Page 47 of The Legend of the Betrayed Duchess
In the meantime, Betsy was sitting next to her mother.
“And just who have you danced with this evening, my dear? I have not been able to keep an eye out for you as I should. There have been so many interruptions.”
“A few gentlemen. But not a single one of notable interest,” Betsy admitted.
“Oh, child, I do despair for you. Why do you insist on making yourself so unattractive? You are quite a pretty thing really, but you make no effort whatsoever.”
“Oh, Mother, they mostly bore me so. They only talk about themselves and their feeble accomplishments. Why ever would I want to consider marrying such toads?”
The Duchess was distracted by the attention of The Baron Asquith who was sitting to her left.
“Your Grace, this is my first visit to Grayson Manor, and I have to say it is quite a satisfactory residence.”
This put down did not please the Duchess, and she replied. “And I suppose you live in a palace?”
“The Grange is quite a substantial home. We find it suits us quite well,” he replied.
This put Judith in a foul mood, and she turned to her dinner and ignored him the rest of the evening.
Betsy disappointed her mother, but Ann and Charlotte were deeply engaged in conversation with the new young man, and that pleased her greatly. The Countess had fallen asleep during the first dance session and could not be roused for supper. But Judith would make a point of questioning her more fully when the guests returned for the second round of dancing.
* * *
Yes, the ball was moderately entertaining, but all George could think about was finishing his latest painting. He was itching to toss off his dress suit, put on his work clothes and smock, and head back to his studio, even if it meant working by lamplight late into the night. But, alas, it was not to be this evening. The second round of dancing had barely begun, and the guests were so enthusiastic, he knew the ball would go on long after midnight.
Then it struck him—he had not seen Lucy. She was usually at his mother’s side but had been absent all evening. And then he realized with a discreet smile that his mother probably did not want Lucy at the ball, because she might very well distract from his plainer sisters.Naughty mother, he thought. He was about to go over and scold her, but he was interrupted by the appearance of Miss Priscilla.
“I believe we are to have the next dance,” she said taking his arm.
“A quadrille,” he said looking at her dance card. “Most enjoyable.”
As they danced, it was clear to George that Miss Priscilla was interested in him. She brought up any number of topics that might intrigue him, and he had to admit she was a charming and knowledgeable young lady. And yes, she was very pretty—but pretty in a girlish way. As always, he ended up comparing her to Lucy—the loveliest and most potentially beautiful woman he would ever know. But over the course of their conversation, Miss Priscilla let it be known that she came with a living of five thousand a year—andshe was the daughter of a Lord. There could be no doubt his mother would swoon over the possibility of such a match for him.
When their dance was finished, George excused himself. He had purposely chosen not to engage in many dances, as he felt it was necessary to be a good host and mingle with guests at the dance who were not dancing. As usual, his father, the most obvious host, hung out in his study with a gang of gentlemen who always spent any social occasion together drinking heavily and smoking cigars.
As George visited with the non-dancing guests, he found he was particularly welcomed by mothers of eligible young daughters. They pressed their various suits upon him and suggested he might come by for a visit to their homes any afternoon. He knew the routine, but was oblivious to it, having witnessed it numerous times in his own family. But he was tiring rapidly of this not so subtle assault.
Suddenly a shriek rang out, and he turned to see his mother across the room with her hands in the air looking down at her lap. He quickly made his way to her.
“Mother, what troubles you?”
Judith was looking down at Isabell who was shaking and in some sort of a spasm. It was clear she was upset, but George did not know what to do. Judith turned to Flossy. “Help me,” she cried out, disregarding all forms of decorum.
Flossy came over and looked down at the dog but waved her hands. “Oh, Your Grace, I know not what to do. Is she sick?”
“Of course, she is. Do something.”
Flossy now waved her hands even more violently, and looked at George, “Oh, sir, I know not what is to be done.”
George picked the dog up, but she had lost bladder control and was relieving herself all over the front of George’s breeches. “Tarnation! Flossy go fetch Miss Lucy. She is much more knowledgeable about these things than I am.”
Flossy dashed off, obviously relieved to pass the responsibility on to someone else.
Even with the Duchess’s distress, the dancing had not stopped. The Country Dance group was now playing, and the dancers were in a boisterous, giddy round of knees up dancing. Most of the guests appeared to be unaware of the incident with the dog.
George, in the meantime, had procured a shawl and had wrapped Isabell in that. Lucy shortly came up next to him.
“Is it Isabell?” she asked.
