Priscilla had monopolized the conversation with George, which he did not mind as she was charming, and he could see his sisters were totally focused on Mr. Goodwin. Better to stay out of their way, he thought.
As the butler began to reassemble the large picnic basket after the lunch was completed, Priscilla stood, and taking hold of George’s hand, once again, instructed him to follow her.
“Where have you put it?” She asked as they reached the entrance hall?
“Put what?” he asked.
“My new painting. You promised to help me find the perfect spot to hang it.”
“Did you have a room in mind?”
“Why, my bedroom, of course. I want to be able to study it first thing in the morning when I arise and want it to be the last thing I see before I extinguish the lamp.”
“I have it over here.”
He went to where he had placed the painting against the wall and picked it up, tucking it under his arm.”
“Lead on, Miss Priscilla, and we shall find the perfect spot to hang your painting.”
Priscilla led the way up the fine marble staircase.
Brookdale was a substantial, but not particularly attractive country house—at least on the outside. But the inside was well appointed, pleasantly decorated, and suitable for a young lady and gentleman to spend the season. It was, after all, not to be their permanent home.
“Here we are,” Priscilla announced when they reached her chambers. “Is it not a pretty room? I particularly like the view from the windows. The house has a lovely formal garden and a long vista stretching all the way to those charming little hills. I am quite fond of it already.”
“Most pleasing, Miss Priscilla. Now, let me see where would be the best place to hang your landscape.”
George unwrapped the painting, and while holding it, walked around the room looking for the best spot.
“What about over here?” he asked as he stood at a wall that was well lit by the window and would show the picture off to its best advantage.
“But there is already a painting there,” Priscilla said.
“Then we shall take that one down and hang this one. Do you mind? This other picture is rather dreary. How much better to have my sunny, ever so much larger and handsome painting.”
As George was hanging the painting, Priscilla took several steps backward to view the painting to its best advantage. The light from the window seemed to enliven the colors and add depth.
“Oh, Mr. George, how splendid it is. I am enchanted with the painting.” She went over and took George’s arm and turned her face up to him with a most seductive smile.
He thought she was longing to be kissed, but he gently and gracefully disengaged from her. Not that he was not tempted—but because in his heart he knew Miss Priscilla was not the right woman for him and he did not want to hurt her by leading her on in any way.
He disengaged from her and took a step away. “Miss Priscilla, I am so happy you like the painting. But you must excuse me. I need to get back to my family. I feel certain they will want to be getting back to the Manor, and I must return to my work. I get so little time to paint; I must seize every opportunity.”
“But…” she stammered hoping to restrain him. But he turned and left her bedroom, allowing her to follow him if she wished.
When he returned to the conservatory, he looked around to find Lucy but did not see her. He had not noticed his mother send her away. He went to his mother and asked, “Have you seen Lucy?”
“Oh, yes, I sent her to stay in the carriage. She was distracting Mr. Goodwin from your sisters. But could you be a dear and prepare me a dose of my drops. It is a tarnation of a nuisance not having Lucy with me when I need her.”
“You should have thought of that before you sent her out. That was a very rude thing to do to her, Mother. You should be ashamed of yourself?” George said with sincere but tempered anger.
Her Grace looked at George in astonishment. “George Grayson, you have absolutely no right to speak to your mother in that tone of voice. It is you who should be ashamed.”
Beaumont, spotting George, called out. “I say, old man, now that the showers have passed are we to carry on with our ride, or shall we call it an afternoon?”
Ann and Charlotte protested, demanding they continue on to Cranborne Chase, but George was angry with his mother and her treatment of Lucy and did not feel sympathetic to his sisters’ plight.
“Not today. The weather is still very uncertain, and I fear we would no sooner get there and it would start to rain again. Another day, perhaps. Then you could prepare another picnic and enjoy yourselves more comfortably.”
