But when the carriage arrived at Brookdale, it was still raining. George hopped down from the driver’s seat and went to the front door which was immediately opened by the butler.
Beaumont and Priscilla came running over.
“I say, not much of a day for a picnic is it?” Beaumont said, Priscilla at his arm. “And you look soaked, old man. Come in.” He peered at the carriage. “Donaldson will take umbrellas out to the ladies. Might as well all come inside.”
“Let me fetch the paintings.” George said, “They are well wrapped. The rain should not be a problem.”
George scurried back outside and carried in each painting as a footman held an umbrella over him.
The ladies fluttered into the house like a flock of charging geese.
“Oh, dear…” Charlotte lamented. “Our picnic is ruined.”
“Then we shall have it inside,” Beaumont insisted, ushering them to the conservatory. “We can picnic here. It is almost like being out of doors, except we shall remain dry.”
As the picnic was being set up on several tables in a pleasant sitting area, Lucy came over to George.
“You are all wet. Shall I see if I can get you a towel?” she asked, putting her hand on his arm.
“Actually, this coat is waterproof. It is just superficial. But thank you.”
Priscilla came over and took George by the hand. “Come, you must help me find the perfect spot for my new painting,” she said excitedly.
“After the picnic, perhaps. I believe they are just about ready to serve.
Lucy thought Miss Priscilla was a lovely young lady, and that troubled her. She found herself, once again, feeling the pangs of jealousy as she saw George and Priscilla holding hands—which he seemed to be enjoying. But she did not have long to dwell on their flirtation because Beaumont came over to her.
“Miss Lucy. How pleasant it is to see you again. I hope you did not get wet on your journey to Brookdale.”
“No, sir, I was inside the coach. Only George was foolish enough to sit outside. But he loves to play the rebel and defies what is usually expected of him.”
Ann called over, “Mr. Beaumont, we are ready. Will you come and open the wine for us.”
Mr. Goodwin appeared to be annoyed at the request and he nodded to his butler to take care of the wine.
“Will you sit with me while we enjoy the picnic?”
“Oh, Mr. Goodwin, I must not. Her Grace requires my undivided attention, and I must be with her. You see, she recently suffered a loss and feels fragile unless I am there to administer to her needs.”
“Such a pity. Not onlyherloss butmyloss of your company.”
“Oh, sir, I feel certain you can quite easily weather the slight loss of my attention.”
Beaumont smiled. “Perhaps I shall, but I hope you will make up for it another time—quite soon.”
The Duchess was signaling with the wave of her handkerchief that she needed Lucy beside her. Lucy went over and bent down to hear what the Duchess had to say.
“Lucy, I need you to go to the carriage and wait for us.”
Lucy was shocked. “I beg your pardon? You want me to wait outside?”
She then whispered, “Yes, dear, you are distracting Mr. Goodwin from giving his full attention to Charlotte and Ann. It will be so much better if you retire. I am certain you understand. I shall have someone bring you a plate with some tasty morsels. Will that not be lovely?”
Lucy stood straight, surveyed the assembly, caught George’s eye for a moment, and then stormed out of the conservatory, leaving the daughters to enjoy their picnic.
* * *
Ann and Charlotte had fully engaged Mr. Goodwin in, what they thought, was a scintillating conversation during the lunch. Mercifully, the sun broke out near the end and shone delightfully with the air scrubbed clean by the rain.
