Dukes By the Dozen

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.