Her Ladyship conversed most cordially with her Grace, and Matthew mostly focused on his soup, fish, and game courses as no one seemed interested in his views on anything.
Priscilla was animated as she spoke with George, leaning toward him from time to time and brushing his arm with her hand. Her eyes were sparkling, and her laugh was light and breezy. But George was in a state of misery. He was determined to be friendly, intimate, and encouraging but, for all of his willing it, he could not enter into a heartfelt communication.
By the time the dinner was winding down, and it was time for the ladies to retire, her Grace passed by her husband and whispered, “Be prepared for Beaumont to ask for the hand in marriage of one of our daughters. Signal to me when the gentlemen return to the sitting room.”
He nodded and picked up a cigar as one of the footmen offered him one.
The ladies were uniquely silent as they awaited the return of the men, even though her Ladyship attempted to engage them in conversation. The sisters were as sober and silent as sour-faced clergymen. Mother nervously played with her fan, Betsy yawned, and Priscilla returned to her embroidery.
Finally, the men returned, and Judith looked up at her husband expectantly. But he caught her gaze and subtly shook his head. This gesture was not lost on Ann or Charlotte either, and they looked at each other with stricken-looking faces.
The gentlemen sat down, coffee was served, and conversation was light and superficial.
Ann turned to her mother and said, “Mother, I fear I am developing a bit of a headache. Do you think we might be able to leave shortly?”
Everyone had their reason for wanting to escape, and it was agreed it was time to go. Good-byes were brief, and the Graysons fled to the carriage where silence reigned all the way back to Grayson Manor.
* * *
Lucy had escaped to the nursery to visit with Mrs. Wilkes who was rarely included in any of the family gatherings. Lucy had such fond memories of her years of education, and they were reminiscing when Stevens came to the nursery door.
“Ah, here you are, Miss Lucy. I have been looking everywhere for you.”
“Oh, Stevens, I am sorry. How can I assist you?”
The butler had a peculiar expression. “Miss, a strange gentleman has appeared enquiring after you.”
Lucy was surprised. Her first thought was that it was Isabell’s husband, and something might have happened to Isabell or Chrissy, but she immediately dismissed that thought, as Stevens would undoubtedly know that family and would not characterize Isabell’s husband as a stranger.
“Did he say what he wanted of me?”
“No, Miss, but he insisted it was very important and requested to see you privately.”
“Oh, my,” Lucy said, suddenly becoming anxious. “Then where is he?”
“I put him in the servant’s dining room. I thought you might be most comfortable meeting there.”
“Thank you, Stevens. Then I shall go and see what he wants.”
Lucy followed Stevens down to the kitchen and all the way she racked her mind to think what stranger might be asking for her, but she could come up with no answer. She headed to the dining room and entered, finding no one other than the unknown gentleman.
“I am Lucy Brighton, you asked for me?” Lucy said, standing straight and ready to find out whom this man was.
The man turned to her. He was a comely, dark-haired young man—perhaps only a few years older than herself, but he was well dressed and presented a most pleasing appearance.
“Are you the Lucy Brighton of the tenant farmer Brightons?”
“I am.”
“And your father was Hugh, and your mother was Katherine?”
Lucy had a strange feeling come over her. She could not put her finger on what was happening, but she felt it was significant.
“They were. And you are?” she asked.
The man hesitated, and she detected tears appearing in his eyes.
“I am your brother, Harold.”
