The sound made his gut clench up, for he was in no mood for visitors. Nor was he excited at the thought of any more post.
Perhaps it wasn't too late to slip out and go for a ride. On horseback, nobody would be able to bother him. And it had been a while since he had taken a tour of the estate.
But all too soon, Dawling arrived at the door, leaving him no escape.
“Your Grace.” The butler dipped a low bow as he entered the room. “The dowager duchess of Cumberland has arrived.”
At his words, nausea filled George's throat. Just what he needed, a visit from his mother.
Gritting his teeth, he wondered what kind of excuse he might use to put off this reunion.
But in truth, there was none. He had held it off for long enough.
“Please, see her into the orangery, and I shall be there momentarily,” George instructed, straightening up the papers on his desk. “And have tea and biscuits brought up from the kitchens.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
With that, the butler disappeared, leaving George to lean back in his seat and inhale deeply.
It had been years since he had last seen his mother. Not since before the war. And he knew well from her letters that the only thing on her mind was his duties towards the dukedom.
There would be no loving reunion, no warm reception from her. Just as his father had been, she was solely concerned with the inner workings of their family.
Leaning forward on his elbows, George laid his head in his hands and considered once more how he might get out of this.
When nothing came to him, he finally rose from his chair and turned to look in the mirror hanging over the mantelpiece.
The corners of his mouth twitched upwards when he saw the state of himself. With an afternoon shadow already gracing his face and his hair one or two inches too long, he was certain his mother would have something to say.
All the way to the orangery, George wished he could turn back. He was quite certain of how this conversation was going to go. Though he was a duke now, his mother always attempted to keep him on the straight and narrow.
At the orangery door, he paused. Sucking in another deep breath, he peered through the open door to find his mother sitting at the centre table, already ordering the servants about, offering instructions for how to make the place look better.
And for a second, George smiled. He had to admit, it was good to hear her voice again, even if it did grow a little shrill at her exclamations of how overgrown the orangery had become.
He himself was quite happy with it. The place had always been one of his favourites, no matter the state of it.
“This is quite unacceptable!” his mother insisted. “Dawling, have the gardener come and see to it once we are finished.”
The poor butler looked as if he were ready to scatter like a frightened mouse, but instead, he bowed his head and assured her it would be given the attention she requested.
Feeling a protective urge to save the butler from some embarrassment, George strode into the room with his shoulders back and head held high.
“Mother, I do hope you are not tormenting the staff already,” he said, and his mother jumped from her seat, whipping around in a graceful, ladylike manner.
“Your Grace,” she dipped a curtsey before surprising George immeasurably.
The way she swept forward to wrap her arms around him caused him to almost stumble off his feet in surprise.
“It is so good to see you looking so well,” she said, holding him at arm's length to get a good look at him.
Just as he thought she would, she started to scowl as she added, “I think you might do well with a trip to the barber.”
George laughed wholeheartedly as he realized just how much he had missed her, even if her high standards and constant need to remind him of his duties was utterly infuriating.
“I have missed you too, Mother,” he said, dipping his head.
“Yes, well,” his mother sighed, lifting a hand to his cheek. “That does not excuse the fact you need a shave.”
