Dukes By the Dozen

Which led to Louisa Mountbatten’s harp solo, some obscure baroque piece that, apparently, required an introduction longer than the actual song. When she returned to her seat, she gifted him with a beaming smile. “Quite lovely,” he assured her when she asked.

It probably had been.

At least she’d hit the notes.

Cicely Peck was not to be outdone. After Miss Mountbatten’s apparent triumph—hitting all the notes and all—she sprang to her feet and pushed her way to the piano, where Susana was preparing to play. There was a hushed discussion between them—Jonathan only caught a few words—but the jist of it was Cicely wasn’t on the program, but she insisted on performing anyway. Naturally, Susana being the gentlewoman that she was, only snarled a little bit before giving over.

After which, Miss Peck played the piano and sang a song about the joys of motherhood that Jonathan suspected she’d written herself.

It was a relief when Susana took over when Miss Peck finished, playing a Beethoven sonata—and playing it flawlessly. Though everyone had clapped for everyone, the applause for his sister was infinitely more sincere.

Thank God, it said. Someone who can actually play.

The next act was also the finale. Or, as it was called in the halls of Whites, the Finally.

Jonathan was surprised to see his daughters appear, in lovely dresses—and tiaras. He didn’t know why he was surprised. He’d asked for them to perform. But that had been hours ago. Weeks, if one accounted for the torment of the last few sets.

The crowd oohed and awed and clapped as they took their places, and then Susana began to play. Ah. A Christmas song. How lovely. His girls sang the first verse of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” in a charming soprano, which was delightful.

Granted, they were his daughters. He was supposed to find them delightful, but the audience seemed to agree.

What they didn’t expect—what no one expected—what that they would be joined for the second verse by Meg.

Jonathan had heard Meg sing before. She had a beautiful voice that was rich and full. She sang the second verse by herself and then, the three joined their voices for a three-part harmony that gave him chills.

When the last note faded away, he leaped to his feet and applauded madly, barely aware that everyone else did the same—of course, Cicely Peck waited to see what everyone was doing before she joined in.

“Encore! Encore” Someone shouted. Jonathan suspected it was Hisdick.

Vicca grinned as she and Lizzie bowed. “That’s the only song we practiced,” she said with a cheeky smile.

“But Meg knows more. Sing the Italian one, Meg,” she urged.

Naturally, Meg flushed and shook her head, but the crowd would not let her off the hook.

Silence settled in the crowd, save Cicely’s snort, as Meg prepared.

When she opened her mouth and began to sing—his favorite aria as it happened, “Voi che sapete” from Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro, each perfect note wafted through the room like a heavenly air. He sat, spellbound, with the others, as she created magic with her voice in a stunning soprano. As she finished, the room was hushed, then rocked with hurrahs and bravissimos. Everyone rushed her to congratulate her, which was annoying, because he couldn’t reach her.

But his daughters, worming their way through the crowd, found him and hopped on his lap. Together. “Did you like our song, Papa?” Vicca asked.

“It was exquisite,” he said, kissing them both on the forehead. They beamed and his heart warmed.

“Oh,” Cicely said in a syrupy voice at his side. “Are these your daughters?”

“Yes. This is Victoria, and this little darling is Elizabeth.”

“We’re named for queens,” they informed her.

“Isn’t that sweet. How long did you have to practice?”

Lizzie made a face. “All morning.”

Ah. That must be where Meg had been. He should have known.

“Well, your song was lovely,” Louisa put in. “How old are you?”

The girls held up five fingers each.

“That was quite impressive for five.” She was something of a chatterbox, but Jonathan had to admit, Louisa had a more natural way about her with the girls than Cicely, whose demeanor made him wonder if his daughters were sticky. “Shall we go celebrate with lemonade and cakes?” she asked.

The girls looked to him and when he nodded, shouted hurrah!

“Aren’t they darling?” Cicely asked as Louisa led the way to the refreshment table in the corner.

He shrugged, keeping his eye on the trio. “I’m partial. But isn’t Louisa wonderful with them?” He wasn’t sure why he said this, but was glad he had when Cicely gasped, leapt to her feet, and practically ran to catch up.

Excellent.

Time to escape.

He could talk to Meg later, when she wasn’t surrounded by slavering dogs.

Before anyone could intercept him, he slipped out of the salon and made his way to the library, and the waiting decanter of whisky.

He’d definitely earned a drink.