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.
Yes, Susana went on and on. But then, what did Meg have to share, really? She’d spent the last two years immured in the country at Pembroke running errands for his mother.
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.”