By the time dinner came around, he was in a high dudgeon. Which was saying something. Usually it was only old ladies who got into high dudgeon.

That was probably why he frowned at Meg when she entered the sitting room in her companion’s weeds with her hair up in a spinsterly bun. It didn’t help that there was a mutinous expression on her pretty face.

“Why are you dressed like that?” he snapped.

“Like what?” she snapped back.

He waved his hand at her outfit. “Like that?”

“These are my clothes.” She tipped her chin and sniffed at him with a primness that only irritated him more.

“She looks fine,” Mother said. “Come have some ratafia, Meg.”

“She doesn’t look fine. She looks like…a companion.”

Meg sent him a look, one he couldn’t quite translate. “I am a companion.”

He pulled himself straighter and said haughtily, “We dress for dinner.”

Her smile was frigid. “I am dressed.”

“More dressed than she was last night,” Susana said sotto voce.

They both glared at her.

“Whatever do you mean?” Mother asked. Thankfully, everyone ignored her.

Jonathan simply plowed on. “You could at least wear something pretty.” It was a perfectly logical request.

There was no reason for Meg to burst into tears.

Again.

He turned to his sister and bellowed, “What is she crying about?”

Susana sniffed. “Why are you asking me?”

“You’re a woman. You understand each other. Don’t you?”

Mother, who was sitting on the divan and taking all this in as though it were a play enacted for her private pleasure, suggested, “Why don’t you ask her?”

Jonathan glanced at Christian for some male support, but he merely shrugged.

So he turned to her. And he sighed. “Meg. Why are you crying?”

She glared at him, though the tears, and then said in an emotionless voice, “I don’t have anything pretty.”

That was all it took. His dudgeon deflated like a failed soufflé.

Of course she didn’t have anything pretty. Cyril, the bastard, had confiscated all her gowns and jewels and sold them after George died. His mother had told him as much and he’d tut-tutted and made some offhand comment about what a bastard Cyril was and then promptly forgot about it.

Well, hell. How could he fix this?

He had no idea, so he just did what he wanted to do.

He took her in his arms—again—and held her as she cried.

This was becoming a disturbing trend.

Although, if he were honest, he didn’t hate it.

“Don’t cry, Meg,” he whispered to her. “We’ll get you something pretty.”

She snorted wetly into his chest. “I don’t want anything pretty.” Which was clearly untrue, except that being contrary was apparently deeply imbedded in her nature.

“Oh dear,” Mother said with such horror, they both turned to look at her, though Jonathan kept his arms firmly around Meg.

“What?” Susana asked.

“I just realized that the party is in two days and Meg hasn’t a thing to wear.”

“I’ll take her to London tomorrow.” He didn’t know where the words came from. They just fell from his lips.

Suddenly, it seemed like an excellent idea.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother said with a snort.

Susana shook her head. “You’ll never get a seamstress now.”

Mother shook her head as well. “Never.”

“Why not?” That seemed terribly ridiculous.

Susana stood and came to Meg’s side. “It’s high season, that’s why. But never mind. I have a solution.” His sister took Meg’s arm, dried her tears, and tugged her toward the door.

“Whatever are you doing?” Jonathan asked. “It’s time for dinner.”

“No time for dinner,” Susana crowed. “Meg, you and I are about the same size and I brought far more dresses than I will ever wear. You and I are going to pilfer my wardrobe! Have cook send two trays to my room at once!”

Jonathan watched them go—happy that Susana’s suggestion had seemed to delight Meg, and slightly annoyed that, once again, she wouldn’t be at family dinner, since this was the last one before the insanity began.

But his feelings hardly mattered, didn’t they?

He was only the duke.




CHAPTER 4




SUSANA’S WARDROBE was a treasure trove. Meg did her best to swallow the acrid fact that she’d once had one just like it and was now reduced to begging for scraps. She focused instead on the fact that she was lucky to have such a generous friend. And the opportunity to wear beautiful dresses as well. That was wonderful.

“Oh, this one!” Susana sighed, pulling out a beautiful sky blue frock with sequins stitched into the bodice. “It barely fits me now, since I’m increasing again, but it’s one of my favorites. I’m glad I brought it because it is perfect for your coloring.”

It was. And, in a flurry of crinoline, Meg eagerly tried it on. It was perfect. The blue brought out her eyes and made her shine. Or maybe that was simply her delight as she spun around and watched the skirt bell in the glass. It was a little tight in the bodice, but Susana insisted, with a wink, it was just right for someone on the hunt for a husband. There was another, a dark forest green, which would be perfect for the Christmas Eve supper and ball, and a lovely pink day dress.

“I love you in these jewel tones,” Susana said and Meg laughed.

“My last party frock was white.”

Susana grinned. “We’re hardly debutantes now.”

Yes. Hardly.

When they were finished, Meg returned to her dark weeds and sighed. “That was fun,” she told her friend, who grinned.

“Wasn’t it?”

“I’m so appreciative. You’ve been so generous.”

To her surprise, Susana stared at her, tears welling. Which caused Meg to tear up as well. “Meg, darling,” she said, opening her arms for a hug. “You deserve it. You’ve always been so generous with me. Even when we were children. Do you remember that time when you let me have the last cake at tea, after Jonathan and George swept in and tried to scarf them all up?”

Meg had to chuckle. “No. I don’t.”

Susana’s eyes sparkled. “Well, I do. And the time you gave me your doll, because I liked it. And— Oh, I could go on. You’re like a sister to me. A dear, dear sister. And I, for one, hate to see you moldering in Devon with Mama.”

“I’m hardly moldering. Besides, I love your mother.”

“I do too, but she doesn’t exactly live an exciting life.”

“She…throws parties…”

Susana snorted. “We both know, you throw those parties. She just tags along and makes speeches.”

“They are very good speeches.”

“That is a matter of opinion. And beside the point.”

“And the point is?”

“The point is, you deserve more in life. You deserve all the happiness in the world. And a husband who loves you. You deserve children. I’ve seen you with the boys. You are magnificent.”

Meg focused on a pleat in her bombazine skirt. “I would love to have children…someday.”

“Of course you would. And this party is a wonderful opportunity to scan the opportunities, as it were.”

Yes. It would be. “Thanks to you.” She gave her friend another hug, then pulled back. “Do you know any of the men who are coming?”

Susana’s brow furrowed. “I peeked at the guest list. Jonathan invited Richard Manning and Aiden St. Clare. They’re both very respectable.”

Respectable? Not what she’d been thinking. She’d been thinking tall, dark, and just a trifle grumpy with a dazzling array of dimples when he smiled…

“I’ve met Manning at the opera more than once,” Susana continued, unaware of Meg’s momentary mooning over an unreachable duke. “Do you like the opera?”

“I’ve only been once,” Meg said. “It seemed…tedious. But I was young.”

“Oh, it is tedious, but it’s fun to watch the crowd during the boring parts. If you and Manning go, Christian and I will go with you.”

“That would be fun.”

“Just think of it. If we both lived in London, we’d be in each other’s pockets again, just like when we were children.”

“Oh, how I’d like that.” She’d sorely missed Susana—any female friendship. Well, female friendship her own age. She and the dowager rarely had similar tastes.

“Me too. So here is the plan. This week, we will assess the possibilities and then go in for the kill. Yes?”

How could she say no? “Of course, yes!”

“Excellent!”


AFTER SHE LEFT Susana’s spacious quarters, Meg headed up to the nursery to tuck the girls in. Not because she had to—Susana’s governess was excellent—but because she wanted to. She loved Lizzie and Vicca and had missed their antics because she’d been so busy for the past few days.

They were in bed, but far from asleep, and they both leaped up with a hurrah! as she pushed into the room. She gave them each a hug and a kiss and asked what they’d been up to. What followed was a raucous recounting of their adventures with William and Christopher, Susana’s twins. As they shared the details, it occurred to Meg that she might want to have a chat with Susana’s governess. Surely she wasn’t aware of all of this. She certainly couldn’t have known that the four hooligans had built a fortress in the library. With books. Or that they’d figured out a way to snitch cakes and pies from cook’s pantry without being seen. Or the bit about the fire in the greenhouse.

Honestly, the girls were becoming a bit too fascinated with fire for her liking. Perhaps Jonathan should be informed as well…

And then, as though she’d conjured him with her thoughts, he was there in the doorway.

“Papa!” Lizzie cried. “Come help Meg tuck us in.”

He did. She watched, breathless, as he loped across the darkened room, as perfect in form as a man could be. She tried to still her thudding heart and reminded herself to breathe. Oh, and force a casual smile.

“I thought you were already tucked in,” he said in a deep raspy voice, lit with humor.

Vicca made a face. “Not by you.”

“It’s better if it’s you and Meg.”

“Miss Ainsley doesn’t do it right.”

“Doesn’t she?” The powerful duke went down on his knees between their beds and kissed them both, one after the other.

“Exactly right,” Vicca said somberly.

“Young girls need to be tucked in properly,” her twin added.

“Good to know. Now, both of you, under the covers. Close your eyes. Time to sleep.”

“We’re too excited to sleep,” Lizzie said.

Vicca nodded. “The party starts tomorrow!”

“That it does. So you both need your sleep. And…” He fixed them both with a dark scowl, which made them giggle. “I expect you both to be on your best behavior. All the mavens of society will be there.”

“I thought Grandmamma was the maven of society.”

Lizzie nodded. “That’s what she told us.”

Jonathan chuckled. “She is. But all her maven friends will be there. And you need to understand that your behavior reflects on the entire Pembroke family. That is a great weight to bear.”

The girls sobered and nodded, apparently listening to their father…for once.

“It’s possible that I might even find you a new mama.”

Oooh. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that, on account of the fact they were listening and all. They both made faces.

“What if we don’t want a new mama?” Vicca asked.

“Of course you do.”

Lizzie shrugged. “I like Meg. Why don’t you just marry Meg?”

A mortifying silence settled. Meg and Jonathan exchanged chagrined glances. Before Jonathan could answer, Meg forced a laugh. “Nonsense. Your papa needs a young wife.” She ignored his sharp glance. “She has to be able to keep up with you, after all.”

Vicca pursed her lips and then nodded. “You are awfully old,” she told Meg.

It was difficult to hold back a laugh. “Thank you.”

“All right. Enough of this.” Jonathan pulled up their covers and tucked each one in with another kiss. “Go to sleep.”

“Good night, my darlings,” Meg said as she stood to join Jonathan as he walked to the door. She hadn’t intended to, it just worked out that way.

“Wait!” One of the twins cried as they reached the doorway. In tandem, they turned and looked back at the shadowed beds. “Look!” The twins both pointed above their heads, and they, perforce, looked up.

Oh dear.

It was mistletoe. Blast the dowager and her insistence that the stuff be scattered everywhere.

“You have to kiss now,” one of the twins said. Meg suspected it was Vicca, the minx.

She and Jonathan shared another chagrined glance. His shoulder lifted. “I suppose she’s right.”

“Of course she’s right,” Meg said, struggling for a matter-of-fact expression, though her heart raced. “It is mistletoe.”

“That it is.”

“Do it!” their audience demanded.