The Duke's Refuge

by Lorri Dudley

  How was she faring? The thought pressed a weight on his chest. He pictured Claremont cooing his smooth words in her ear and drawing her into the shadowed sections of Rousseau’s statuary. He envisioned her in Claremont’s arms when she should be in his. His hands balled into fists. He needed to be on the next ship to Nevis.

  “There you are.” Harrison’s mother approached him. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back into a lace cap, and she wore an elegant day gown of twilled French silk. “I’ve been looking for you. I hoped you’d join me for high tea so we may discuss plans for your return party.”

  Harrison offered his arm, and they descended the staircase together. “Mother, you know I’m not thrilled at the idea. I want Max to enjoy some peace and relaxation in the country and let his grandparents have their fill of him.”

  “People want to see you, and a ball is the perfect opportunity. Not to mention efficient, since they’ll see you all at once.”

  Harrison hesitated a step. “Ball? It was supposed to be a few relations visiting. Laura’s parents, her sister, and their family.” He led her into the drawing room, and she rang for tea.

  “You know how difficult it is to leave people out without offending them.” She gracefully lowered onto the sofa and spread her skirts around her. “I had to invite your uncle and cousins. And then there’s the Lampshires. They’re practically family.”

  Harrison sat in a nearby wingback chair. To his dismay, this was turning out to be a grand affair.

  “I’ve also invited Lord and Lady Carlson. They’re bringing their two beautiful daughters, Rowena and Ruth. I’d like you to make their acquaintance.”

  “This is not to be a matchmaking event.”

  She softened her voice. “It’s time you considered remarrying. It’s been six years, and I’d like more grandchildren.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her about Georgia, but hesitated. What if he returned to discover he was too late and Georgia has betrothed herself to Claremont? His stomach tightened. The longer he remained in England, the more he felt her slipping away.

  His mother raised her brows as she waited for an answer.

  “You have Max,” he stated instead.

  “And he is a delight to my soul, but Maxwell needs a mother.”

  Harrison didn’t like where this was headed. “I’ll get him a governess.”

  “A governess isn’t a mother.” Her lips turned down. “I’m not asking you to marry any chit who comes along. I’m asking that you meet some delightful young ladies and keep an open mind, for your sake and Maxwell’s.”

  As a servant carried in the tea tray, Harrison remembered Max’s sleepy face as he spoke of Miss Georgia back in Nevis. She likes all the same things I do and she looks out for me… She can’t take Mama’s place, but maybe Miss Georgia could be my earthly Mama until we get to see Mama in heaven? Do you think?

  Harrison sighed as he accepted tea from his mother. “Do not get your hopes up.”

  His mother smiled over her cup. “You’ll come around. You’ll see.”

  Chapter 29

  …We shall be celebrating the return of my prodigal son. It shall be the grandest of affairs. Please extend the invitation to your daughters.

  —From the Duchess of Linton to her distant cousin, Lady Carlson

  The bell chimed on the door of Colton’s Cheese Shop. Georgia held her spot with her finger and glanced up from the Bible. Ah, Mr. Gouda. It must be half past two. “All right, boys and girls, that was good reading today, but I’m afraid I must be going.”

  “But, Miss Georgia, you can’t stop there.” Jack’s younger sister, Ava, placed her hand on the Bible’s page to keep her from closing it. Her fingernails were caked with dirt, and her big brown eyes melted Georgia’s heart. “Does Joseph ever get back to his Papa?”

  “Of course, he does.” Jack jumped up and swung at the air with a pretend sword. “God helps him, and Joseph goes back and teaches his brothers a lesson.”

  Georgia chuckled at Jack’s enthusiasm. “There were more trials for Joseph to endure, but God was with him the entire time. God had an even better plan for Joseph, but you’ll have to come by tomorrow to hear the rest of the tale.” She loved stopping during a pivotal part of the story, for the children always returned the following day, ready and eager.

  A light tug pulled on her sleeve, and Georgia looked down to see Mary Frances, a neighbor of Jack and Ava’s.

  “Miss Georgia.” She pointed at an approaching patron. “That man looks like the Mr. Wells you told us about.”

  Georgia’s heart lurched, and her gaze pivoted in the direction Mary Frances pointed. She held her breath and scanned the faces. A gentleman with brown hair, well-built and well-dressed, stepped through the crowd. He had Harrison’s build and height, but it wasn’t Harrison. His nose was too thin and hawk-like. His eyes were too dark, and he didn’t walk with the same confident stride that was uniquely Harrison’s.

  Her heart sank, but she forced herself not to give up hope. He would appear, someday. She just hoped she wouldn’t be old and gray.

  She smiled at Mary Frances. “You’re right. He looks a lot like my friend. Thank you for keeping watch for me.” The girl beamed.

  A man cleared his throat behind her, and Georgia whirled around to find a middle-aged fellow dressed in homemade clothing, twisting his hat in his hands.

  “Milady, I beg your pardon.”

  “Papa.” Both Ava and Jack threw their arms around him, and he knelt and hugged them back. “One moment, children. I’d like to ‘ave a word with the lady.”

  Jack nodded and beamed up at Georgia. “Miss Georgia, this is my papa.” He looked at his father. “Papa, this is Miss Georgia…”

  “Lennox.” Georgia finished for the child. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Miss Lennox.” His brown eyes darted back and forth, and he shuffled his feet. “I ‘ad to come down ‘ere in person to thank you fer all that you’ve done for me family.” The scar on his upper lip zigged and zagged like a snake as his mouth formed the words.

  Georgia smiled at him. “You have wonderfully bright children, Mr. Bixby. I enjoy spending time with them. I used to help teach schoolchildren in Nevis and I missed it. Thank you for allowing me to resume the pleasure with Ava and Jack.”

  “Tis I who is thanking you.” He rolled his lips and blinked back tears. “You see, me family doesn’t ‘ave a pocket to let. With no work and five mouths to feed, the food you’ve graciously sent home with the children,”—his voice cracked— “it’s ‘elped us survive.”

  Tears misted Mr. Bixby’s eyes. Jack and Ava wrapped their little arms around his waist.

  Ava, too, blinked back tears in her big blue gaze. “Don’t cry, Papa.”

  Jack stepped back and peered up into his father’s face. “God will provide for us. Just like the story of Elisha and the widow and the jars of oil.”

  Mr. Bixby wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and shook his head. “I don’t know that one.”

  Jack’s face grew animated as he retold the story. “The widow was going to have to sell her children into slavery to pay down her debt, but she collected a bunch of jars—like Elisha told her—and the oil filled every single jar and stopped at the last one.” He turned to Georgia. “It was a miracle from God. Right, Miss Georgia?”

  “It was.” Georgia smiled, proud of how much Jack had retained.

  Mr. Bixby shifted his feet. “That was a long time ago. I don’t know if God will—”

  “What kind of employment are you looking for, Mr. Bixby?” Georgia couldn’t stand to have him dash the children’s hopes.

  “Any type of work. Before my wife became ill, I used to be a second footman, but now I’d happily work even as a stable boy or gatekeeper.”

  A slight smile twisted the corners of Georgia’s lips. God is good. “Mr. Bixby, we happen to be seeking a footman. Ours had a mishap. He twisted his ankle and is on bedrest until he recovers.” She reached into h
er reticule and pulled out a card. “Why don’t you clean up a bit, then go and apply for the position.” She handed him her card and told him the address.

  Mr. Bixby stared at the card and ran his finger along the edge. When he glanced back at her, tears shamelessly dripped down his cheeks. “God bless you, Miss Lennox. Thank you from the bottom of me heart.” He squeezed his children. “I’m going to go right now and put on me Sunday best. Thank you, and bless you fer the opportunity.”

  “I can’t guarantee anything.” Georgia peered into each of their hopeful faces and lingered on Jack’s small features, filled with assurance. “But I believe this was a divine encounter.”

  Chapter 30

  …For you darling, I would move mountains, but acquiring an invitation to the duchess’s welcome home party is equivalent to moving the Alps. Have no fear, for I shall work my magic. I have not forgotten it was you who introduced me to Lord Macomb.

  —From Lady Macomb, the Countess of Amesbury, to Eleanor Hart

  “Papa, Papa.” Max came skidding to a halt outside Harrison’s study. The boy tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat, which kept shifting.

  Harrison sympathized, for he too missed the loose cotton clothing of the island. The stiff, starched jackets and shirts they were now expected to wear chafed. But he and his son would adapt, in time.

  Max entered and plopped into a leather chair next to Mr. Langley, his steward. Max held both sides of the armrests and swung his feet. “Did you know there’s a pond on the property ripe for fishing? I bet it’s like the pond where Miss Georgia and Uncle Fred used to catch fish.”

  Harrison put down the stack of correspondences and lifted a brow. “How should you address Mr. Langley?”

  Max’s head swiveled to Mr. Langley, then he jumped to his feet and gave a formal bow. “Good day to you, Mr. Langley.” Then he fell back into the chair.

  “Good day, Lord Weld,” Langley replied.

  Max snickered.

  “He’s not mistaking you for our Lord and Creator.” Harrison prayed for patience. Max was used to the island’s relaxed standards. It would take time to teach him proper etiquette.

  Max giggled at Mr. Langley. “The islanders pronounced it Wells. It’s funny to hear people say Weld.” He added extra emphasis on the d. Max leaned forward, and his feet stopped swinging as he peered up at his papa. “Will you fish with me?”

  “I can’t today.”

  Max’s shoulders drooped.

  “I need a day to get settled.”

  Max slid out of the chair, his chin lowered as he turned away.

  All the pressing items that needed tending swirled in Harrison’s mind as his son sulked toward the door.

  He shook his head and exhaled. Max needed his father. “Tomorrow morning at sun-up.”

  Max spun around, and his eyebrows practically touched his hairline. “Really, you’ll fish with me?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” Harrison turned to his steward. “Langley, put it on my calendar. Tomorrow at seven o’clock, a fishing trip with Max.”

  “Certainly, Your Grace.” Langley scribbled it down.

  “Will you teach me how to hunt too? Uncle Fred said he taught Miss Georgia, and Miss Georgia told me she was an excellent shot.”

  Pain ripped through Harrison at the mention of her name. He’d dreamt about Georgia last night. They’d been in separate rowboats. He could see her smile and hear her laughter, but when he reached out for her hand, the boats drifted apart. He called to her, but a fog rolled in, and he could barely make out her shadow.

  Then another shadow appeared, and he heard the murmurings of another man’s voice. He cried out to Georgia, but she didn’t respond. He’d drifted out of their hearing.

  Two months had passed, and he hadn’t even been able to book passage to sail yet. He’d written to Georgia, telling her of his intent to return. To be safe, he posted three separate letters in hopes she’d at least receive one, but he could never be certain the reliability of sending an overseas letter.

  “There you are, Master Maxwell.” Mr. Seaton, Max’s tutor, filled the doorway. Quite literally since the man stood a good deal over six feet. He pursed his lips and shifted them to the right. It appeared to be a mannerism he displayed whenever he was disappointed. “Pardon my interruption, Your Grace, but Maxwell is supposed to be discussing the works of Plato in the library.” He put a restraining hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “Time for your lessons.” Harrison inclined his head toward Mr. Seaton, but continued to eye Max. “There will be plenty of opportunity for hunting and fishing tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  As Mr. Seaton led the boy down the hall, Harrison turned back to his desk. “Where were we?” He picked up the next letter addressed to him, the Honorable Duke of Linton. He broke the seal and read the contents. His distant cousin begged for an invitation so she could introduce him to her three daughters, all of marriageable age.

  He wasn’t certain who was worse, the young women who threw themselves at him. Or their mothers.

  Georgia reclined against the cushioned leather seat of their carriage. A week ago when Eleanor had told her about the weekend soiree, she’d thought it might be a good diversion. But as they drew closer, her excitement wore off. Would she be able to put on a good face even though her heart withered inside?

  God, be my guide. I’m letting You lead. Sustain me with Your righteous right hand.

  Eleanor sat upright and peered out the window at the passing scenery. “My husband was delighted you were willing to accompanying me instead of him. He has an aversion to formal events as much as I loathe joining him on his hunting trips. This works out best for us all, especially since a male escort isn’t needed for a house party.”

  Her hands rested on the edge of the seat and patted the leather in an unrecognizable rhythm. She cleared her throat, wiggled back into the cushions, and glanced at Georgia. “This is the one place we haven’t searched, and I have a good feeling about it.”

  Despite her sister’s enthusiasm, Georgia couldn’t dredge up the same excitement. She didn’t want to get her hopes up. Especially not when they were grasping at the far-reaching prospect that Harrison worked for the Duke of Linton. If Harrison were the duke’s steward, surely, he would have mentioned it. One didn’t come by such a position easily.

  Yes, Harrison was humble, but even he would have dropped the duke’s name, if only to put Mr. Rousseau in his place so he wouldn’t look down his nose at a mere schoolmaster.

  “It seems we’re drawing near.” Eleanor leaned closer to the window for a better look. “Yes, there’s the gatehouse now.” She turned back to Georgia and pinched her cheeks.

  “Ow.” Georgia knocked her hands away.

  “It’s for color. I want you to make a good impression.”

  She eyed Eleanor. “I’m not here to meet the duke. I’m here to meet his steward.”

  “Yes, yes, but you want to appear your best when Mr. Wells sets eyes on you.”

  “The chance of Mr. Wells working for the duke and us not knowing—”

  “I told you, I have a good feeling about this one.”

  “Thank you for helping and allowing me to drag you across half of England,” Georgia said, “but I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “Never.” Eleanor’s expression grew solemn. “I could never be disappointed by you.” She fluffed Georgia’s dress. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you were younger. Mama and Papa were always fighting, and I was trying to make sense of it all in my own mind. I never considered how it made you feel. You were so young and impressionable. How old were you, five and ten?”

  “Indeed.” Georgia let out a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. The past is in the past, and thank God for it.” She patted Eleanor’s knee. “You’re here with me now, and I’m grateful.”

  Eleanor shifted to look her in the eye. “I wish I could go back in time and change things. I could have protected you. I could have saved you from hearta
che.”

  Georgia mulled it over in her mind, then shook her head. “I wouldn’t change a thing. All those trials made me who I am. God refined me through it. He showed me that no matter how awful I could be, He still loved me and could use me for His good.”

  Eleanor flashed her a lopsided smile. “You were beastly, and you always smelled a bit like a swamp.”

  Georgia laughed. “That’s because I practically bathed in it.”

  Eleanor grimaced. “Thank God you’ve outgrown that.”

  “Praise God is more like it.”

  They both lapsed into silence as the gate raised and they were allowed to pass into Ainsley Park.

  “Do you think God would still forgive me?” Eleanor chewed her bottom lip.

  A lump grew in Georgia’s throat, and she slipped her arm around Eleanor. “Remember the thief on the cross next to Jesus? The one who asked Him to remember him when he came into His kingdom? It wasn’t too late for that man, and it wasn’t too late for me. Jesus will forgive. All you have to do is repent and ask. Harrison helped me understand that.”

  Eleanor blotted away tears with the corner of her handkerchief as they pulled up in front of the grand manor house. Across the front, columns with scrolled cornices outlined arched parapets.

  “Take a deep breath,” Eleanor said. They both inhaled a fortifying breath and expelled the emotion of the moment. Mr. Bixby, with a proudly puffed chest, opened the carriage door and extended his hand to Eleanor. She paused before turning back to Georgia. “No matter what, you’re my sister, and I love you.”

  Eleanor stepped out of the carriage.

  “I love you too,” Georgia whispered to her retreating frame. God was amazing. While it took Joseph becoming Pharaoh’s right-hand man and a famine to bring his family back together, it required sailing across the Atlantic twice and a wild chase after a disappearing steward to bring Georgia’s together.

  God, if I never locate Harrison, I would still do it all over again, because You are good. Your ways are higher than my ways.