Georgianna: The Last Real Duchess (The Real Duchesses of London) by Lavinia Kent
Authors: Lavinia Kent
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excitement."
Chapter Five
Six months, five days and two hours since she had last touched her husband. Two months, twenty-six days and nine hours since she had last seen him. And in the time since she'd come to Harsgate she'd spoken exactly three hundred fifty-six words to him.
Well, that last might not be quite accurate, but it felt right.
Annie knew that Richard had spent most of those months traveling to all of the duchy's properties and inspecting them. She knew that he'd had very little spare time, but still he could have made more effort. Robbie was old enough now to recognize his father. It was important that a boy have a man to model himself after in these tender years.
It was only because of Robbie that she cared.
And now Richard was back.
Reaching down, Annie brushed the soft curls of her sleeping son's hair. A soft sigh whispered through his lips. He turned in his sleep, wrapping the sheet more tightly about himself. Her heart ached with all the love she felt for him, all the love she refused to loose anywhere else.
The sound of carriage wheels and horses leaked through the closed window, but she did not go and look. The knowledge of what she would see was as fast behind her eyes as if she'd spent hours peeking out through the glass.
Richard.
Richard, in all his wind-tousled glory.
He'd have ridden beside the carriage rather than in it.
She once laughed that he didn't need a carriage at all, just a fast steed and rough cart for the luggage. He'd smiled down at her, eyes twinkling and asked, "But what if it rains?"
"You'd still ride. I think the sky would split and the oceans pour down and you'd still sit upon that darn horse's back."
"You're probably right," he'd chuckled, brushing at a curl lying upon her cheek. "But then I will always ride in the carriage if you're there."
A blush darkened her cheek as she remembered exactly what might happen if they were both in the carriage. The thick velvet benches could be most supportive – and most comfortable.
But that was then.
It had been years since they'd been together within the confines of a carriage. Even when Richard had returned home briefly for his brother's funeral he'd managed to avoid her. He'd left for the church early and strode off after the burial, walking from the graveyard as if ghosts had risen and were biting at his heels. His dark cloak had swirled about him, not even a single glance back had he spared.
Robbie tossed again in his sleep as if sensing her unrest. She brushed her hands through his curls again, comforting him, bestowing all a mother's love upon him. He was what was important – not the cold man downstairs.
The clock struck three, the bells chiming through the house as the different clocks joined in. Gentle spring sunshine shone through the glass, slowly making its way towards her slumbering child. The drapes hung half open and she considered drawing them tight closed, allowing Robbie another hour's rest. But then he would never sleep this evening. Nanny explained endlessly how important sleep was to such a young boy.
She should go down. The nursery maid would let her know if she was needed – and in truth she wouldn't be. Robbie loved her, loved her dearly, but he was more than accustomed to waking without her. The time she'd spent in London trying to win back her husband had already cost her – in so many ways.
Enough.
She was a grown woman, not a scared girl.
Brushing back her son's curls one more time, Annie turned and headed down the stairs toward the main hall.
The wide halls were framed with portraits of her husband's family. The dour faces stared down at her, reproaching her for misdeeds, real or imaginary. The stiff faces never found approval for her. At least they looked more like Hargrove than they did like Richard.
Only Richard was Hargrove. Even after all these months it was not a natural thought.
And she'd never feel a duchess. Hosting guests for the
Chapter Five
Six months, five days and two hours since she had last touched her husband. Two months, twenty-six days and nine hours since she had last seen him. And in the time since she'd come to Harsgate she'd spoken exactly three hundred fifty-six words to him.
Well, that last might not be quite accurate, but it felt right.
Annie knew that Richard had spent most of those months traveling to all of the duchy's properties and inspecting them. She knew that he'd had very little spare time, but still he could have made more effort. Robbie was old enough now to recognize his father. It was important that a boy have a man to model himself after in these tender years.
It was only because of Robbie that she cared.
And now Richard was back.
Reaching down, Annie brushed the soft curls of her sleeping son's hair. A soft sigh whispered through his lips. He turned in his sleep, wrapping the sheet more tightly about himself. Her heart ached with all the love she felt for him, all the love she refused to loose anywhere else.
The sound of carriage wheels and horses leaked through the closed window, but she did not go and look. The knowledge of what she would see was as fast behind her eyes as if she'd spent hours peeking out through the glass.
Richard.
Richard, in all his wind-tousled glory.
He'd have ridden beside the carriage rather than in it.
She once laughed that he didn't need a carriage at all, just a fast steed and rough cart for the luggage. He'd smiled down at her, eyes twinkling and asked, "But what if it rains?"
"You'd still ride. I think the sky would split and the oceans pour down and you'd still sit upon that darn horse's back."
"You're probably right," he'd chuckled, brushing at a curl lying upon her cheek. "But then I will always ride in the carriage if you're there."
A blush darkened her cheek as she remembered exactly what might happen if they were both in the carriage. The thick velvet benches could be most supportive – and most comfortable.
But that was then.
It had been years since they'd been together within the confines of a carriage. Even when Richard had returned home briefly for his brother's funeral he'd managed to avoid her. He'd left for the church early and strode off after the burial, walking from the graveyard as if ghosts had risen and were biting at his heels. His dark cloak had swirled about him, not even a single glance back had he spared.
Robbie tossed again in his sleep as if sensing her unrest. She brushed her hands through his curls again, comforting him, bestowing all a mother's love upon him. He was what was important – not the cold man downstairs.
The clock struck three, the bells chiming through the house as the different clocks joined in. Gentle spring sunshine shone through the glass, slowly making its way towards her slumbering child. The drapes hung half open and she considered drawing them tight closed, allowing Robbie another hour's rest. But then he would never sleep this evening. Nanny explained endlessly how important sleep was to such a young boy.
She should go down. The nursery maid would let her know if she was needed – and in truth she wouldn't be. Robbie loved her, loved her dearly, but he was more than accustomed to waking without her. The time she'd spent in London trying to win back her husband had already cost her – in so many ways.
Enough.
She was a grown woman, not a scared girl.
Brushing back her son's curls one more time, Annie turned and headed down the stairs toward the main hall.
The wide halls were framed with portraits of her husband's family. The dour faces stared down at her, reproaching her for misdeeds, real or imaginary. The stiff faces never found approval for her. At least they looked more like Hargrove than they did like Richard.
Only Richard was Hargrove. Even after all these months it was not a natural thought.
And she'd never feel a duchess. Hosting guests for the
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