a rather one-sided arrangement.”
George became agitated. “I did not mean it that way only. Lucy, my dear friend, our relationship is so much more. The feelings I have for you are…” He suddenly stopped and turned to clean his brush. “I am done for now. You are free to leave if you wish, or you may go to your desk and write if you like.”
Lucy was hurt by his abrupt dismissal of her and his refusal to state what those feelings of his were. “Thank you, George. Then I shall retire to the house and draft a letter to your Aunt. I must not pass up the opportunity for a well-paying position. It is important I plan for my future.”
* * *
The Duchess’s greatest tribulation was—not a single one of her daughters had managed to find a suitable husband. The men that had proposed were unsuitable, and the suitable men never proposed.
Poor Judith was beside herself with concern. Ann was dangerously close to spinsterhood at the ripe age of one and thirty. Judith’s beautiful Charlotte was still, inexplicably, unmarried at nine and twenty, and raging at the world for this disastrous fact. Only Betsy seemed unmoved. Indeed, she seemed quite content to carry on as a single young lady at seven and twenty.
Flossy had just brought several of the Duchess’s newly cleaned dresses to put away in the armoire. Judith was standing at the window overlooking the estate and despairing that not only had Ann not been asked for her hand in marriage but was not even being courted by a single gentleman at the Sunday afternoon open houses. Her eldest daughter’s features had become coarse and rigid with age and disappointment.
Judith turned to her eldest daughter, who was seated on the divan and asked. “Then what do you suggest, Ann? I am at my wit’s end. I thought for certain Captain Casper What’s-his-name would make you an offer. But he seems to have just disappeared.”
