“What am I to do, Hattie?” Georgie asked, her arms unbearably empty all of a sudden.
Hattie didn’t take her gaze from the doorway Lully had just disappeared through. “Talk to the duke,” she suggested.
“I cannot. You know I cannot.”
Her friend shrugged. “I have nothing else to offer.”
Georgie sighed. “Neither do I.”
3
He came back, of course. The problem was that he came early and caught her unaware. Georgie had anticipated receiving him back in what Jack fondly called the Blinding Sun Parlor, dressed in her most austere gown, her hair rigidly controlled into a knot at the back of her neck, her hands resting quietly in her lap, the veritable picture of calm and control.
But the dastard came an hour early when she was still in the garden tumbling about with Lully and Murphy. In fact, he found her on the ground beneath the great dog, with Lully rolling about dissolved into peals of laughter.
“Muwphy won, mama!! Muwphy won!”
“Yes, he did,” Georgie admitted, breathless with her own laughter. And then Murphy gave her a long, wet lick across her face, and the both of them dissolved into fresh giggles. Throwing herself atop her mother and dog, Lully snuggled in for a few extra hugs from her mother and licks from her dog.
“Excuse me…”
Georgie’s laughter stopped and her stomach dropped. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide her baby and call to have one of her footmen show the duke out of her house. Out of her life.
Instead, she sat up. He was standing at the garden gate, as elegantly put together as an Ackerman’s illustration, his curly-brim beaver hat resting against his leg, his cane looking more like a fashion accessory than a necessity, his hair gently tousled by the breeze. And she was near-sprawled on the ground with her skirts tumbled around her legs. She gave them a quick tug over her ankles. It was the best she could do.
“My apologies again,” he said with that horrifically lovely smile that provoked a surprise dimple in his right cheek and butterflies in Georgie’s belly. “There seems to be no one to announce me.”
“Not here,” Georgie agreed. “You might try looking inside. That is usually where you’ll stumble across a footman whose sole desire is to announce you.”
“But you are not inside.”
“And you are not scheduled to be here for another hour.”
He bowed. “Rolled up horse, foot, and gun. My apologies.”
Reacting to the sharp edge of her mother’s voice, Lully stared at the intruder with alarm. Needing only that, Murphy leapt to his feet and braced, his fur bristling, his lips drawn back. His silence was not reassuring.
“I fear I am not at my fastest, Mrs. Grace,” the duke said, wary eye on the dog. “It would be a reassurance if you could let your protector know he has impressed me sufficiently.”
Gaining her feet with unwieldy moves, Georgie laid her hand on Murphy’s back. “Foighne ort,” she murmured and reached down to give Lully a hand up as well.
Murphy didn’t change his stance, but he relaxed a bit.
Lully brushed the leaves from her skirts and turned to assess the newcomer. “Do we know him, Mama?” she asked in her best duchess voice.
“Yes, my love,” Georgie said, still not moving. “He is your papa’s cousin. Your Grace, allow me to present my daughter Miss Lilly Charlotte Grace. Lully, this is His Grace Adam Marrick, the Duke of Rothray.”
“That is a lot of names,” Lully pronounced in arch tones.
“There are even more,” the duke confided. “I only use them when I’m in Parliament.”
She considered that.
“You will give him your best curtsy, please,” Georgie instructed.
Lully tilted her head, still considering the very tall man standing ten feet away framed by her garden gate. Georgie almost smiled. She had often laughed at that look and suggested her daughter not sneer at the peasants, that it was rude. It was refreshing to see her turn it on a duke.
“All right,” Lully finally conceded and dipped a civil curtsy, still little-girl wobbly. Georgie found herself waiting for her daughter to offer her hand to be bowed over.
