Dukes by the Dozen

by Grace Burrowes

  “I know.” Susan sighed. “But women often see things in other women that men miss.”

  So true. “Who else is here?”

  “The Pickerings arrived early. The Mountbattens and the Evertons right after.” Meg nodded. She remembered those families from her season. “And of course, Jonathan’s friends Mattingly and St. Clare arrived last night.”

  “Last night?”

  Susana huffed. “Christian was up with them ’til all hours and came to bed sotted with brandy and smelling of cheroots.” She put out a lip. “I made him sleep on the divan.”

  “Never say you make your husband sleep on the divan!”

  “When he smells of cheroots, I do. I made quite clear this nonsense is not to continue.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior, now that the party is underway.”

  Susana smiled. “Yes. It is. And I cannot wait to get started on you.”

  Meg boggled. “On me?”

  “Oh yes, darling. Now get up. We have a lot of work to do before tonight!”

  * * *

  Had she known what Susana had in mind, Meg might have run. Good lord. She’d forgotten how much work it took to prepare for a simple party. There was bathing and powdering and all manner of fiddling with her hair. Susana had brought her hairdresser, but she’d conscripted the dowager’s hairdresser as well because Meg needed to look absolutely perfect.

  “Honestly,” she’d complained at one point when one hairdresser tugged her one way and the other another. “I think a simple bun will work.”

  They were all—all three of them—horrified.

  “A bun will not do,” Susana said. “Companions wear buns. You need an elaborate coif. Remember, you are angling for a high-ranking husband.”

  Meg frowned at her. “Am I?”

  “Yes. Now hush and let us work.”

  Outnumbered, Meg let the possibility of a simple hairdo drop. When they swung her around to face the glass, she was stunned.

  It was not Meg Chalmers, companion to the dowager, who looked back. It was some kind of fanciful swan with a long, elegant neck highlighted by an impossibly intricate creation of swirls and curls atop her head.

  She stared. “Surely that is not me.”

  Susana beamed. “Lovely, isn’t it?” And then, she corrected herself. “Aren’t you? The men will fall at your feet. Oh. Speaking of feet…” She rushed to her dressing room and returned with a pair of blue slippers. “These will match the dress perfectly.”

  “Are they yours?”

  A twinkle lit her eye. “No. I found them in the attic.”

  “In the attic?”

  She sobered and fingered the sequins on the shoes. “I think they may have been Tessa’s.”

  An ache swelled in her chest. Meg took them reverently and studied them, barely acknowledging the tears in her eyes.

  Susana misunderstood her hesitation. “Tessa would want you to wear them.”

  “Oh, I know. It’s just… I miss her.”

  “We all do. But remember, she’s still with us. In spirit. And Tessa would want you to wear these shoes, dance until your feet ache, and have fun tonight. Don’t you think?”

  “Dancing until my feet hurt isn’t all that fun,” she teased with a smile. She could remember that, at least, from her long-ago season.

  Susana shot her a grin. “It does depend upon with whom one is dancing.”

  Meg chuckled. “I daresay.”

  “Come along. Now that your hair is done, let’s get you dressed. I also have some sapphires for you to wear. They will make your eyes shine.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t…” It was far too much borrowed finery.

  But Susana wouldn’t hear of anything less than perfection.

  Chapter 6

  The problem with being the host of a house party was that one had to attend it. Most specifically, one had to attend to the guests.

  Normally, this wasn’t something Jonathan was loath to do, but at most of his parties, he invited only his friends.

  This was his mother’s party.

  She’d invited her friends.

  And so, as the festivities began, he stood in the receiving line and greeted Lord and Lady Jersey, Buckingham, George Ponsonby, and Charles Sutton as well as many other faces from the 5th Parliament. It occurred to him that this was very much like being at work. He was surprised when Lord Castlereagh arrived with rival George Canning—he had no idea why Mother had invited them both—she was probably hoping for a sensation which would, at the very least, make for interesting conversation.

  When the Pickerings stepped up, with their stunning daughter Glorianna, his mother gave him a nudge with her elbow.

  Apparently, this guest had been invited for him.

  He bowed over her gloved hand and murmured a welcome. She went pale, then red. Her lips moved but no sound came out.

  Her mother nearly had apoplexy. “She’s very pleased to meet you,” she insisted, to which Glorianna nodded.

  Pickering chuckled. “A shy one, our girl,” he said, slapping Jonathan on the shoulder. “But very accomplished.”

  “Very accomplished,” Lady Pickering agreed. “Wait until you hear her play the pianoforte.”

  “Oh,” Jonathan said to his mother. “Is there to be a musicale?” There was hardly any chagrin in his tone. He deplored musicales.

  “But of course,” Mother said. “Tomorrow afternoon at two sharp.”

  Jonathan nodded. Excellent warning.

  Glorianna moved on to greet his mother, and Lady Pickering leaned in and told him how much her daughter loved children and didn’t the duke have two girls?

  After the Pickerings came the Mountbattens, and their lovely Louisa. She was pretty and young and certainly not tongue-tied. She loved living in London, she said. Adored dancing and painting and shopping. She also informed him she had an infatuation with hats. Especially hats with ribbons. Weren’t ribbons the most delightful things?

  Naturally, he agreed.

  But, truth be told, he was happy to move on to the Pecks.

  Cicely Peck was beautiful too. His mother certainly hadn’t failed on that account. She also didn’t natter on about ribbons and hats, which was a mercy. She merely smiled at him warmly and said how pleased she was to make his acquaintance. It was a relief to not be fawned over.

  Hisdick appeared next, looking slightly uncomfortable in his suit. He’d slicked back his fly-away hair and gone so far as to wear a cravat, which was saying something. Hisdick was never fond of things tied around his neck.

  “Hallo,” Jonathan greeted him. “I’m so glad you came.” Hisdick rarely went out—anywhere. He preferred to be closeted somewhere in a dark room with his books and a candle, which was probably why Jonathan had thought of him for Meg. She loved books too.

  “Thank you for the invitation.” Hisdick wobbled slightly from side to side, as though the floor were moving. But then, he’d always been more at home on a frigate. Before his appointment to the House of Commons, he’d been a seaman. He’d never been completely comfortable on dry land. “I must say, your home is quite grand.”

  “Thank you.”

  Hisdick leaned in. “Which one is she?” he asked, eyeing the groupings in the salon.

  Something lodged in Jonathan’s throat. “Ahem. She?”

  “The woman you mentioned in the letter?”

  “Ah. Meg. She’s not come down yet.” Jonathan forced a smile, but it cost him. He needed to remember why this party was being thrown. It was for Meg. To meet a man. Gads, how the thought irked him.

  And now, seeing Hisdick here, in this company, a horrifying prospect occurred to him. Surely he hadn’t invited his friend because he wasn’t a handsome, charming, wealthy lord? Because he was a little quirky and something less than a romantic figure? Surely he hadn’t chosen him in the hopes that he would be one fewer man Meg might fancy?

  A lowering thought. And one that posed more questions than he was capable of entertaining at the moment.


  Fortunately, he didn’t have to.

  Hisdick’s gasp forestalled any ethical dilemma he might have been tempted to confront.

  He turned and followed his friend’s gaze, and his lungs locked.

  A woman stood at the top of the stairs. A vision in blue.

  It took him a moment—longer than it should have—to realize it was Meg.

  He hadn’t seen her like this, in a fancy dress with her hair done up, since her season. But even then, she hadn’t been so…magnificent. Her stance was regal, her expression serene. She looked like… Well hell, she looked like a duchess.

  It poleaxed him.

  He barely even noticed Christian and Susana—with a smug smile—on either side of her as she floated down the stairs. His heart thudded, his head went woozy. Something in his breeches tightened.

  Good glory, she was exquisite.

  Had he really invited men here for her?

  What a fool.

  Because it was only now that he realized the truth of it.

  He wanted her for himself.

  “Who is that?” Hisdick asked. “She’s stunning.”

  “That is Miss Meg Chalmers,” Mother answered. Jonathan was incapable of speech.

  But he was capable of glares. He offered one to Hisdick for asking and one to Mother for answering. They both ignored him. Both entranced by the sight of his Meg coming towards them.

  She smiled when she saw him. A warm, bright greeting that made his cockles tingle. He wasn’t sure where cockles were, but he had his suspicions.

  “Your Grace.” She gave a curtsey and put her gloved hand in his. He didn’t want to let go.

  “Meg,” Mother said with a sigh. “Don’t you look lovely?”

  “She does,” Christian said, earning a glare as well. “It was a Susana’s doing,” his friend said when he noticed the frown.

  Susana laughed. “Hardly. All I did was loan her a dress.”

  “And the sapphires, of course,” Meg said, touching the bluer than blue stones at her throat.

  “You look…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Words failed him.

  “Doesn’t she though?” Susana said with a smile. “Now come, darling.” She hooked her arm in Meg’s and towed her off into the room, presumably to make introductions. Jonathan didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to stay here by his side. Where she belonged.

  But what could he do?

  There was propriety to follow after all.

  He hated bloody propriety.

  Once Meg had arrived, the last thing Jonathan wanted to do was stand in the receiving line, but there was nothing for it. Mother wouldn’t let him leave. Not until all the guests were accounted for.

  Was it wrong to be peeved that Mattingly and St. Clare were late?

  By the time they came down the stairs, the party was in full swing. It was a small crowd, for a London soiree, but an absolute crush for a house party with over fifty guests. Mother had arranged for a string quartet to play in the niche, and a full buffet featuring her favorite holiday offerings. But Jonathan had no desire to eat.

  Once his friends appeared, all he wanted to do was go find Meg. She’d disappeared into the throng.

  He worried that she would be out of her depth with the mavens of the ton, and the mothers of the young girls Mother had invited. He hated the thought that she might be uncomfortable, or feel out of place. She hadn’t been to a real party in…

  Well, he had no idea.

  “So,” Mattingly said, rubbing his hands together. “Where is she?”

  The question was beginning to annoy him. “Who?”

  “Who?” St. Clare chuckled. “This woman we’ve come all this way to meet. You must introduce us so we can take her measure. Oh, I say, is that Hisdick?”

  Mattingly whistled. “And who is that lovely creature with him?”

  Jonathan scanned the crowd. His stomach tightened as he spotted Hisdick in a corner, where he was wont to be. But he was sitting with Meg. And she was laughing.

  Laughing!

  He set his teeth and headed in that direction, ignoring Mattingly and St. Clare as best he could.

  As he approached, Meg smiled at him. “Hallo, Your Grace. Is the receiving line finished?”

  “Quite finished.” He tried not to snap.

  “This is a lovely party,” Hisdick said. Was he aware there was a crumb clinging to his moustache? Probably not. Hisdick never was aware of much.

  “What are you two doing?” Surely this was not the accusation it sounded.

  “We’re talking,” Meg said with an elated glint in her eye, “About Pride and Prejudice.”

  Jonathan frowned at her. “Odd topic.”

  She laughed. “It’s a book, silly.”

  “By Jane Austen,” Hisdick felt required to add. “It’s a fiction.”

  Meg nodded. “But a lovely fiction.”

  “Well.” What could he say to that? “I don’t read fiction.”

  Hisdick reared back. “Well, you should.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “Perhaps when Parliament is out?” Meg suggested.

  Unfortunately, Jonathan had no time to respond. Because his erstwhile friends, Mattingly and St. Clare, descended just then.

  “I say, Devon. Aren’t you going to introduce us to this lovely vision?”

  No.

  But hell. Did he have any choice? Begrudgingly, he made the introductions and resolved to stay by her side all night.

  What a pity his mother had other ideas. She found him and took his arm and skillfully led him away to a pocket of guests that included Glorianna Pickering. Miraculously, everyone else melted away, leaving the two of them together. Once the girl realized what had happened, she paled.

  “I-I. Good evening, Your Grace.”

  “Miss Pickering. How are you enjoying the party?”

  One would think such a question would not be a stumper. Lovely Miss Pickering’s mouth came open and then didn’t close. But no words came out.

  He leaned closer and whispered, “A nod will do.”

  Of this, apparently, she was capable.

  They stood there in silence and he tried to think of yes or no questions he could ask, but his mind wasn’t working properly. He kept glancing over to where Meg was holding court. Hisdick, Mattingly, and St. Clare had been joined by several other young men—none of whom Jonathan had invited. A prickle ran up his nape. Who were they? What were they saying? And why did she keep laughing, for pity’s sake?

  “Your Grace?”

  He started.

  Lady Pickering had returned, ostensibly to rescue her little lamb from her own shyness. “Did I mention that Glorianna has seven brothers and sisters? All younger.”

  “Why no.” He took a sip of his champagne. “You did not.”

  “She’s wonderful with them. Aren’t you, dear?”

  Miss Pickering nodded.

  “She so loves children. I do hope we will meet your girls while we are here. Do you suppose that can be arranged?”

  “Most certainly.” Apparently this was good enough for Lady Pickering. She trundled her mute daughter off to the buffet table. Unfortunately, Louisa Mountbatten was right there—courtesy of Mother—to take her place. What followed was a wholly different kind of conversation. One where the woman was not shy in the least and Jonathan found himself unable to get a word in edgewise.

  But, with the exception of the occasional grunt or nod, nothing much was required of him, so he let her monologue—about kittens and ribbons and some other such nonsense—trickle over him as he watched the knot in the corner grow.

  Was that William Everton?

  Bloody hell. Who had invited him? The man was an out and out rake.

  He shot a glare at his mother. Unfortunately, she took it as a cue to switch out the damsels, bringing him Cecily Peck and taking away Louisa Mountbatten.

  Cecily was an excellent foil to the others. She neither talked too little nor too much, but there was something sl
ightly knowing in her eye. Something the younger girls did not possess.

  “What a lovely party,” she said in a dulcet tone, sending him a teasing glance.

  “My mother will be thrilled to hear it.”

  “I love throwing parties,” she said on a sigh. “Such excitement. Fascinating people.” She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “Do you not enjoy…fascinating people?”

  He was sure she was flirting with him, he just wasn’t sure if he cared. “Doesn’t everyone enjoy fascinating people?”

  “I met Byron once at a party.”

  “Really?” He’d met Byron at White’s, but he didn’t feel the need to mention it.

  “You have the look of him.”

  He nearly jumped out of his skin as she touched his arm. Stroked it. “Do I?”

  “Mmm. Such beautiful brown eyes. And that curl on your forehead. I imagine the ladies swoon if you so much as smile at them.”

  He smiled at her then. It wasn’t intended, it just happened. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had someone faint on me.”

  She batted her lashes. “More’s the pity.”

  “It seems to me it would be awkward,” he had to add. It would be, wouldn’t it?

  “Perhaps. Depending on the company.” She laughed, a melodic tinkle. “I hear you have a lovely conservatory here in Sutton. Would you show it to me sometime?”

  He nodded. “I would love to.”

  “Excellent.” She glanced around the room and leaned in, whispering, “How about now?”

  Egads.

  He tried not to lurch back, but she was being way too forward for comfort. “Perhaps tomorrow? I do have other guests.” He bowed to her and then turned away, but not before he saw her serene expression curl into something of a snarl.

  Glorianna Pickering? Louisa Mountbatten? Cecily Peck? Had Mother deliberately invited the flightiest, most irritating debutantes on the market? Clearly, she had.

  He headed for his mother, thinking they needed to have a chat, but he caught a glimpse of Meg’s blue dress out of the corner of his eye. She was on Hisdick’s arm. They were leaving the room.

  Alarms blared in his head, and he changed course to follow them.

  Unfortunately, the party was a crush, so it took him a while to make it through the crowd and by then, the hallways was empty. With his pulse pounding, he rushed down the hall, madly opening doors.