Ann nodded as she surveyed the small cottage.
“It is a pleasure, Miss Ann,” Isabell said. “Might I offer some tea?”
Lucy became serious. “Isabell, I am afraid we are not here on a social call.”
“Oh?”
Lucy then explained about the Duke’s death and what they needed from her.
“I am so very sorry, Miss Ann,” Isabell said with great feeling. “Of course, I will be honored to help however I can. But first, I must run over to my friend Molly’s house. She will watch Chrissy for me. If you will excuse me for just a moment.”
Isabell covered herself with a wool shawl and left the cottage.
Ann appeared to be uncomfortable in this small working-man’s cottage.
Lucy offered, “Would you like to sit until she returns?”
“I would rather not. If you do not mind, I should like to wait in the carriage. Come when you are ready.”
“But Ann, it will be very chilly with no heat. Please stay. There is a nice fire in the grate. Make yourself comfortable. Isabell will not be gone long.”
Ann agreed to the suggestion and went to the fireplace and sat on a straight-backed chair.
Isabell quickly returned with her friend.
“I am ready,” she announced, and the three went to the carriage.
* * *
Only the Duchess, George, Harold, and Lucy wore black at dinner that evening. The sisters were unprepared for such an event and could only manage muted colors.
The Duchess eyed her daughters and pronounced. “I will summon Madame Hortense tomorrow morning. It is scandalous to see my daughters dressed thusly as their father lays cold on his bed. You will all be outfitted for suitable mourning attire first thing tomorrow.”
Lucy studied Ann. She had been surprised at how Ann had been treating her since her father’s death. While Ann was not exactly warm toward Lucy, she had at least been civil and even cordial toward her.
George turned his attention to his mother and said, “I have made arrangements with the Vicar for the burial to be held in two days. He said it was customary to hold the ceremony in the church, but I said I thought you would prefer the service to be held here, as we are burying him in our family cemetery. Was I correct in that assumption?”
The Duchess teared up again and pulled her black handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh George, what am I to do now? Now you are the Duke, and I am but The Dowager Duchess. Soon you will be taking a wife and I shall be replaced.”
“Mother, please do not trouble yourself with such thoughts. I shall not be taking a wife until there is a suitable time of mourning.”
Mother looked over at Lucy and smiled rather sourly, knowing what she knew about George’s intentions.
George continued, “Harold is overseeing the construction of the casket. Our Joseph is a good carpenter and will do a fine job. And, as soon as it is completed, I thought it would be proper to lay him in the rotunda for viewing. I feel certain many of the locals would like to come and pay their respects.”
“Oh, George, must we? All those people coming and going. I am not sure I shall survive it,” Mother said.
“I am quite sure you will survive very well. And it is right and proper that our neighbors would want to come and pay their respects.”
“Then if we must.” And she sighed and dabbed at her eyes again.
Lucy smiled inwardly. Never had she seen anyone milk a situation such as this as fully as the Duchess did. It appeared that she was in her element with the glory of wallowing in the outward appearance of suffering.
Lucy looked over and saw that George was studying her. She smiled at him and he returned a wan smile.
George returned his attention to his mother and added. “I was thinking we should have a reception following the burial. It would be fitting for a man of Father’s standing. I have spoken to Stevens and Mrs. Mead, and we are putting together a menu. And I was thinking the reception should be held in the ballroom.”
Lucy spoke up. “Oh, please let me help however I can.”
