The Duke's Refuge

by Lorri Dudley

  Her eyes softened. “It’s like you rediscovered that self-assurance on Nevis.” She laughed. “Look at you. You’ve brought color back to London.”

  Warmth soaked through Georgia, buoyed by her sister’s kind words.

  Eleanor sobered. “I’ve begun to understand you better these past weeks.” She glanced down at her hands. “I know we weren’t fair to you when you were growing up.” She looked back up at Georgia. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too.” Georgia smiled. “For I was a little terror.”

  Eleanor nodded. “Quite.”

  “Finding Harrison may look bleak, and I’ve probably once again made a mull of things, but I’m thankful for you.” Georgia rested her head on Eleanor’s shoulder. “It demonstrates how God truly can turn all things around for His good.”

  Eleanor squeezed her hand. “Don’t give up, Georgia. We’ll find him. I’m sure of it.”

  Georgia descended the steps of the church into the busy market square. Her time in prayer had helped lift her spirit and given her some direction after her floundering the past few weeks. All her leads on Harrison had fizzled out.

  “Care fer an orange, miss?”

  Over the ringing of the muffin man’s bell, Georgia barely heard the hollow-cheeked girl with a baby slung against her side. Her dirty fingers extended the orange toward her. Georgia accepted it and pressed a farthing into the girl’s palm.

  “God bless ye, miss.” She nodded before moving on.

  Georgia sat among the hectic flurry of the open-air marketplace, attempting to gather her thoughts. Vendors called out their wares as different scents blended in the air around her. The onion lady passed, and the smell alone burned Georgia’s eyes. But the pain was nothing compared to the constant noise of horse hooves clacking, vendors calling out their offerings, and the German band puffing and pounding.

  Even though her head throbbed, it had been desperation that led her here. She didn’t know what else to do. Over a month had passed since she’d started searching for Harrison, and every trail had gone cold. She’d repeatedly questioned her father for every smidgen of information, anything that Harrison might have said about England.

  Papa jogged his memory and mentioned that Harrison had reminisced about a particular cheese that was only sold at the Colton Cheese Shop. So Georgia had stationed herself in front of the cheese shop every day for a full week.

  From the café chair, she peered into the face of each gentleman who came and left. She’d even begun to make up names for the regulars who frequented the shop. There was Mr. Gouda, a rotund man who stepped in before low tea each day, and Mr. Havarti, a thin gentleman with a pox-marked face and a genuine smile who always ordered a quarter round. There were others she recognized, men who came and went, but there’d been no sign of Harrison.

  Please God, she prayed, as another gentleman—not Harrison—exited the building, I’m desperate. Please help me find him. Any reasonable person would have given up long ago, but she couldn’t. Something deep within her would not quit until she saw his face again.

  What if he returned to Nevis and discovered her gone?

  No. She couldn’t let her thoughts go there. God would bring them together again. Their reunion was in His hands, in His time. But in the meantime, she would do her part and be diligent in her search.

  A boy, the same height as Max with dusty brown hair, inspected the costermonger’s cart filled with fruits and vegetables. Georgia perked up and leaned left to get a better view of him. The boy wore his cap low over his face, so she couldn’t get a good look. His shoes were caked with mud, and there were holes in the knees of his pants. If this was Max, they must have fallen on hard times. Her heart clenched, and she rose from her seat.

  “Stop, thief.” The bearded costermonger grabbed the boy by the wrist and suspended him in midair. The boy’s legs flailed, but he still clutched a large red apple in his hand. “I don’t tolerate thevin’.”

  “Put me down.” The child’s legs thrashed.

  The cart owner’s eyes scanned the crowd. “Someone fetch the constable.”

  The boy stilled, the blood draining from his face. Then he squirmed all the harder. “Please, I didn’t take the apple. Let me go.”

  Georgia stared at the boy, but all she saw was the fear on Max’s face when their small boat was headed into the large rocks.

  She stepped forward. “Fetching the constable will be unnecessary. How much for the apple?”

  “I don’t believe in a crime going unpunished. What’s to stop the lad from trying again? Who’s gonna pay fer the apple then? You tell me.”

  Georgia lifted her chin and stared down the bearded man. “The boy was running an errand for me. He wasn’t going to steal the apple. He was going to get my opinion. In fact, upon closer examination, I do believe I’ll take that one instead.” She pointed at a shiny apple at the top of the pile. “The other seems ready to turn.”

  The man’s eyes swiveled to the apple still held tight in the boy’s fist.

  “You may hand the child over to me.”

  The costermonger eyed Georgia, and his gaze roved over her expensive gown and well-made bonnet. Uncertainty shone in his eyes, but he put the child down.

  Georgia grasped the boy by the hand, and the youngster peered at her with confusion. She felt him brace as if to run. With the slightest shake of her head and a warning look, she slipped an arm around his shoulder. She turned to the cart owner. “I’d also like a loaf of bread.” She passed him a coin, swapped the apples, and took the bread.

  She pulled the boy to another set of chairs a bit farther away from the cart and pressed a coin into his palm. “Be a good boy. Run into the cheese shop and purchase a half-round of cheddar and some slices of your favorite cheese.”

  The child’s sunken eyes lit up. “Yes, milady.” He darted into the cheese shop.

  Georgia watched him through the window. The boy was too thin. He had freckles like Max’s, but there were dark circles around his hollow eyes, and his cheeks were concave as if he’d sucked them in. Her heart broke for the child.

  He returned and handed her the purchase. His mouth stretched as he chewed on something.

  “They ‘ave free samples fer people who make a purchase.” He spoke around a mouth full of cheese.

  She nodded and gestured for him to take a seat. He hesitated as he eyed the loaf of bread, then pulled out the chair and sat next to her. His feet didn’t touch the ground, but dangled just above.

  “What’s your name?”

  “John Wesley, but my friends call me Jack.”

  “May I call you Jack?”

  “Fer a slice of that bread you can call me King George.”

  Georgia smiled. “You are quite the negotiator.”

  “What’s a nego-cee-a-tor?”

  “Negotiator.” She ripped off two hunks of bread and placed a slice of cheese between them. Jack stared longingly at the food. His lower lip quivered in anticipation, and she could tell his mouth was watering by the number of times he swallowed. She passed him the sandwich, and he tore into it as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

  “A negotiator is someone who bargains or makes deals.” Jack was so intent on his food, she didn’t think he heard a word.

  He surprised her. “I am a good businessman.” He spoke with a full mouth, and she barely made out the words. After swallowing, he said, “Mama has me collect the price for her washin’ and mendin’ because she knows I’ll bring home more coin.” He chomped another large bite, devouring most of the bread.

  “You must have a mind for numbers.”

  He nodded.

  “I used to help teach children your age, not that long ago when I lived on the island of Nevis.”

  “You lived on an island?” he asked around the remaining bite of his food. “Did you meet any pirates?” He pushed his hat back to get a better look at her face.

  “No, thankfully, I did not.”

  “Someday I want to be a privateer.” He stood and
saluted. “Captain Jack of the South Sea. I’d sail the ocean and scour the sea for pirates and the land for buried treasure.” His hand extended across the air as if showing her a newfound land. “Aye.”

  Jack’s enthusiasm reminded her of Max. As he continued to demonstrate how he’d command his crew, she felt a pull on her heart to help the child. But God, what can I do?

  The answer struck her before she’d even completed the thought. She addressed the future Captain Jack. “I’m sure you’ll make an excellent privateer, but can you read? In order to be a privateer, you’ll need to know how to read.”

  His face scrunched. “Why does a privateer need to read?”

  “To understand the maps, of course. How would a pirate be able to find the treasure if he can’t read the clues on the treasure map?”

  His little chest fell.

  “I will teach you to read.”

  “You will?”

  “Meet me here tomorrow at the same time. We’ll sup first, and then I’ll teach you.”

  “Really?” Jack jumped up and down. “Thank you, miss.”

  “It’s Miss Lennox, but you may call me Miss Georgia.”

  She placed the rest of the bread on top of the half-round of cheese and held it out to Jack. “Take this home to your family.”

  His eyes lit as if she were offering a chest of gold, and his hands reverently reached forward.

  She issued him a stern look. “But no more stealing or the deal’s off.”

  He glanced up at her, his eyes revealing that he believed it was too good to be true.

  “Go ahead.” She nodded. “Oh and here’s an apple and an orange.”

  His hands were full with the cheese and bread, so Georgia stuffed the apple in one of his pockets and the orange into the other.

  He walked to the street’s intersection, turned with a smile so broad it showed all his teeth, then disappeared out of sight down a side alley. Georgia laughed despite herself, and a warmth filled her chest.

  She may not be able to do for all, but look what she could do for one.

  Chapter 28

  …If you believe the marriage mart has calmed during your absence, you are sorely mistaken.

  —From Lord Liverpool to the Duke of Linton

  The following Wednesday, Eleanor Lennox Hart rubbed her temples as her gaze bounced between her parents. They’d waited until Georgia left with her maid for the market before they sequestered themselves in the office, away from the ears of gossiping servants.

  Mama threw up her hands and addressed Papa. “If you could encourage her to attend a few parties before the season ends, then Georgia’s affections may be redirected. She can move on with her life, despite this mysterious estate manager. She’s wearing herself out on this ridiculous search. If she met another eligible fellow…”

  “She’s in love.” The newspaper Fredrick had been reading crumpled as he dropped it down into his lap. “Some other fop isn’t going to do. You don’t recover from love as quick as that.” His eyes blazed. “I should know.”

  “Don’t bring us into this. I’m trying to help our daughter. I can’t stand to see her waste away, pining after some steward. A man I’m not even certain exists.”

  “You are talking about a personal friend of mine, not some imaginary acquaintance we dreamed up.”

  “A friend who lied about being a steward.”

  “He’s not a liar.” Papa’s eyes flared.

  Eleanor watched as Mama paced back and forth in front of the window.

  “Then explain how we’ve accosted every steward in all of Hertfordshire, Greater London, and parts of Essex and Kent.” Mama stopped and put her hands on her hips. “To no avail.” She paced again. “I’ve also sent feelers out to every matriarch in all of London to let them know we’re searching for a capable steward who fits Mr. Wells’ credentials. No one has heard of the man in all of England.”

  Papa sat back in the leather chair. “Give it more time, Nora.”

  “What happens after a year? What about two? She’ll be going into her fourth season. Her reputation will be questioned. She’ll be put on the shelf.”

  “She’s barely two and twenty, that’s hardly on-the-shelf age.”

  Mama stopped and pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I don’t know what to do. Georgia’s heart is going to be crushed. She’s been putting on a good face, but I can tell she’s losing hope.”

  Eleanor stopped rubbing her temples and sat up straighter in the wingback chair. “I’m with Papa. We can’t give up yet. Over the past month, I’ve seen a different side of Georgia, and I’ve come to realize I sorely misjudged her. I should have been there for her as her eldest sister. Instead, I either chided her or pretended she didn’t exist.”

  She fought the lump forming in her throat. “Georgia is a stronger person than any of us realized. Did you know she’s been sitting outside a cheese shop every day for two weeks because Papa mentioned Mr. Wells prefers a certain cheese that can only be purchased there?”

  Mama moved closer to the desk. “I had no idea.”

  “She’s even begun to teach vagrant children how to read the Bible while she waits.”

  Mama’s hand covered her mouth. She shook her head as her eyes misted. “Has she truly?”

  Eleanor nodded. “If Georgia’s in love, then let’s do everything in our power to help her.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe he’s gone off with the peerage in Ireland. I have connections there. I’ll pen a letter to Lady Malahide right away.” She reached for the pen and paper on Papa’s desk and held his gaze. “Tell me again what Mr. Wells looks like, and don’t leave anything out.”

  Papa described Harrison in detail, then added a description of Max.

  Mama tapped the top of the desk with her index finger. “Don’t forget about the bird.” She glanced at Fredrick. “Didn’t you tell me the child had a talking bird?”

  “Oh, yes, the parrot.” He turned to Eleanor. “Max keeps it as a pet. Its name is Oscar. I imagine they still have the animal.”

  Eleanor’s brows drew together. “Wait a minute. I’ve heard someone speak of a talking bird recently.” Her gaze drifted to the ceiling as she held her index finger against her lips.

  She gasped, and her palms dropped to the table with a loud slap. “The Duke of Linton. The duke’s son has a talking bird as a pet. I’m sure of it.” She stared at her parents. “You don’t think…” She reviewed the description of Mr. Wells through her mind, and everything lined up with the brief glimpses she’d seen of the duke at parties over five years ago. Except the duke she’d seen had a beard, but he could have shaved it. “Good heavens, the missing duke.” She stared at Papa. “He reappeared several months ago, not long before you. It can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Fredrick said. “Where is the duke residing?”

  Eleanor shook away her stupor. “Ah, let me think.” She closed her eyes, then reopened them. “At Ainsley Park in Ashford, I believe. Parliament’s session ended a few days ago, so His Grace is probably en route to his countryside home.” She sucked in a breath and clasped her hands. “The Dowager Duchess is planning a party to celebrate his return. It’s in a fortnight. I might be able to procure us an invitation.”

  “Nora, have a footman hail a runner.” Papa turned to Eleanor with the look of an excited schoolboy. “That’s my girl.”

  Warmth seeped through Eleanor at her father’s praise, and she bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. Despite her effort, the corners of her mouth pulled up. She grabbed the quill and began to furiously pen a letter to her friend, the duke’s cousin in Ashburnham.

  “Leave the wool and thick jackets,” Harrison instructed his valet as he packed for their return to Ainsley Park. “It will be too humid this time of year.” He wasn’t looking forward to the welcome home party his mother was planning, but she’d gotten Max excited, and he couldn’t disappoint his mother and his son.

  “That about does it,” Harrison said.
“I’ll leave you to finish. I’ll be in my study if anything else comes up.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” The valet bowed and placed a cambric shirt, neatly folded, into a trunk.

  Harrison stepped into the hall and ducked as Oscar grazed his head. The animal flapped its wings and landed on the hand-carved newel post.

  “Maxwell,” Harrison called. “Come and attend to your bird.”

  Harrison needn’t have bothered, because Max tore around the corner and stopped midway to the stairs. He held out his arm. “Oscar. Come.”

  The bird stretched, flapped its colorful wings, and landed on Max’s raised arm.

  Harrison didn’t know whether to be impressed or irritated. He’d spoken to Max about keeping the bird caged ever since he discovered bird droppings on the antique chair previously owned by King Louis VI.

  “Rawch! HarREE!” it squawked.

  Harrison ground his teeth. “Max, put that bird where he belongs.”

  “But, Papa.” Max turned to his father. “He hates the cage. Look how I’ve trained him.” He fed Oscar a treat. “Can’t he come out for a bit?”

  “You need to prepare his cage for travel.”

  “Hurrah,” Max jumped, and Oscar flapped his wings for balance. “When do we leave?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Max turned and skipped back down the hall as Oscar flew overhead.

  The bird imitated Georgia’s screech of his name perfectly. Memories of her shrill voice echoed in his ears, and her irate face filled his mind as if he were once again standing in Rousseau’s statuary.

  When angered, her eyes would darken to a sapphire blue and flash at him. Her cheeks would burn until they matched her favorite hue of pink. Harrison smiled. Georgia’s passion and single-minded determination both attracted and exasperated him. He wanted to kiss her and strangle her at the same time.