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?

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.”