“Who is it?” he asked.

“Jonathan, you are talking in riddles.”

“Am I? Who is the woman you really want me to consider. Just tell me. It will save some time.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She shifted her intense attention to the pleats in her skirt.

“Is it the Malbury girl? What’s her name? Portico?”

“Portia. And no. She’s spotty.”

“Drake’s daughter? Petunia?”

“Priscilla. And no. She’s mannish.”

“All right. Who then?”

The dowager sniffed. “I have no intention of choosing your wife for you, and frankly, I am insulted at the allusion that I do. You’re a grown man and you can choose your own wife. Now, come back to the party. You’re going to play cards and you’re going to like it.”

With a command like that, he could hardly disobey.

But he took his whisky with him.


TRUTH BE TOLD, once the card games started, the party was tolerable. Probably because a lot of the guests left at that time to go to bed. And probably because Jonathan managed to be seated with Mattingly, St. Clare, and Everton. And, as they all knew, Everton was an easy mark.

Pity they weren’t playing for money.

For her part, Meg sat with Susana and Christian and Hisdick. There was far too much laughter coming from that side of the room. It almost ruined his concentration.

But at least, from this vantage point, he could keep his eye on her, and he found, as long as he could keep his eye on her, he could remain calm.

It wasn’t until very late that Meg stood, Susana with her, and said their good nights.

Jonathan wanted, quite desperately, to follow. But he could hardly do that, so he stayed where he was and finished his hand. Christian and Hisdick wandered over to their table and co-opted some empty chairs, and the men—the only ones left in the room—gave up on cards and settled for a nice conversation. With whisky.

Oh, it was all so pleasant.

Until Mattingly said, “I say, Devon. Thank you for inviting me. I can’t tell you how taken I am with Miss Chalmers. Arsy yarsey, head over heels.”

And something bitter shifted in Jonathan’s gut.

“Oh, yes,” St. Clare said, with a glint in his eye. “She is lovely. Her brother was George Chalmers, yes? I remember him from Eton. Good sort.”

His glass was empty. He cast around for a fresh bottle.

“A shame what the new baron did to her,” Mattingly continued. “The least he could have done was see her settled.”

St. Clare grinned. “Not that I’m complaining. She’s here for us now.”

No. No, she wasn’t.

“I plan to ask her for a waltz tomorrow night.”

Mattingly was an annoying arse.

“I will too.” Lovely. Now Hisdick was in the mix.

Christian laughed. “It seems our Meg has some suitors,” he said, gouging Jonathan with an elbow. “No doubt she’ll be affianced by Christmas.”

Where was the whisky? “Stafford! More whisky!”

“I say, Devon, may I have your blessing?”

He stilled and gaped at Mattingly. “What?”

“Well, you’re her guardian, are you not?”

He most definitely was not.

“No, I want your blessing,” St. Clare insisted.

“I’m not giving anyone my blessing,” he snapped. For Christ’s sake, what were they babbling about?

“You have to. He has to, doesn’t he?” St. Clare asked plaintively.

Christian shrugged. “Meg’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.”

No, she couldn’t. Had they all gone stark raving mad? “Stafford!”

To his surprise, it was not Stafford with a fresh bottle of whisky who appeared at his side. It was Rodgers, with no whisky in evidence. “Your Grace,” his valet said in a dour tone. But then, Rodgers was always dour.

“Yes?”

“May I speak with you?” He shot a glance around the table. “Privately?”

“Of course.” And thank God. Jonathan had had about as much of this as he could take. If one more man asked him to proffer his blessings on a union with Meg, he might just snap.

He nodded to his friends and rose, following Rodgers into the foyer. “What is it?”

“There is, ahem, a problem with your chambers, sir.”

Jonathan frowned. “A problem?”

“Yes, Your Grace, inasmuch as they are not…empty, sir.”

A little flare of excitement rose in his chest. “Is it Meg Chalmers?” Had she somehow gotten the brilliant idea to meet him in his rooms?

Rodgers reared back. His eyes bugged out, making him look a touch like Mawbry. “Good God, no.”

He had no idea why he asked. Clearly he had not been thinking.

“It’s Miss Peck, sir.”

Miss Peck? Holy hell. “Well, what is she doing in there?”

His valet looked discomfited. “Sleeping, sir?”

“Sleeping? In my chambers?”

“Apparently you took too long to come to bed and she nodded off. I went to turn down the bed and it was…occupied. I came to find you at once.”

“Good man.” Jonathan clapped him on the shoulders and made a mental note to give his valet a raise. “But what do we do about this?” He had to ask. He had no earthly clue. One thing was for certain, he wasn’t going to that room tonight.

“If I may make a suggestion, sir?”

“Please do.”

“Shall I inform the dowager?”

“Oh. An excellent suggestion.” Let Mother deal with this. “And can you make up a room next to Christian’s for me?” It wouldn’t hurt to have a little extra protection.

“At once, sir.”

Rodgers melted away and Jonathan took a moment to massage the bridge of his nose. What had he been thinking, coming to a house party filled to the gills with predators?

The answer was clear.

He had not been. Thinking. Not at all.

It seemed to be an ongoing condition of late.

And it continued when, after a few more drinks with his friends, he trudged up the stairs and had the wild notion of going to Meg’s room to finish their conversation. Before he had a moment to reconsider such insanity, he turned left instead of right at the landing and made for the governess’s chambers.

It was right next to his daughters’ room, poorly sited for a seduction, but they were just going to talk. Right?

He scratched at the door, pulse trilling as he waited for her to answer. It seemed to take forever. Finally, he heard a rustling and soft feminine footsteps nearing the door. His heart thudded in his chest and—

The door opened and a young woman peered out at him through the crack. She wore a mobcap and a lawn nightdress and her eyes widened at the sight of him. She was definitely not Meg.

His mood deflated.

“Your Grace?” she whispered. “Is something wrong?”

“Ah… no. Miss…?”

“Miss Ainsley.” Ah yes. Susana’s bloody governess. Why hadn’t he realized Meg would have changed rooms when a real nanny had arrived? But where would she have gone? Blast it all to hell that his house was so large. He could hardly go scratching at fifty doors looking for her.

Blast and drat.

But Miss Ainsley was staring at him. He had to say something. He certainly couldn’t ask where Meg was sleeping. That wouldn’t be proper in the slightest. “I…ah, was wondering how my daughters are doing.” All right. That would work.

The tension in her face melted away and she smiled. He realized she was quite pretty when she wasn’t horror struck to find a duke at her door in the middle of the night.

“Oh, Your Grace. They are fine. We had our own little party in the nursery tonight. They dressed up and wore tiaras and everything. They do love their tiaras. It’s so nice to have girls for a bit,” she added shyly. “Not that I don’t love the boys, but it’s a whole different thing with girls, you know?”

He nodded though he had no earthly clue. “Very good,” he said in his dukiest voice. “Please know we’d like the children to attend the musicale tomorrow at two.” A brilliant idea, because having his girls there would provide him the opportunity to shield himself from the predators.

Miss Ainsley nodded. “Would you like them to perform?”

A wicked smile curled on his lips. Subject his onerous guests to his daughters’ caterwauling? “Yes, please.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

He nodded to her and turned away, but then had another thought. “And Miss Ainsley?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Let’s have them wear those tiaras, shall we?”




CHAPTER 8




MEG AWOKE WELL RESTED the next morning, which was a minor miracle, because she and Susana had stayed up half the night talking. She was also excited for the day. The dowager had asked her perform at the musicale that afternoon, but she hadn’t decided yet what she might sing. So she was thrilled when Vicca and Lizzie burst into her room and jumped on her bed, announcing they were to sing as well and could they please do a trio?

The girls were followed by Susana, who had a wide smile on her face. “Good morning,” she said as she plopped down on the bed as well. “I suppose you’ve heard the news. The girls are to sing this afternoon.”

“And we’re to wear our tiaras!” Vicca crowed.

Lizzie bounced up and down, chanting, “Tiaras, tiaras, tiaras!”

“How lovely.” Meg sat up and settled against the pillows. “I would love to sing with you.” They did so many times in Devon, though usually not for an audience. “What would you like to sing?”

“Ave Maria,” Lizzie suggested, but Vicca made a face.

“That’s not Christmassy enough.”

“Does it need to be Christmassy?” Susana asked.

The girls stared at her as though she’d sprouted a second nose. Or a third.

“Of course it does,” Vicca said. “But Ave Maria isn’t in English, and the guests might not understand the words.” Meg nodded, though she knew the truth. Vicca simply didn’t care for all the high notes. The minx scrunched up her adorable face and said, “I think we should sing ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’.” Yes. Both of them could hit all those notes.

“I like that idea,” Meg said. “Because you two are angels.”

“Mama is an angel,” Vicca corrected her. “We are girls.”

“But we could sing it for Mama,” Lizzie suggested.

Meg nodded, trying to ignore the tears prickling her eyes. “I think that is a wonderful sentiment.” Tessa would love it.

“There we go. It’s decided.” Susana was nothing if not all business. “Now, let’s go practice.”

“Aren’t the boys going to sing too?” Vicca asked, as Susana bundled them out so Meg could dress.

“No one thinks that’s a good idea,” Susan said starchily, and both Vicca and Lizzie chortled. Because everyone knew boys couldn’t sing.


JONATHAN SEARCHED for Meg all morning to no avail. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say to her—surely it wasn’t to ask where her room was—but he knew he needed to see her. His desperation was stoked by the fact that Mattingly, St. Clare, and Hisdick were apparently searching for her as well.

They found him in the salon at breakfast and hounded him about how beautiful and charming she was, and how she would make a perfect society wife, until his hair wanted to stand on end.

She was beautiful and charming and would make a perfect society wife. All that was true. What irked him was that he hadn’t been able to stake his claim and his soul howled to think one of them might get to her first and convince her he was the man for her.

He wasn’t. He never would be.

She was his.

If only he could claim her.

To his utter and complete consternation, he didn’t see her again until he wandered into the salon after lunch for the musicale. She stood at the piano, going over music with Susana, but the room was so crowded by then, it would be impossible to have a private conversation.

To make matters worse, Cicely Peck found him and grasped his arm and insisted on sitting with him. Louisa Mountbatten took the seat at his other side.

He felt somewhat like a reluctant kitten being petted by two overzealous girls.

When Meg met his gaze and smiled, he sent her a help me look, but it only made her smile more. Clearly there was no help from that quarter.

Nor was his mother willing to help, when he sent her the same look. Nor his sister.

He was a duke, for Christ’s sake. How was he not in control of the situation?

But he was not. He was forced to sit there in a wholly uncomfortable chair and listen to the musicale. And there was no whisky to be found.

Whose idea had it been to serve lemonade? They should be shot.

Also—he determined moments later when Charlotte Everton sat at the piano—whomever had selected the performers should be shot.

Or perhaps he should be shot. It might save time and misery.

There was one sure thing that could be said about Miss Everton’s playing. She definitely hit the keys. Pity she hit more than Bach had intended. Often, at the same time.