Dukes By the Dozen

Widowed Jonathan Pembroke, the esteemed Duke of Devon, has been dodging marital bliss for far too long. At least, according to his mother. It’s time for her son to marry again and settle down, preferably with a woman who can manage his hellion daughters. So she plans a Christmas party, replete with mistletoe, to vet the eligible partis. She enlists her companion—and Jonathan’s childhood friend—to help in this quest. Which is awkward. Because down-on-her-luck and decidedly un-duchess like Meg Chalmers might want to capture the duke under the mistletoe herself.

Editor: Fedora Chen

For Meg

CHAPTER 1

December 1813

En route from Devon to Sutton

NOTHING WAS MORE unpleasant than a long coach ride, unless it was in the midst of winter. Fortunately Meg was in the dowager’s coach and there was a brazier by her feet. She pulled her cloak closer and closed her eyes, trying to sleep.

Or, if truth be told, trying not to be flustered.

There was no need to be flustered. In point of fact, it was the height of foolishness to even imagine there was anything to be flustered about.

She was going to see Jonathan again.

That was all.

They were friends. They’d grown up together in the wilds of Devon. They’d known each other their whole lives, though she’d only seen him in bits and spots since he married Tessa.

Not that she’d been avoiding him.

Once he married her best friend and all.

It wasn’t that Meg had been jealous that Tessa had landed the son of a duke. She’d been happy for them. After all, she loved them both.

She’d just loved one of them more than she should have.

When Tessa had died giving birth to their third child—who also passed—Meg had been brokenhearted. Everyone had been.

Jonathan had taken it hard, blaming himself for some godforsaken reason. He’d sent his daughters to live with his mother in Devon and sequestered himself in his London house, making only intermittent visits home.

This was the first time Meg would see him in two years.

Of course, her life had changed immeasurably since Tessa’s death as well. And not in a good way.

“Are you listening to me?” the dowager’s sharp tone captured Meg’s attention. Anne Pembroke, the Dowager Duchess of Pembroke, was rarely sharp. Fortunately, her question was not directed at Meg, but at Mawbry, her long-suffering secretary, who sat at Meg’s side.

“Yes, Your Grace. Of course, Your Grace.”

He hadn’t been listening—clearly he’d been snoozing—but he made a good show of attentiveness.

“I said, take out your pen and inkpot. We need to make plans.”

“Plans, Your Grace?” Mawbry had the unfortunate habit of repeating everything the dowager said, which was annoying, even to Meg.

“Yes. We are going to throw a house party.

“A house party?” Meg had heard Mawbry screech before, but not in this particular timbre.

Anne glared him down and nodded. “Of course. It’s the perfect time for it, what with the holiday and all.”

“But mum…” His eyes bulged in that way they had, making him resemble a bulldog. The muttonchops didn’t help. “No one will come to Sutton in the dead of winter.”

Regal nostrils flared. Indeed, how dare he contradict the dowager? “Nonsense. Sutton is only a few miles from London. And everyone is in London. Now take out your pen.”

As Mawbry complied, with a resigned sigh, Anne turned to Meg. “What do you think? A Christmas theme?”

“I think that would be lovely.”

“Yes. Of course it will be.”

Meg cleared her throat and attempted a blasé tone. “Do you think the duke will come?”

Anne’s brow wrinkled, as though she might have suffered the same worry. “Probably not. If we were having the party in Devon. But we’re not.” She winked. “If the mountain won’t come to Muhammed, and all that.”

Jonathan was a large man, but far from a mountain.

The dowager frowned and shook her head. “Of course he will come,” she said, to herself, perhaps. “His entire family will be there. He cannot deny his girls a Christmas with their father.” That, of course, was true. If there was one soft spot in the Duke of Pembroke’s heart, it was his five-year-old twin daughters, whom he adored.

Of course, he hadn’t seen them lately…

“We must invite all the best families,” Anne said, waving her hand in the general direction of Mawbry’s poised pen. “Particularly the most eligible debutantes.”