Dukes By the Dozen

“But that is all beside the point. You are here and you shall have a wonderful time. Come now. Let’s go speak with Everton. Have you met him yet?”

Meg made a face. “He spits when he talks.”

“Oh dear. How about Mattingly?”

Mattingly was nice. Funny. Clever. He just wasn’t Jonathan.

Meg shrugged.

“Surely there is someone you would like to talk to.”

“I enjoyed conversing with Hisdick…” He was extraordinarily well-read and had an excellent grasp of subtext.

“All right.” Susana linked their arms once more and they made their way over to the corner, where Hisdick had once again positioned himself and they had a lovely conversation about authors such as Sarah Burnley, Elizabeth Thomas, and Jane West, though Susana didn’t contribute much. She simply stood guard.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?”

Jonathan winced as he heard his mother enter the room. For a second, he thought to hide his whisky, then reminded himself he was a duke and he could drink whenever he damned well pleased. So he lifted his glass. “I needed a break.”

She sniffed. “Susana suggested perhaps you weren’t up to hosting.”

Susana had the right of it. The last thing he wanted to do right now was host. He wanted to go into the salon, sweep Meg off her feet, and carry her bodily to his chambers.

But he couldn’t. Damn it all anyway.

“You must go back. The card games are about to start.”

He forbore rolling his eyes, but just barely. He might be seated with one of them. “I don’t like to play cards.”

Her snort echoed the room. “You like cards enough when you go to gaming hells.”

“Gaming hells aren’t dangerous.”

“Well, I never. This is a party in your own home. You are not in danger.”

“Ah, but I am.” He refilled his glass. “Did you know Miss Peck suggested I take her to the conservatory? Tonight?”

“I’m sure she didn’t.”

“I’m sure she did.” Also, his mother could not have noticed the deep gouges on his forearm from her talons. “Mother, I appreciate you inviting them all, but…”

“But what?” Her eyes went wide and all innocent-like.

He stared at her for a moment. “You have to know that none of them would suit.”

“None of them would suit?” The fact that she parroted him and batted her lashes while doing it made suspicion bubble within him. Oh, he knew her. He knew her well. He just hadn’t suspected she could be so manipulative.

“But you didn’t want me to settle on one of them, did you?”

Her innocent look intensified. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Jonathan, you are talking in riddles.”

“Am I? Who is the woman you really want me to consider. Just tell me. It will save some time.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She shifted her intense attention to the pleats in her skirt.

“Is it the Malbury girl? What’s her name? Portico?”

“Portia. And no. She’s spotty.”

“Drake’s daughter? Petunia?”

“Priscilla. And no. She’s mannish.”

“All right. Who then?”

The dowager sniffed. “I have no intention of choosing your wife for you, and frankly, I am insulted at the allusion that I do. You’re a grown man and you can choose your own wife. Now, come back to the party. You’re going to play cards and you’re going to like it.”

With a command like that, he could hardly disobey.

But he took his whisky with him.

TRUTH BE TOLD, once the card games started, the party was tolerable. Probably because a lot of the guests left at that time to go to bed. And probably because Jonathan managed to be seated with Mattingly, St. Clare, and Everton. And, as they all knew, Everton was an easy mark.

Pity they weren’t playing for money.

For her part, Meg sat with Susana and Christian and Hisdick. There was far too much laughter coming from that side of the room. It almost ruined his concentration.

But at least, from this vantage point, he could keep his eye on her, and he found, as long as he could keep his eye on her, he could remain calm.

It wasn’t until very late that Meg stood, Susana with her, and said their good nights.

Jonathan wanted, quite desperately, to follow. But he could hardly do that, so he stayed where he was and finished his hand. Christian and Hisdick wandered over to their table and co-opted some empty chairs, and the men—the only ones left in the room—gave up on cards and settled for a nice conversation. With whisky.

Oh, it was all so pleasant.

Until Mattingly said, “I say, Devon. Thank you for inviting me. I can’t tell you how taken I am with Miss Chalmers. Arsy yarsey, head over heels.”

And something bitter shifted in Jonathan’s gut.

“Oh, yes,” St. Clare said, with a glint in his eye. “She is lovely. Her brother was George Chalmers, yes? I remember him from Eton. Good sort.”

His glass was empty. He cast around for a fresh bottle.

“A shame what the new baron did to her,” Mattingly continued. “The least he could have done was see her settled.”

St. Clare grinned. “Not that I’m complaining. She’s here for us now.”

No. No, she wasn’t.

“I plan to ask her for a waltz tomorrow night.”

Mattingly was an annoying arse.

“I will too.” Lovely. Now Hisdick was in the mix.