“Yes, she seems to be seizing.”
“Let me take her from you. Poor dear. It is best if I deal with this downstairs.”
“Yes, please.”
He handed the wrapped dog over to Lucy, even as his mother was standing next to him pulling at his arm and saying, “Careful. Oh dear… careful. Shall I go with you?”
Lucy replied, “No, Your Grace, I think it best if I remove her from this hot room. It may be nothing. And if she has some water and a bite to eat she might improve quite nicely.”
“Yes, yes. Do that. Oh, be careful. Do not hurt her,” Judith said pushing Lucy forward. She turned to George, “Go with her. Let me know how she is.”
George was surprised to find he was happy to be leaving the ball, not only because of his soiled breeches, but especially since he was to accompany Lucy.
They headed down the stairs to the servant’s quarters and lay the dog down on a work table in the laundry room still wrapped in the shawl.
Lucy examined the dog and turned to George with a stricken-looking face. “Oh, George, she did not make it. I believe she is dead.”
“Oh, Motherwillbe upset.”
He went to examine the dog for himself, and it was clear that she was indeed dead.”
“I best wait to tell Mother about this after the ball is over. Otherwise, she may become overly emotional and cause a scene.”
“Or you could bring her down here and let her be with her dear friend to grieve alone.”
“Lucy, you are so wise and caring. That is a much better idea.”
“Do you want me to fetch her?” Lucy asked.
“No, I think it best if I do that.”
“Very well. I shall stay here in case your mother needs me.”
George left the room and returned to the ball, which was still robustly in full swing. As he was crossing the ballroom toward his mother, he was stopped by Beaumont who took hold of his arm.
“George, I say… who was that absolutely fine vision I saw you leaving with just now? Is that another one of your sisters?”
It took George a moment to realize Beaumont was talking about Lucy. “No. But you must excuse me; I must relay some important information to my mother.”
George headed toward his mother, but Beaumont called after, “Then who is she? I say…”
Chapter 17
Her Grace was in deep mourning. Dressed in black with a thick veil covering her face she stood mournfully at the graveside, presided over by the local vicar—who was induced to officiate at the funeral by a sizable donation to the widow and orphan’s fund. The vicar, however, emphasized the church did not recognize the soul of a dog entering the kingdom of heaven.
On her left and right were Lucy and Flossy. Matthew absolutely refused to attend such nonsense. George stood next to Lucy but did not wear black. Of the daughters, only Betsy agreed to attend—but reluctantly.
The Vicar rattled off his spiel as quickly as possible and then fled, even though he had been offered a glass of sherry and a buffet after the service.
The Duchess lingered at the gravesite, but was finally persuaded to leave by George, who put his arm around his mother’s shoulder and led her resolutely back to the house.
George whispered to his mother as they neared to house, “Perhaps a new puppy? Might that be a solution for your sorrow?”
“Oh, George, how could you even think of such a terrible thing—and Isabell only freshly laid in the ground?”
They walked silently on, and then George added. “I happen to know of a new brood of puppies at the Waltrams. Might be just the thing.”
“How big is the litter? Mother asked.
