Dukes By the Dozen

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.”