Dukes By the Dozen

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. Granted, 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.

She had no idea why he was amused, so she sniffed. “I came for a book.”

“Of course.” He waved at the decanter on the table at his elbow. “A whisky may help.” Before she could demur, he poured her one. “Sit. Please. I would like to talk to you.”

She should go. Really, she should. But for some reason, she didn’t want to. With a sigh, she sat, as he asked, and lifted the tumbler to her lips. The liquor burned her throat and she coughed.

Jonathan grinned. “Good, isn’t it? It comes from Ian’s distillery.”

She forced a smile. Though she’d never met Sara’s husband, she’d heard wonderful things about him. “Helps, having a brother-in-law with his own distillery, does it?”

His grin widened. “I am never without friends.”

“I can imagine.”

He went back to staring at the fire, which prompted her to ask, “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

“Ah. Yes. But first, why haven’t you been at dinner?”

She blinked. Dinner? “Dinner is a family event.”

He frowned. “You’re family.”

Oh dear. “No, Jonathan,” she said with a sigh. “I’m not. I know my place.”

“Do you eat dinner with Mother at home?”

“Of course…but that’s different.”

“How is it different?”

She had no idea why this conversation seemed to be annoying him. This was the way of the world, after all. “For one thing, she hates to eat alone and she claims that Mawbry puts her off her food.”

He laughed at that, but it was more of a snort, and he tried to hide it. “So if we want you to come to dinner, it must be a command?”

“Something like that.” She proffered a smug smile, but it might have been a result of the whisky, which—now that she’d had another sip—was quite warm and pleasant.

“Well, I expect you at dinner tomorrow night then.”

Meg started and she frowned at him. “Ballocks,” she said.

It surprised her when he threw back his head and laughed. “Do you speak that way to my daughters?”

“Only when the three of us are alone.” My, this whisky was something. She lifted the tumbler and observed the colors. “Does one always tell the truth when one drinks this?”