But he could find the ring nowhere. Then he remembered. He went to his armoire and rummaged through his suits until he came to his very best, formal suit. The one he never wore. He had remembered putting the ring in the waistcoat pocket thinking he would only ever wear that suit if he were going to ask that special lady to marry him.
“I guess today is the day to wear the suit,” he said aloud to himself.
It was just after breakfast, the day after the family meeting, and he had planned to take Lucy in the carriage later that afternoon to her favorite spot—the setting for the landscape painting she so admired. He would take a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne and just as the sun began to set—creating the image from the painting—he would ask her to marry him.
In some ways, he wanted to do that right now. He wanted to run up to her room, burst in and shout out, “Will you please marry me, Lucy Brighton?”
But he was so enjoying the anticipation of asking her to marry him that he held back and chose the location that would pleaseherthe most.
George was too restless to try painting this morning, so he went to his studio and began to sort through his paintings, selecting those he wanted to send to the gallery in London. He stacked the chosen ones against a wall and planned to start wrapping each one when he heard shouting coming from outside. At first, he thought nothing of it but, when he looked out of the studio window, he was surprised to see Harold shouting and riding at a furious pace toward the house.
Harold rode right up to the back of the house, pulled the horse up short, and jumped off, before running to the kitchen door and going inside. George, sensing that something was amiss, left his studio and ran over to the same door and went inside.
He saw Harold gesticulating wildly as he talked to Stevens. George went over, and when both Harold and Stevens turned to him, he could see from their expressions that something grave had happened.
“What is it?” George asked in a hollow voice.
Harold with an ashen face said, “It is your father, George. There has been a terrible accident, and I am afraid he is dead.”
George was too shocked at the moment to ask how his father had died.
“Your Grace,” Stevens said, bowing his head. “I shall make arrangements while you and Mr. Harold depart to recover the body. And when you return, I am certain you will want me to collect the family together so that you may speak to them.”
Your Grace. The realization that he was now the Duke struck him like a physical blow. “Yes, Stevens. Please call the family together, but do not tell them why just yet. I would like to announce it myself. I believe it will be best for everyone if they can hear it from me at the same time. We need to be there for each other.”
And, as George was leaving with Harold, he realized, with a sinking heart, he would not be able to ask Lucy to marry him today.
* * *
Stevens had quietly gathered the family together in the drawing room. Flossy was administering a dose of drops to her Grace, and the daughters were casually chatting amongst themselves. Lucy had also been called, but she sat apart from the rest.
“What is this all about?” Betsy asked, pulling at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Is this yet another boring family meeting to scold us for something or another?”
“Are we at least to have some tea?” Charlotte finally asked, looking over at the sideboard.
The drawing room door opened, and George and Harold came in, both looking grave. George stepped forward, and holding his hands together in front of him, said quietly, “I need you to prepare yourselves. I have some terrible news.”
He immediately had everyone’s attention. He gave them a moment to brace themselves, then said, “I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but Father has been killed in an accident.”
Judith brought both of her hands to her mouth to cover a gasp. Betsy burst into tears, and the two other sisters were frozen with their mouths open as if trying to say something, but unable to.
“Harold and I have just returned with the body, and we have Father laid out on his bed. Stevens has called for the doctor to make a determination of death.”
He went over to his mother and put his hand on her shoulder. She leaned forward and let out a heartbreaking cry of sorrow, covering her face with her hands.
“How did it happen?” Ann asked hoarsely.
George turned to Harold. “Harold was with him. I will let him tell you.”
He nodded to Harold who stepped forward. He looked to be having a difficult time preparing to speak. He held the brim of his hat with both hands and nervously turned it clockwise.
“His Grace and I were riding out together. There had been reports that one of the sheep may have been attacked by some roaming dogs. We were going out to investigate. On the way, we needed to cross over a stone wall. We pulled the horses up, and I said I wanted to go out of the way to where there was a gate. I planned to dismount and take the horses through that way. But the Duke wanted to just jump the wall and head more directly to where we believed the sheep to be.”
Everyone was riveted by Harold’s narration.
“His Grace disregarded my suggestion and spurred his horse, heading for the wall at a hard gallop. I thought the Duke must know his horse could make the jump. But I held back and waited to see if he made the leap successfully. I was new to my horse, so I did not want to try the jump myself.
“As his horse neared the wall, she suddenly pulled up, and his Grace catapulted forward and flew off the horse, striking the base of the wall head first. I dismounted and rushed over to him. But it appeared he had broken his neck and was dead. However, I can say that he did not suffer. His death was instantaneous. I am so very sorry. I wish there were something I could have done, but it was sudden and unexpected.”
