“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.
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?