“Of course.” Meg gathered her coat and book and eased out of the coach. Though the sharp wind cut through her immediately, she turned back and shot the dowager a broad smile. “I’ll see you in Sutton.”
“Bless you, dear,” Anne said.
Mawbry nodded effusively. “Bless you.”
Meg had to smile as she made her way to the Coach from Hell waiting patiently just ahead. Poor Mawbry had had quite a scare. She came alongside the window and saw two adorable, perfectly identical faces peering out and she arranged her features into a glower so they would know she was cross. The faces disappeared.
“We didn’t do it,” the two chorused as she opened the door and stepped inside.
Meg surveyed them dourly. “Miss Friss was the best governess in the country, you know.”
“Miss Priss, you mean,” one of them said. Meg suspected it was Lizzie, but in the shadows of the cab, it was hard to tell.
“And you’ve run her off.” The coach lurched into motion, barely covering their hurrahs. She tugged on her gloves and gave each of them a sharp glance. “Whatever will your papa say?”
That sobered them. Their eyes widened and they shared a speaking glance, the type that twins often had. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”
“How do you propose I avoid telling him? When the first thing he will have to do when he arrives in Sutton is hire a new governess?”
“Why can’t you be our governess?” Vicca asked, crawling into Meg’s lap. She knew it was Vicca; Vicca was the one who got her way by being charming. So like her father.
“Because I am your grandmother’s companion.” That was a job in itself. Meg didn’t mind, though. She was grateful to Anne for taking her in when George died and Cyril inherited. God alone knew where she would have ended up otherwise.
“But we like you.”
“Is it not possible to find a governess you do like?” And one who could manage their high spirits?
Lizzie put out a lip. “We like you.”
“And I like you.” Untrue. She loved them. They were a charming mix of Tessa and Jonathan. There was no way she could not love them. “But you have to understand, proper young ladies do not terrorize their governesses.”
“We didn’t terrorize her,” Vicca said.
Lizzie nodded. “Not really.”
But then, they both grinned, and they were alarming grins indeed.
Meg blew out a breath. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Ballocks.”
They both loved that she cursed, and laughed. “All right,” Lizzie said. “We might have waited until she was asleep…”
“And?”
Vicca smiled up at her. Her little face was so sweet. It was almost unthinkable that she might say, “And then we set her shoe on fire.”
Meg gaped. “You what?”
Lizzie crossed her arms and huffed. “It was only a little fire.”
“A tiny little coal.” Vicca held her fingers up, showing the smallest space.
“You cannot set your governess on fire! Honestly. What are we going to do with you two?”
“It wasn’t our fault,” Vicca said.
“She smelled funny.”
“We didn’t like the way she smelled.”
“It wasn’t our fault.”
They stared at her then, two identical, beautiful, familiar faces, wide-eyed and innocent.
She wasn’t taken in for a moment.
“Lie down, both of you, and try to sleep. We’ll be in Sutton in a few hours and I don’t want any trouble.” They both did as she bade them and repentantly so, but she felt the need to say, in her sternest tone, “And do not set me on fire.”
To which they giggled.
JONATHAN PEMBROKE ARRIVED at the Sutton house long after dark. To his relief, the house was quiet. Given the letter from his mother, and its companion from Mawbry, he’d been expecting something akin to a circus. Sanders took his coat and pointed him toward the parlor when he asked after his mother’s whereabouts.
Indeed, he found her there, snoozing by the fire with a glass of ratafia in her hand. He removed it and set it on the table, which woke her.
“Mother.” He kissed her papery cheek.
“Darling. You came.”
He huffed as he sat in the chair beside her. “Did you imagine I wouldn’t? Once I got your note?”
“I wasn’t sure.” She took a sip of her drink to hide her smile. Of course she knew he would come. If only to divine what she was up to.
“What’s this I hear about a house party?”
His mother shrugged. She had that expression on her face, the one that made little hairs prickle on his nape.
“Mother?”
“Why not have a party? This is the season, after all.”
“Yes. It is the season. In London.”
She waved her hand. “Sutton is practically London.”
“Not hardly.” It was practically the back of beyond. Ten miles away. “No one will come to a party in Sutton during the season.”
“Of course they will, with a duke inviting them.”
“No one has house parties in winter.”
“Exactly. It’s a brilliant idea. People will be clamoring to attend. Besides, clearly, you are not adept at meeting people on your own.”
“People?” He frowned at her. “I meet lots of people.”
“In gaming hells? What kind of quality people are those?”
Ah… “Dukes and earls, mostly.”
Her face scrunched up. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” He inspected his fingernails. Indeed, he knew where this was going. It always went there. With her. “The last thing I want, after a brutal session in Parliament, is a hunting party.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Mother, you are so transparent. You’re having a party to trot out all the young fillies for my delectation. Their mamas must be slathering.”
“Honestly, Jonathan.” She sighed. “You are so full of yourself.”
He blinked.
“Whatever makes you think the party’s for you?”
“I’m the duke?”
“Precisely. Dukes can find their own mates.” She gave him a quick up and down. “When they are so inclined.”
“So who is this party for?”
“Whom.”
“Whom.” Honestly, she was so irritating at times.
“Meg Chalmers, of course.”
“Meg?” He didn’t boggle, but just barely. “She’s on the shelf.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, he felt a hot tide creep up his cheeks. He was genuinely fond of Meg, and she was younger than him. It was a shame that society marked her as too old for marriage.
His mother pinned him with a reproving glare he was certain he deserved. “She’s not yet four and twenty. I was older than that when I gave birth to you.”
“You’re throwing a party to find a husband for your companion?”
His mother batted her lashes. “I feel bad about what happened to her.”
So did he, in point of fact.
“Promise you will help.”
Dear God. “Help? How can I help?”
Her eyes lit up and she leaned closer. “You must invite your friends of course.” Her forehead wrinkled. “The decent ones.”
“That is quite a presumption.”
“Pardon?”
“That I have decent friends.”
“Oh.” She laughed, and then she sobered. “What about Bentley?”
“Bentley?” He gaped at her. “Bentley is an inveterate gambler.”
“Well, that’s no good. How about Exeter?”
“He’s a sot.”
“Lud, Jonathan. What kind of friends do you have?” She tapped her chin. “How about Moncrieff?”
Moncrieff had a serious proclivity for trollops. Hardly the marrying kind, but he couldn’t tell his mother that, or he might be in danger of proving her point. “Let me think on it.”
“You do that. And remember, it’s Meg. She’s practically family. She deserves someone nice. It was beastly what Cyril did to her.”
Jonathan murmured something and nodded, but he didn’t mention the fact that this was the way of the world. Though he would never have done so, many men ousted the families of the previous lord when they claimed the title. It was not looked highly upon by the ton, but that didn’t stop it happening. “I’m just glad she had you to take her in, Mother,” he said.