“Merciful heavens.” Hattie heaved a sigh herself. “A duchess. I suppose I shall have to brush up on my acts of obeisance.”

Georgie huffed in frustration. “Don’t you start as well. I told him no.”

“You told who no? The duke?”

Georgie nodded.

“You know you cannot do that, of course.”

Georgie plucked at her skirt. “It was all I could think to do at the moment. It is still all I can think to do.”

“He’ll be back.”

“Yes. Tomorrow. So he informed Williams when he was being given his hat and coat.” Helplessly she looked up at her friend. “What can I do?”

“I don’t suppose there is time to catch a fast boat to Calcutta.”

That at least made Georgie smile. “I hate curry.”

Hattie nodded. “So do I. Too bad. I’m quite certain your friend Lady Diccan could recommend some lovely places to visit.”

“She and Lord Diccan are in Venice with the Lidges, I believe.”

Hattie brightened. “I wouldn’t mind a gondola ride.”

Georgie shook her head. “I have a feeling that even that trip to India would not deter the duke. He mentioned something about the tenants needing Lully in order to prevent some type of disaster.”

Hattie’s humor disappeared. “Then you cannot run away.”

“I cannot let Lully go to London either. Or Scotland. You know that. I can not let any of this happen.”

Hattie was saved from answering by a scratch on the door.

“Come!” Georgie called to have one of the younger nursemaids pop her carroty head around the door.

“Morning, ma’am. Up for a bit of a visit?”

At which point without notice or permission, a small, rather dignified little girl marched into the room as if attending a presentation. Her bright red curls bounced as she walked and her sharp green eyes held serious intent as she ironed the front of her little white pinafore with both hands on the way in. It was all Georgie could do to keep from giggling.

“Do you think she’s known all along about her inheritance?” Hattie asked sotto voce, her own brown eyes sparkling. “For if there was ever a four-year-old duchess, this is the one.”

The minute he spotted the little girl, Murphy hauled himself to his feet with a groan and padded over to stand where Lully could lay her hand on his neck, which was level with her own. All Georgie could think was that this must have been what young Queen Maeve looked like. She also had the feeling that if she told her daughter the news the duke had brought, Lully would simply dip her head in acknowledgement, knowing it was only her due.

Thank heavens for little Jamie and Murphy, who had forced silliness and play upon her like a mandatory meal.

“Curtsy,” the maid whispered.

Lully turned a scowl on her. “I know.” And then, gave her mother and Hattie a wobbly curtsy that almost landed her on her head. “Morning, mama.”

“Good morning, Sprite.”

Finally her baby let loose with a waterfall of giggles. “I’m not a sprite! I’m a girl!”

“I don’t know,” Georgie said with a frown. “A little girl would have already hugged her mama.”

And just like every other time they’d played the game, Lully cast herself into her mama’s arms and peppered her face with small kisses. Georgie held that little heart to hers, laughing and kissing back, tears welling in her eyes. No one would hurt her baby. No one. She had had far too much practice in protecting her own to allow it.

“You squeeze too tight!” Lully protested.

Georgie eased her grasp a little, knowing Lully was right. She felt frantic, suddenly, as if someone would come up and literally rip the little girl from her embrace. As if Jamie’s very handsome, very nice cousin would.

He would not. She would kidnap her child and run if it came to that. She had done it before.

“He doesn’t understand,” she protested, her face against her daughter’s neck where she could catch that little girl scent she loved so much.

“Who, mama?” Lully immediately asked.

Georgie pulled back and brushed the hair back from her little girl’s forehead. “I was speaking to Hattie, sweet. Boring adult business.”

Her little duchess crinkled up her forehead. “Where is Jamie? I want Jamie.”

“What did we say? When does he come?”

Another moue of concentration. “Sat-day.”

“Saturday. Yes. And do you know what day this is?”

Lully shook her head with enough force to send her ribbon sliding over her left eye, which provoked more giggles.

“Today,” her mother said, repositioning the ribbon with tender hands, “is Monday. We have five more whole days until Jamie returns. You must be patient.”

“I shall get presents.”

Georgie gave her a tickle. “Mercenary. Of course you get presents.”

Lully crowed. “Sugarplums!!

Georgie crowed right back. “Books!”

Hattie joined in. “Stockings!”

Lully was giggling. “Ewephants!”

Georgie grinned. “Elephants? Now, how is Uncle Jack to fit an elephant in his carriage? Where will Aunt Olivia and Jamie sit?”

Lully wasn’t deterred in the least. “On top!!”

Impulsively Georgie pulled her little Lully back into her arms for a series of smacking kisses that had the little girl squirming and squealing. It was so hard to stop. She almost felt as if she were storing up the sights and sounds of her child before someone took her away. Before Adam Marrick took her away and gave her to Jamie’s father. Or worse, her own parents.

“Mama!” Lully protested. “Cook has buns.”

Well, Georgie couldn’t argue with an afternoon in the warmth and yeasty comfort of the kitchen with Mrs. Prince. Giving Lully one last smacking kiss, she turned her back towards the grinning nursery maid and gave her a pat on the bottom. “Be good for Mrs. Prince and Sissy, now. I shall see you at tea.”

Lully begrudged her mother a final, perilous curtsy and then ran out, Murphy lumbering right on her heels, to bask in the splendor of Mrs. Prince’s kitchen.

“What am I to do, Hattie?” Georgie asked, her arms unbearably empty 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.”




CHAPTER 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 had 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 peels 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, Georgie 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 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 Lilly Charlotte, Miss 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 the 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.

Obviously the duke was, too. Georgie could see it in the sparkle in his ghostly blue eyes. Instead he gave her daughter a generous society bow and smiled. “I apologize for being a bit early. I finished other business prematurely.”

Georgie knew perfectly well that was a clanker. His entire intention had been to catch her unaware.

“I hope you have already had your luncheon,” she said. “We ate quite a bit ago.”

His smile was knowing. “I did, thank you.”

She nodded. “Come along then, Your Grace,” she said, giving her skirt a final brush as she turned toward the kitchen door.

“Grace?” Lully asked, holding Georgie’s hand and Murphy’s mane with the other. “That’s a funny name for a boy.”

“It means he is a duke, my dear. It is like calling Uncle Jack my lord.”

Lully gave a wise nod of her head. “I don’t call Uncle Jack my lord. I call him Uncle Jack. Cause I am his fav-rite niece.”

“You will still call the duke your grace until he gives you permission.”

Just to make certain the duke would not play any games, Georgie gave him a sharp, warning look. “Bi cúramach,” she murmured to Murphy, who sidled right up alongside Lully and trotted with them.

“Interesting commands,” the duke commented, limping across the shell path.

“Irish,” Georgie informed him. “So that only I and those who trained him know how to guide him.”

The duke nodded his gleaming head. “You told him I am a friend, I hope?”

“No.”

Murphy took up a position between Lully and the duke and ambled along with the little girl as if completely unconcerned. Georgie hoped the duke knew better. Murphy would tear his throat out before letting him touch his charge. Georgie might let him.

Their entrance into the kitchen caused near-chaos as the young staff stumbled all over itself to stand for the duke, knocking into Mrs. Prince, who was pulling a batch of sticky buns from the oven that came perilously close to scattering across the floor.

“Tea in the guest parlor, Mrs. Prince?” Georgie said.

The formidable warship of a woman scowled at the duke for interrupting her kitchen, but nodded.

“C’n I stay here, mama?” Lully asked, eyes lighting as she considered all the sticky buns.

“Maybe later, Sprite. Right now you and I must make ourselves presentable for visitors.”

Lully cast a disgruntled eye at the duke, but followed willingly. With a few terse words Georgie dispatched the duke to the parlor with Tom and Lully up to her room with Hattie before retreating to her own room to change out of her leaf-and-grass decorated work gown. It took some effort, but she talked herself away from making the duke wait as long as possible, as any high-fashioned young lady would be expected to do. She needed this confrontation over with. So she had Maisy help her into a simple rose day gown with high neck and long sleeves to combat the persistent winter chill. A few extra pins in her hair to control it, and she was on her way back downstairs. If a person didn’t know her, they wouldn’t realize that her heart was knocking against her ribs and her palms damp with fear.