Dukes By the Dozen

Wyndham Abbey was situated in Gloucestershire, nowhere near the North Road, certainly not as far north as Grantham. Georgie felt her knees all but give way. Before she could completely crumple, she felt Adam’s hand under her elbow, surreptitiously holding her up. He understood just as well as she what Jem’s words meant.

“Not to the continent, anyway,” he murmured.

“Of course not. They might need to recover her from whatever hell they’d planned for her if they need to wield her power. Oh, dear God...”

She could not collapse. Not until she handled this. She briefly closed her eyes, pulling her tattered poise around her. She would never be able to tell Adam what the support of his hand meant.

“Jem,” she said, “you cannot go back there. You know that. You would be welcome here, if you like.”

Her staff immediately objected. She raised a hand. “His family was threatened. I will not have Jem punished for being put in an untenable position by his lord.”

That quickly the protest died. Each of her staff understood the inequities of power.

“Please take Jem in where Mrs. Prince can see to his leg. If you think it is needed, Mrs. Prince, please call for the surgeon. I would appreciate it if two grooms came with us, and the rest remained in the manor house at least until we return.” She briefly smiled at the nervous movement around her. “I am quite certain the maids will not mind a bit of mud on the tiles. Now then, John Coachman, please ready the curricle. The duke and I have a small trip to take.”

“Village lane, I’m thinkin’?” the coachman posited with a gleam in his old eye.

“Village lane,” she agreed.

The preparations took mere minutes before two of Jack’s prime bays were hooked up to the curricle and Georgie and Adam seated behind John Coachman. One whistle brought Murphy up to set himself alongside the driver, head up, tongue out. John flicked the whip, and the team took off at a fast trot down the drive, followed by the grooms on Jack’s sturdiest hacks. Georgie hadn’t asked, but each also carried a shotgun.

Georgie jumped a bit when she felt a hand wrap around hers. The duke was smiling down at her. “Here I arrived believing you needed the strong arm of a duke to deal with the threat against Lully. You don’t, do you?”

She drew in a ragged breath. “Come see me in about thirty minutes.”

He gave her hand a companionable squeeze that felt to her like the greatest praise and then seemed to forget to let go. Georgie tried her very best not to contemplate exactly what her father’s actions meant. She much preferred to focus on the guilty pleasure that warm, strong hand afforded. It had been so long since she had had that kind of comfort. She could come to rely on it, she thought.

It took fifteen minutes to make their way back to the main lane into the local village. Georgie didn’t have to search for the carriage. It stood still in the middle of the road, not only Peter Miller and Tim the groom standing to one side, but more than a few villagers milling about in front of the placid horses.

John Coachman drew up behind and stopped, tying off the reins before helping Georgie and Adam down. The grooms swung down and covered the first coach. Murphy waited patiently for them in the verge.

“Bi cúramach,” Georgie commanded and took hold of Murphy’s collar.

As the three approached the carriage the crowd parted, many offering nods and tips of the hat to Georgie. She returned the acknowledgement, but never turned away from the two men sitting up front. As she suspected, the two men also worked for the marquess, one the game keeper the other a general dogsbody used for heavy lifting.

“Dick Walters,” she addressed the surly-looking game keeper. “I am not going to waste my time accusing you of trying to kidnap my child and listening to your pleas of innocence. I am letting you return to Wyndham Abbey for one reason, so you may deliver a message to my father. First, if I were you I would hold very still. Murphy, is cumhneach le.” Murphy leapt up to the driver’s seat and sniffed both occupants. Tim flinched back, but froze when Murphy leaned in and growled.

“Wouldna move if I was you,” one of the villagers warned. “That lad has some fierce teeth.”

“He is correct,” Georgie agreed. “Murphy here has already dispatched with Jem. Jem will live, but will undoubtedly need a surgeon. As for you two--” Murphy leapt back down and sat docilely at Georgie’s side to have his head scratched. “Murphy now knows who you are. If you are found within a a hundred yards of him, he will know and attack you. And he is never out of my daughter’s sight. When you return to the Abbey, please feel free to tell the marquess that his plan went terribly awry and will again if he tries. Not only that, but tell him that I have items of his and the marchioness’s that I will show to Murphy so he knows their scent. If they interfere with my daughter again, I will not hesitate to set Murphy on them as well. Are you very clear?”