The minute young Tom saw her on the stairs, he disappeared behind the green baize door to alert the staff. Georgie waited long enough for Hattie to place Lully back in her care, the little girl tidy and sweet in a deep blue dress edged with Lully’s favorite lace at the cuffs and hem. Taking her mother’s hand, she progressed down the steps like a deb attending her own ball, if that deb came with a very large shadow that looked like an Irish greyhound.

The duke struggled to his feet as they came through the parlor door and made his bow. Georgie led Lully in a return curtsy and pointed Murphy to the corner of the room.

“Chosaint,” she murmured. The dog gave her a long look, as if to make sure, and then lumbered over and eased down, his attention firmly on Lully, even when he dropped his head into his arms.

The duke resettled himself as well and laid his cane down. Lully followed her mother to the settee and took up her seat alongside, arranging her skirts as if she were having tea with the queen. Georgie almost smiled. Hattie was right. Lully might have been born for the news the duke had brought.

“I am pw….pleased to meet you, Grace,” Lully said with a regal little nod, her feet kicking a bit against the front of the settee.

“I as well, Miss Lully,” the duke acknowledged, his features suitably composed. Grace could see the humor lurking in those seawater eyes, though. “I would consider it an honor if you would call me Cousin Adam, however.”

Lully shot her mother a questioning glance. Georgie nodded. So Lully nodded to the duke. “I will.”

“Your mama is correct,” he said. “I am your papa’s cousin. We were very close as children.”

“Like Jamie and me.” Georgie gave a definite nod.

“Just like Jamie and you. Your papa wrote me often of you when he was on his ship. He was ever so proud of you.”

Lully tipped her head again, considering. “He never met me.”

“Oh, but he had the miniature your mama sent him.” Brightening, he reached into an inside pocket. “In fact, he sent it to me so I might see how beautiful you were.”

Georgie felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. That was where Lully’s portrait had gone? She had thought it had been buried with Jamie at sea, his last link to his small family. He had given it away?

Had he thought so little of it, or her that he would pass along the last Christmas present he had received from her, the one she had paid for with her herbs and tatting?

Of course, he hadn’t known it would be his last Christmas present, had he? She looked away, battling the harsh sting of tears as she heard the snick of the latch as the duke opened the small oval case Georgie knew so well. She prayed he would not need any response from her. She wouldn’t manage it without disgracing herself.

“I’m a baby!” she heard and turned to see Lully standing over by the duke’s chair peering down at the open miniature in his hand.

“Indeed you were,” he said, his hand light on her shoulder. “He told me that this was your christening dress that your mama and your aunt stitched just for you, and that he hoped you would be able to one day give it to your little girl.”

Was he doing this on purpose? Georgie wondered, hanging onto her composure by a thread. Did he mean to hurt her? If he had, he couldn’t have done it any better. She had her hands wrapped so tightly together that her fingers were dumb from pressure.

She was called to account when she heard a low whine from the corner and realized that Murphy was sensing her distress. She immediately smiled to calm him. “Fuist, Murphy. Socraigh.”

Couldn’t Jamie have told her how he felt about Lully’s christening gown? He had told his cousin. What else had he shared he’d never shared with her? Suddenly she felt ravenous for information. For reassurance, even. Something that could infuse a bit of color into her memories of her husband. No matter what she did, his face was beginning to fade in her memory, and that wasn’t right.

It wasn’t her turn, though. It was Lully’s, who was giggling up at the duke and leaning into his leg as if she had known him all her life, something Lully rarely did. Excellent, Georgie thought, fighting against a sour scowl. Jealousy as well. By the time this man went home he’d be lucky if she didn't call him with a pirate.

It was when Murphy lifted his shaggy head again that Georgie realized that Lully was beginning to exhibit signs of impatience. It wouldn’t be fair to keep her constrained in the parlor any longer, Georgie thought, ignoring the murmur of conscience that suggested that her motives might not be so pure.

“Lully,” she said, gently when there was a pause in her excited chatter. “Would you be kind and give the duke another of your excellent curtsies? I believe Miss Hattie is waiting for you in the kitchen.”

Lully perked right back up. “It is time for our nature walk,” she told Adam. “We found nests. They’re empty now.” She frowned down at his cane. “I’m sorry you cannot come.”

Georgie flushed in embarrassment, but Adam smiled. “Maybe later when the nests are full my leg will allow me longer walks. May I come back then?”

Lully gave him a solemn nod. Hopping off the couch, she presented her little hand. “Don’t w--rise,” she instructed.

Adam bent over her hand, even seated, using admirable solemnity. “Thank you. I hope to see you soon.”

Lully’s composure broke and she bestowed one of those quicksilver giggles on him. “Bring pwesents.”

And then before Georgie could chastise her, she curtsied again and was off like a chased kit, her little heels clacking across the corridor parquet. Giving another groan of protest, Murphy hauled himself upright and loped after her.

“She is delicious,” Adam said, watching after. “Jamie would have loved her.”

Again he blindsided Georgie. She battled back fresh tears and nodded. “Yes. They were of a piece, those two.”

He slowly shook his head. “That hair…”

Her smile was more than a bit watery. “There was only ever one person with the same color, wasn’t there?”

His smile was just as watery. Oddly, it made her feel better. She had had no one to share memories of Jamie for so long.

They were both given a bit of a break as they received the staff with another tea service. Georgie focused on once again maintaining her composure as she watched their perilous dance with the heavy silver and delicate china. Tom was pale and had a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he balanced the tea service. Maisy had her lower lip caught between her teeth, and Mary wasn’t breathing at all. God bless them. They looked so much better than when she had first been introduced. Healthier, calmer, altogether less feral. She only wished that the duke could appreciate that rather than fear the ungainly ballet they conducted while serving.

At last, though, all was settled, her staff praised with sincere pride, and Georgie was pouring a bit of cream into the duke’s tea.

“Thank you for your patience,” she said, handing over the delicate cup.

His grin was a bit relieved. “I believe you are correct. They will make exemplary servants with a few more years under their belts. I think, however, that my Christmas gift to you will be a rolling tea cart.”

She grinned. “Not all homes will have a cart. So we practice without. It is more of an adventure.”

For a long few moments the two of them focused on Mrs. Prince’s delicious pastries. Usually Georgie could divorce herself from any other worries when she was savoring such fare. Today her heart simply wasn’t in it. She only had the time it would take to finish a cake before she had to face what had brought the duke here.

It simply wasn’t fair. She had finally felt safe. After three years spent in exile in Cornwall where she and the children couldn’t be found, she had been able to settle into a home. Not her home. She would probably never have a home now. Jamie’s pension was too small, and there was no way any of the parents would support her independence. So Jack had taken her in, her and Lully, their little apartment tucked up in the east wing of the tidy red brick Queen Anne home Jack had inherited from their grandmother.

Georgie and Jamie should have inherited his grandmother’s estate, a lovely ten room cottage near Portsmouth where Jamie could see the sea. That dream had been dashed, of course. His parents saw no reason to reward her for destroying their plans.

But she was safe here at Oak Haven. She helped manage the house for Jack and Olivia, especially when they were away, and Lully had her cousin to share lessons, kitchen treats and bedtime stories. No more running. No more hiding. No fear that Georgie would turn the corner to see a threat coming her way.

Of all the times to consider herself safe. The duke—Adam—was the greatest threat of all.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she heard and briefly closed her eyes.

Of course he had seen her reaction to the miniature. “It matters not.”

“But it does.”

She wanted him to say more, to say anything so she didn’t have to. She finally looked over to see sincere concern in his eyes.

“When did Jamie give you the miniature?” she asked.

“He didn’t.” He looked up, as if the plaster acanthus leaves that ringed the ceiling were the most fascinating thing in Dorset. “The Navy did. Well. They sent it to his parents. His father gave it to me.”

She nodded, oddly relieved. She felt even better when Adam reached inside his coat and pulled the miniature out. Taking one last look at it, he handed it over to her.

“Oh, no,” she protested instinctively, hand out.

His smile was kind. “No. It belongs to you. I have my own memories of him.”

Georgie realized her hand was shaking as she reached out to take it, the very last thing she would receive from her Jamie.

“He did write about it,” Adam said. “He was so very proud of having such a pretty little girl.”

Georgie clutched the little felt oval in her hand. “And he never saw her.”

There was a pause that she couldn’t fill, a silence she and Adam shared that was thick with unfallen tears.

“How long did you have together?” Adam asked.

She smiled, thinking about their hubris. They had wasted days on silly things, planning the house they would one day have, making lists of places they would visit, designing the boat Jamie would one day own to carry them to exotic places.

“Four months.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded like it. But then, Georgie had never doubted that Jamie’s cousin was a kind man. Jamie truly had worshiped him.

“I as well, Your Grace.”

He set down his cup and struggled to his feet. Georgie’s heart dropped. So. It was time to get down to business. She set down her own cup, but found she couldn’t quite make it to her feet as well. Instead she tucked the miniature into her pocket.

“Adam,” he corrected with a gentle smile as he retrieved his cane. “It would look ridiculous if you called your cousin ‘your grace.’”

“Yes, of course….Adam.”

Georgie was setting down her own cup when she was distracted by the sound of giggles. She turned to the windows to see Lully leaping about the back garden in her favorite bright red dress she insisted made her a robin. Murphy was seated by the herb corner, and Hattie just tying the ribbons on her bonnet by the arbor. Georgie didn’t realize she was smiling until the duke commented on it.

“I see the aforementioned walk is about to commence,” he said with his own smile.

She nodded, soaking in the sight of her baby like sunlight.

“That’s quite a dog,” he said.

“Murphy is actually quite a darling,” she said, dispatching her cup. “As long as you do not try to interfere with Lully or Jamie, anyway.”

Just then the dog in question, pressed his nose against the glass. Beside him Lully gave a dignified little wave, a gleaming smile, and then turned to run after Hattie, who was already through the garden gate.

Adam waved back. “Our little duchess is quite magnificent.”

Georgie came to abrupt attention and turned on him. “Please. Do not refer to her like that. Ever.”

“Why not?” he asked, setting the cup down. “It is who she is.”

Bile rose up in her throat. “As I said, Your….Adam. She is only a very little girl.”

“With people who depend on her.”

“And trustees to see to those people until she is old enough to be involved.”

“Only once she is invested. Then we may act for her.”

“You act for her now. Well, Mr. Carson does.”

“Not as duchess. This is an entirely different level of involvement, Mrs. Grace.”

“Not Mrs. Grace, please.”

His one eyebrow rose. “Well, I cannot call you Jamie’s wife, even though that is how I think of you.”