Lizzie put out a lip. “We like you.”

“And I like you.” Untrue. She loved them. They were a charming mix of Tessa and Jonathan. There was no way she could not love them. “But you have to understand, proper young ladies do not terrorize their governesses.”

“We didn’t terrorize her,” Vicca said.

Lizzie nodded. “Not really.”

But then, they both grinned, and they were alarming grins indeed.

Meg blew out a breath. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Ballocks.”

They both loved that she cursed, and laughed. “All right,” Lizzie said. “We might have waited until she was asleep…”

“And?”

Vicca smiled up at her. Her little face was so sweet. It was almost unthinkable that she might say, “And then we set her shoe on fire.”

Meg gaped. “You what?”

Lizzie crossed her arms and huffed. “It was only a little fire.”

“A tiny little coal.” Vicca held her fingers up, showing the smallest space.

“You cannot set your governess on fire! Honestly. What are we going to do with you two?”

“It wasn’t our fault,” Vicca said.

“She smelled funny.”

“We didn’t like the way she smelled.”

“It wasn’t our fault.”

They stared at her then, two identical, beautiful, familiar faces, wide-eyed and innocent.

She wasn’t taken in for a moment.

“Lie down, both of you, and try to sleep. We’ll be in Sutton in a few hours and I don’t want any trouble.” They both did as she bade them and repentantly so, but she felt the need to say, in her sternest tone, “And do not set me on fire.”

To which they giggled.


JONATHAN PEMBROKE ARRIVED at the Sutton house long after dark. To his relief, the house was quiet. Given the letter from his mother, and its companion from Mawbry, he’d been expecting something akin to a circus. Sanders took his coat and pointed him toward the parlor when he asked after his mother’s whereabouts.

Indeed, he found her there, snoozing by the fire with a glass of ratafia in her hand. He removed it and set it on the table, which woke her.

“Mother.” He kissed her papery cheek.

“Darling. You came.”

He huffed as he sat in the chair beside her. “Did you imagine I wouldn’t? Once I got your note?”

“I wasn’t sure.” She took a sip of her drink to hide her smile. Of course she knew he would come. If only to divine what she was up to.

“What’s this I hear about a house party?”

His mother shrugged. She had that expression on her face, the one that made little hairs prickle on his nape.

“Mother?”

“Why not have a party? This is the season, after all.”

“Yes. It is the season. In London.”

She waved her hand. “Sutton is practically London.”

“Not hardly.” It was practically the back of beyond. Ten miles away. “No one will come to a party in Sutton during the season.”

“Of course they will, with a duke inviting them.”

“No one has house parties in winter.”

“Exactly. It’s a brilliant idea. People will be clamoring to attend. Besides, clearly, you are not adept at meeting people on your own.”

“People?” He frowned at her. “I meet lots of people.”

“In gaming hells? What kind of quality people are those?”

Ah… “Dukes and earls, mostly.”

Her face scrunched up. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” He inspected his fingernails. Indeed, he knew where this was going. It always went there. With her. “The last thing I want, after a brutal session in Parliament, is a hunting party.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Mother, you are so transparent. You’re having a party to trot out all the young fillies for my delectation. Their mamas must be slathering.”

“Honestly, Jonathan.” She sighed. “You are so full of yourself.”

He blinked.

“Whatever makes you think the party’s for you?”

“I’m the duke?”

“Precisely. Dukes can find their own mates.” She gave him a quick up and down. “When they are so inclined.”

“So who is this party for?”

“Whom.”

“Whom.” Honestly, she was so irritating at times.

“Meg Chalmers, of course.”

“Meg?” He didn’t boggle, but just barely. “She’s on the shelf.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, he felt a hot tide creep up his cheeks. He was genuinely fond of Meg, and she was younger than him. It was a shame that society marked her as too old for marriage.

His mother pinned him with a reproving glare he was certain he deserved. “She’s not yet four and twenty. I was older than that when I gave birth to you.”

“You’re throwing a party to find a husband for your companion?”

His mother batted her lashes. “I feel bad about what happened to her.”

So did he, in point of fact.

“Promise you will help.”

Dear God. “Help? How can I help?”

Her eyes lit up and she leaned closer. “You must invite your friends of course.” Her forehead wrinkled. “The decent ones.”

“That is quite a presumption.”

“Pardon?”

“That I have decent friends.”

“Oh.” She laughed, and then she sobered. “What about Bentley?”

“Bentley?” He gaped at her. “Bentley is an inveterate gambler.”

“Well, that’s no good. How about Exeter?”

“He’s a sot.”

“Lud, Jonathan. What kind of friends do you have?” She tapped her chin. “How about Moncrieff?”

Moncrieff had a serious proclivity for trollops. Hardly the marrying kind, but he couldn’t tell his mother that, or he might be in danger of proving her point. “Let me think on it.”

“You do that. And remember, it’s Meg. She’s practically family. She deserves someone nice. It was beastly what Cyril did to her.”

Jonathan murmured something and nodded, but he didn’t mention the fact that this was the way of the world. Though he would never have done so, many men ousted the families of the previous lord when they claimed the title. It was not looked highly upon by the ton, but that didn’t stop it happening. “I’m just glad she had you to take her in, Mother,” he said.

She grunted and stared at the fire. “Cyril should be flogged.”

“Perhaps you can arrange a party for that.”

“Perhaps I shall.” The gleam in her eye was a trifle alarming, so he decided to change the topic.

“Where are the girls?”

His mother took another sip. “Upstairs in bed, of course. It’s the middle of the night.”

Not hardly. It was just past eleven.

“They might be in Meg’s room, though.”

“Meg’s room? Why would my daughters be sleeping in Meg’s room?”

“Oh dear.” She sent him a rueful glance. “They might have frightened off another nanny.”

Another nanny? Jonathan raked back his hair. “Might have?”

“There was some talk of setting her boot on fire.”

“That would do it.” He had no idea why he had to fight back a smile. “How many nannies is that?”

“I’ve lost count. But, Jonathan, it’s not their fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Those girls need a mother. Nannies just won’t do for such high-spirited creatures.”

“They have a father.”

“Hmm.” She finished off her glass and re-poured. “A father who prefers to flitter about in London.”

“I hardly flitter. For the past two months, I’ve been working straight through.” The parliamentary session had been endless.

“My point exactly. They need a mother.”

Blast. She had won that point after all.

“Even though this party is for Meg, it wouldn’t hurt for you to assess some of the young ladies who are coming. Say you will.”

Blast.

But her expression was so compelling, he had to say yes. If only to get her to stop talking about it.

After that major concession, he decided it would be wise to escape before she managed to pry any more from him. It was a skill at which she excelled. “I think I shall pop in on the girls, and then retire.”

“You do that.” She nodded. “I will see you in the morning. Have a list for me then.”

His brow wrinkled. “A list?”

His mother sighed heavily. “Were you even listening to me?”

“Of course I was listening. You didn’t mention a list.”

“I hate when people don’t listen.”

“Which list, Mother?”

“The list of suitors for Meg, of course.”

Ah. That. “I will work on it.”

“You do that. Have it for me first thing.”

He rose, bent to kiss her cheek once more, and then headed up the stairs. It took a moment at the landing to remember the way to the nursery. That was the trouble with having a house one rarely used. After a false start or two, he found the correct hallway and strolled through the dim corridor toward his daughters’ room.

The door was open, so he heard the soft strains of a Brahm’s lullaby as he approached and a grin picked up the corners of his lips. He’d always loved Meg’s singing. Because he didn’t want her to stop, he lingered at the door, taking in the serene scene. She sat in a rocking chair by the fire with her hair down, holding a bundle of his progeny. It was impossible to tell which one in the shadows, but it hardly mattered. After the day he’d had, such peace was a balm. His heart swelled.

He must have made a noise, because Meg stopped singing and turned to him. Even in the darkness, he saw her eyes widen and glow. Her lips quirked and she whispered, “You’re here.”

He wasn’t sure why, but he had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. As though he’d stood here before, a thousand times, watching her hold his sleeping child.

He had no idea why it caused his heart to swell.




CHAPTER 2




MEG HELD Vicca closer as she stared at Jonathan. It was wrong for her heart to launch into such a mad patter at the sight of him. She’d known he was coming—eventually. This was hardly a surprise. But she couldn’t help her reaction to him. She never could.

The best she could do was feign nonchalance.

For her, it had become an art form.

When he stepped into the room and tiptoed to the hearth, she had to look away. Had there ever been a man so perfectly formed? His shoulders were broad, his hips slender, his face pure perfection.

He knelt on the carpet beside her and twined a finger around one of Vicca’s curls, but all Meg could think of was the heat that surrounded him, the scent of his rising cologne. Her mouth watered and she swallowed. It took a moment for her to regain her senses. It took an effort to send him a casual glance.

“How was your journey?” she asked softly.

He grinned, and the sight nearly blinded her. And good heavens. The stubble of his day beard made her weak at the knees. She tightened her hold on Vicca, to keep herself from petting him, so strong was his allure. It captured her on a visceral level.

“Cold.”

“Oh yes.” She nodded. “It’s quite cold this year.”

“Isn’t it?”

Weather having been dispensed with, the conversation eased into silence. For wont of a sane subject, Meg stared at the fire, but eventually, she had to speak. “Well, I should get Vicca back in bed.”

Jonathan stood. “Let me.” And then, to her horror, he bent down and took his daughter from her arms. Everywhere he touched her, it burned.

Her face burned as well. Thank heaven for the shadows.

She watched as he carried Vicca to her bed and tucked her under the covers. Then he turned, took her arm, and guided her from the room.

Though the hall was lit only by the occasional lamp, it seemed as bright as daylight as they emerged. So when Jonathan pulled the door closed and turned to smile at her, she saw everything. The crinkle of his eyes, the raft of dimples on his cheek, the slight twitch of his nostrils.

Fortunately, he seemed oblivious to her rapt attention, which gave her time to look elsewhere before he noticed her drooling. Her wrinkled skirt was a perfect foil for her fascination.

His voice, when he spoke, rumbled through her being. “I understand they ran another one off.”

Thank God for the humor in his tone. It shattered any silly thoughts she might have been harboring in this oddly intimate scenario. She leaned against the wall and looked up at him and affected a starchy tone. “They set her on fire.”

He chuckled. “So I heard. Whatever will we do with them?”

We? She loved that he’d said we. But still, “They are your problem, Your Grace.” She never called him that when they were private, though he’d been a duke since he was a boy, so he knew she was jesting.

Indeed, he laughed. “I know you better than that, Meg. You adore those girls as much as I do.”

“True.” She forced a gamine grin. “But they are not my problem, and we both know it. Perhaps, while you are here, you can be their governess.” She batted her lashes, because it was a cheeky thing to do to a duke, and the situation called for cheeky.