“I miss them too.”

Because the mood had shifted, she felt she could add, “And they need a mother.”

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.

Probably because of her reaction. When he’d told her of his mother’s plans, she’d been downright horrified. Her face had gone pallid, she’d turned round with barely a word and plodded to her room. Could it be that Meg had accepted spinsterhood? That she was happy being alone? That thought made him slightly ill as well. He couldn’t countenance it. Not someone like her, so full of life and joy. She deserved love. Deserved to be cossetted and cared for. She deserved to have someone.

It was just the someones he had in mind that irked him.

He had no idea why.

With a sigh, he sanded and folded the list and stood, calling for Rodgers to come dress him for the day.

As he made his way down the curving staircase, he heard cries from the library and, recognizing those voices, changed course. He pushed open the door to see his girls nestled at Meg’s feet, staring in rapt attention as she read to them in whispered tones. Her voice rose as she came to some climax in the book and the girls squealed.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

The second they heard the sound, they sprang to their feet, shrieked in delight, and charged him like Huns on the battlefield. He barely braced himself before they hit.

“Papa! Papa!”

He picked them up, one by one, and swung them around, and then called them by each other’s names, because he knew it delighted them to think he couldn’t tell them apart in their mischief. Although he knew which was which. He could see it in their eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with a smile at Meg.

“We’re reading,” she said primly, holding up a copy of The Swiss Family Robinson by Wyss.

“Ah,” he said. “Adventure.”

“On a tropical island!” Lizzie cried.

“I should like to go to a tropical island,” Vicca said. She’d always been the more daring of the two.

“They wanted to read this.” Meg gestured to a translation of Grimm’s Fairy Tales on the table. “But I decided it was far too ghastly for such tender minds.”

He took the book and thumbed through. “Excellent judgement,” he said with a laugh. How like his girls to prefer horror.

“Papa,” Vicca said, clutching his hand and staring up at him pleadingly. “Can we go outside and play in the snow? Meg said we had to wait until it was warmer.”

“Did she?” He glanced at Meg who nodded.

“You can take them, though,” she said, oh-so-helpfully. And then, when he grimaced, she chuckled. “You did say you wanted to spend more time with them.” She stood, brushed out her skirts, and patted down her hair. It annoyed him that she’d done it up in a tight, governess-like bun. Last night it had been down.

“You can come with us,” Lizzie told her earnestly.

Meg sniffed. “And get snowballs down my nape? I think not. Besides, now that your father is here, I need to go help your grandmother plan the party. She’s becoming annoyed with Mawbry for some reason.”

Jonathan knew damn well why his mother was annoyed with Mawbry—she so often was—but he also knew damn well that Meg was escaping. “Are you deserting me?” he asked in a petulant tone.

Her smile was broad and bright. “That I am,” she said, and before he could protest further, she whisked from the room, leaving him alone with two avaricious fiends who very badly wanted to pelt him with snowballs.

That was how they spent the rest of the morning, out in the snow, freezing and laughing and engaging in a very lopsided war. It occurred to him, several times, that what this family needed was another male. Or, at the very least, someone to fight on his side.

They were all tired and wet and happy when a carriage rolled up the lane, interrupting the battle. Jonathan, for one, was relieved to see his sister, Susana, poke her head out the window and wave.

Thank God.

Susana had two boys of her own who would, no doubt, help wear the girls out.

Susana also had the good sense to bring a governess, so as they all trooped into the house, this angel herded all the children upstairs for lunch and a much-needed nap time. Jonathan stripped off his wet outer clothing, and followed his sister and her husband, Christian, to the parlor, where Mother and Meg were having tea. He dropped into a chair with a heavy sigh, looking on dotingly as Meg and Susana greeted each other with warm hugs and kisses.

They’d all grown up together, in Devon, but Meg and Susana hadn’t seen each other since last Christmas.

As they sipped warm tea and feasted on cucumber sandwiches and cakes, the two young women chattered on, catching up. Susana did most of the talking, he noticed, sharing the adventures she’d had in London and in Inverness, where they had gone to visit her twin sister, Sara, and her Scottish husband. And wasn’t it a shame that Sara couldn’t come for Christmas? But what a blessing that she was increasing again.