Dukes by the Dozen

by Grace Burrowes

  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.

  He paled. “Surely Mother has sent for another?”

  “I believe she directed Mawbry to do so. But there is always the possibility that…”

  “What?” He always hated when she trailed off.

  “Well, the help does talk. There is always the possibility that no one will take the post.” Again with the lashes. It was a ridiculous prospect, because who wouldn’t want to work for a duke? But it was amusing to watch the dismay cross his features. She patted him on his fine coat. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. You’ll make a wonderful governess. And I daresay they will not set you on fire.” And with that, she turned to head down the hall to her room.

  “Meg!” The tenor of his voice stopped her. That and the fact he’d said her name. She loved when he called her Meg.

  She turned and shot him a curious glance. “Yes?”

  “You will help. Won’t you? Until someone comes?”

  “You’re their father.”

  He sighed and raked his hair. “I cannot parent. Not like Tessa. Tessa was…wonderful”

  “It’s so easy. All you need to do is two things. First, be there, and second, love them. They are so lovable.”

  “They are but…”

  Something in his voice caught her attention. Tugged at her heart. “What is it?”

  He raked back his hair. “Sometimes I can’t help feeling… guilty when I am with them. It’s my fault their mother died.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Tessa is gone.”

  “She’s not, Jonathan.” Meg put her hand on his. “She’s alive in those little girls. And they need you. They need their father.”

  “Please say you’ll help.”

  He seemed so distraught, she had to relent. “Of course, Jonathan.” She waggled a finger so he would remember she was hardly a pushover. “But it would do you a world of good to spend more time with them. And it would be good for them as well. They miss their father.”

  “I miss them too.”

  Because the mood had shifted, she felt she could add, “And they need a mother.”

  He stared at her with those dark brown eyes, enrobed in thick lashes. Though she knew him well, she could not discern his thoughts and curiosity raged.

  “That’s what Mother says.”

  Meg chuckled. “I know. She says it to me daily.”

  He looked down and dug his boot into the poor unfortunate carpet. “That’s what this party is all about, you know.”

  She had to laugh. “Are you divining this just now? For someone like your mother, having an unmarried son—much less a duke—is akin to heresy.”

  He scrubbed his face with a palm. “I know.”

  “And a house party is an excellent opportunity to see how any young lady you might be considering will get on with Lizzie and Vicca. That is very important, you know.”

  “Most important.”

  “Of course.”

  His expression firmed, though she could see the humor glinting in his eye. “Because we’re friends, I feel I must warn you, though.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “Warn me? About what?”

  “This party isn’t to find a wife for me. Well, it is, probably. But Mother intends to find a husband for you as well.”

  Oh. Good heavens. Meg’s stomach clenched into a tight fist. “What?”

  Jonathan’s laugh rang along the hall. “You should see your face.”

  “I’d rather not. Oh my. What a disconcerting prospect. I’d been hoping to avoid the party altogether.”

  “I’m certain that will not happen. She’s even asked me to come up with a list of prospects.”

  “For me?” Oh horrors. Imagine marrying one of Jonathan’s friends… Seeing him—and his young new bride—socially. It would be hell on earth. “Why ever would she do that?”

  He sobered and fixed her with an intense look. “She loves you, Meg. She wants the best for you. We all do. You’re far too competent to waste your life as a companion. Or a governess.” He winked, to signal a jest, but it was lost on her, because his words had crushed her so completely.

  She nodded and whispered good night, let herself into the governess’s room adjacent to the nursery, and then closed the door on him.

  The man she loved, with every fiber of her being, thought her competent.

  Competent.

  Ah, lud.

  * * *

  Bloody hell.

  This was exactly why Jonathan hated making promises to his mother. She fully expected him to follow through. It was highly annoying.

  This he thought as he sat at the table in his suite the next morning, laboring over the list of potential suitors for Meg that Mother had demanded. He didn’t dare emerge without something.

  The trouble was, though he had a lot of fine friends, as he thought of them, not a single one was right for Meg.

  Fortnum was a nice enough chap, but he had no sense of humor and wouldn’t appreciate Meg’s wit. Giles was far too stern. And Rockingham was a smug son of a bitch who
would never appreciate her. Walters was a good man, but he’d been severely wounded on the Continent and there was talk he could no longer procreate.

  Jonathan couldn’t, in good conscience, match her with a man who couldn’t give her children.

  Meg was wonderful with children.

  She deserved to have children.

  His frustration mounted as he ran through the prospects. Surely there was someone.

  And then it hit him.

  Manning.

  Richard Manning was tall, strong, and virile. Some would call him handsome, Jonathan supposed. He was well bred, wealthy, charming, and intelligent. He wasn’t a gambler and he didn’t drink overmuch. And he had mentioned to Jonathan that he was thinking of taking a wife.

  He would be perfect for Meg.

  So why, when he scratched that name onto the parchment, did his stomach sink? Why did Meg’s piquant smile flash before his eyes?

  He thrust these thoughts away and focused, and then added Aiden St. Clare, who was also handsome and clever, although not as wealthy. Meg wouldn’t mind that, would she? No. She’d never been overly concerned with luxury. And St. Clare could keep her in comfort.

  And then, there was Richard Hisdick. Hisdick was something of an intellectual—at least in his own mind. He wasn’t as good looking as Manning or St. Clare—he had an odd-shaped head, wiry hair, and had a tendency to lean a little to the left, but he was a pleasant enough chap when he wasn’t spouting off about one thing or another in a one-eyed pedantic rant. Jonathan quite enjoyed jousting with him and it was possible Meg might as well. She did have blue-stocking sensibilities after all.

  Once he had those three, other like fellows came to mind and he added them to the list. When he had seven, he determined his work was done, and a wash of relief rushed through him. He hadn’t expected finding a mate for Meg would be such a chore.

  But he was happy to do it. He was. He owed it to her. And to her brother George, who had been his friend.

  He had no idea why the task had made him slightly ill.

  Probably because of her reaction. When he’d told her of his mother’s plans, she’d been downright horrified. Her face had gone pallid, she’d turned round with barely a word and plodded to her room. Could it be that Meg had accepted spinsterhood? That she was happy being alone? That thought made him slightly ill as well. He couldn’t countenance it. Not someone like her, so full of life and joy. She deserved love. Deserved to be cossetted and cared for. She deserved to have someone.

  It was just the someones he had in mind that irked him.

  He had no idea why.

  With a sigh, he sanded and folded the list and stood, calling for Rodgers to come dress him for the day.

  As he made his way down the curving staircase, he heard cries from the library and, recognizing those voices, changed course. He pushed open the door to see his girls nestled at Meg’s feet, staring in rapt attention as she read to them in whispered tones. Her voice rose as she came to some climax in the book and the girls squealed.

  He couldn’t help but laugh.

  The second they heard the sound, they sprang to their feet, shrieked in delight, and charged him like Huns on the battlefield. He barely braced himself before they hit.

  “Papa! Papa!”

  He picked them up, one by one, and swung them around, and then called them by each other’s names, because he knew it delighted them to think he couldn’t tell them apart in their mischief. Although he knew which was which. He could see it in their eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked with a smile at Meg.

  “We’re reading,” she said primly, holding up a copy of The Swiss Family Robinson by Wyss.

  “Ah,” he said. “Adventure.”

  “On a tropical island!” Lizzie cried.

  “I should like to go to a tropical island,” Vicca said. She’d always been the more daring of the two.

  “They wanted to read this.” Meg gestured to a translation of Grimm’s Fairy Tales on the table. “But I decided it was far too ghastly for such tender minds.”

  He took the book and thumbed through. “Excellent judgement,” he said with a laugh. How like his girls to prefer horror.

  “Papa,” Vicca said, clutching his hand and staring up at him pleadingly. “Can we go outside and play in the snow? Meg said we had to wait until it was warmer.”

  “Did she?” He glanced at Meg who nodded.

  “You can take them, though,” she said, oh-so-helpfully. And then, when he grimaced, she chuckled. “You did say you wanted to spend more time with them.” She stood, brushed out her skirts, and patted down her hair. It annoyed him that she’d done it up in a tight, governess-like bun. Last night it had been down.

  “You can come with us,” Lizzie told her earnestly.

  Meg sniffed. “And get snowballs down my nape? I think not. Besides, now that your father is here, I need to go help your grandmother plan the party. She’s becoming annoyed with Mawbry for some reason.”

  Jonathan knew damn well why his mother was annoyed with Mawbry—she so often was—but he also knew damn well that Meg was escaping. “Are you deserting me?” he asked in a petulant tone.

  Her smile was broad and bright. “That I am,” she said, and before he could protest further, she whisked from the room, leaving him alone with two avaricious fiends who very badly wanted to pelt him with snowballs.

  That was how they spent the rest of the morning, out in the snow, freezing and laughing and engaging in a very lopsided war. It occurred to him, several times, that what this family needed was another male. Or, at the very least, someone to fight on his side.

  They were all tired and wet and happy when a carriage rolled up the lane, interrupting the battle. Jonathan, for one, was relieved to see his sister, Susana, poke her head out the window and wave.

  Thank God.

  Susana had two boys of her own who would, no doubt, help wear the girls out.

  Susana also had the good sense to bring a governess, so as they all trooped into the house, this angel herded all the children upstairs for lunch and a much-needed nap time. Jonathan stripped off his wet outer clothing, and followed his sister and her husband, Christian, to the parlor, where Mother and Meg were having tea. He dropped into a chair with a heavy sigh, looking on dotingly as Meg and Susana greeted each other with warm hugs and kisses.

  They’d all grown up together, in Devon, but Meg and Susana hadn’t seen each other since last Christmas.

  As they sipped warm tea and feasted on cucumber sandwiches and cakes, the two young women chattered on, catching up. Susana did most of the talking, he noticed, sharing the adventures she’d had in London and in Inverness, where they had gone to visit her twin sister, Sara, and her Scottish husband. And wasn’t it a shame that Sara couldn’t come for Christmas? But what a blessing that she was increasing again.

  Yes, Susana went on and on. But then, what did Meg have to share, really? She’d spent the last two years immured in the country at Pembroke running errands for his mother.

  The thought bothered him, but he didn’t know why. It wasn’t his fault her brother had died and her cousin had evicted her, forcing her to find work wherever she could.

  It was Cyril’s fault. The bastard.

  Jonathan had never liked him.

  Susana’s big news, which she shared, eyes shining, was that she and Christian were expecting again.

  He happened to be watching Meg at the time, so he saw her expression, which, to her credit, only lasted the flash of a moment, before she arranged her features into absolute delight. But he saw it. It burned through his soul.

  Her expression made it clear. Meg wanted children. She wanted them desperately.

  Jonathan vowed, at that very moment, to do whatever he could to help Meg get what she wanted.

  It was the least he could do.

  Truly. It was.

  Chapter 3

  After Susana, Christian, and the boys arrived, time seemed to fly by for Meg. Grante
d, the dowager kept her busy, now that a true governess was on site and she had Meg back exclusively in her service. In addition to her usual duties, she was in a flurry helping the household staff prepare for the house party. She wrote out invitations, planned menus, and arranged entertainments for the three-day event. And then there were the decorations. The dowager was determined to have the most talked-about event of the season. That meant outdoing all of the London hostesses, which was a daunting proposition.

  The tree was the largest challenge, because it had to be cut and set and decorated just before everyone arrived. Beyond that, the dowager wanted mistletoe on every door jamb, fresh boughs wound around every bannister, and a parade of characters representing the Twelve Days of Christmas. Thankfully, Susana had friends in London who knew a troupe of actors who were more than happy to have the opportunity to perform before the cream of the ton.

  With so much to attend to, Meg was busy from dawn to dusk and exhausted by supper, so she chose to have a tray in her room, rather than eat with the family. Aside from which, she hadn’t been invited. Therefore, she didn’t see Jonathan at all. Which was a blessing. Truly it was. It was far too difficult to be in his presence and pretend that everything was fine when all she wanted to do was cry. Once the party began, he would find a young, fresh-faced bride, and she would have to watch him marry someone else all over again.

  Being busy during the day helped distract her, though. It was the long nights that were difficult. One would think, with all her tasks, that sleep would come easily, but it didn’t.

  One night, just a few days before the guests were to arrive, she tossed and turned for hours before padding down to the library in her nightgown to find a book. She was surprised to find a lamp lit, and even more surprised to see Jonathan seated by the hearth staring into the fire.

  He noticed her before she could slip away and waved her in.

  Dear heavens. Perhaps she should have taken a moment to dress.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asked in an amused tone.