Hisdick appeared next, looking slightly uncomfortable in his suit. He’d slicked back his fly-away hair and gone so far as to wear a cravat, which was saying something. Hisdick was never fond of things tied around his neck.
“Hallo,” Jonathan greeted him. “I’m so glad you came.” Hisdick rarely went out—anywhere. He preferred to be closeted somewhere in a dark room with his books and a candle, which was probably why Jonathan had thought of him for Meg. She loved books too.
“Thank you for the invitation.” Hisdick wobbled slightly from side to side, as though the floor were moving. But then, he’d always been more at home on a frigate. Before his appointment to the House of Commons, he’d been a seaman. He’d never been completely comfortable on dry land. “I must say, your home is quite grand.”
“Thank you.”
Hisdick leaned in. “Which one is she?” he asked, eyeing the groupings in the salon.
Something lodged in Jonathan’s throat. “Ahem. She?”
“The woman you mentioned in the letter?”
“Ah. Meg. She’s not come down yet.” Jonathan forced a smile, but it cost him. He needed to remember why this party was being thrown. It was for Meg. To meet a man. Gads, how the thought irked him.
And now, seeing Hisdick here, in this company, a horrifying prospect occurred to him. Surely he hadn’t invited his friend because he wasn’t a handsome, charming, wealthy lord? Because he was a little quirky and something less than a romantic figure? Surely he hadn’t chosen him in the hopes that he would be one fewer man Meg might fancy?
A lowering thought. And one that posed more questions than he was capable of entertaining at the moment.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to.
Hisdick’s gasp forestalled any ethical dilemma he might have been tempted to confront.
He turned and followed his friend’s gaze, and his lungs locked.
A woman stood at the top of the stairs. A vision in blue.
It took him a moment—longer than it should have—to realize it was Meg.
He hadn’t seen her like this, in a fancy dress with her hair done up, since her season. But even then, she hadn’t been so…magnificent. Her stance was regal, her expression serene. She looked like… Well hell, she looked like a duchess.
It poleaxed him.
He barely even noticed Christian and Susana—with a smug smile—on either side of her as she floated down the stairs. His heart thudded, his head went woozy. Something in his breeches tightened.
Good glory, she was exquisite.
Had he really invited men here for her?
What a fool.
Because it was only now that he realized the truth of it.
He wanted her for himself.
“Who is that?” Hisdick asked. “She’s stunning.”
“That is Miss Meg Chalmers,” Mother answered. Jonathan was incapable of speech.
But he was capable of glares. He offered one to Hisdick for asking and one to Mother for answering. They both ignored him. Both entranced by the sight of his Meg coming towards them.
She smiled when she saw him. A warm, bright greeting that made his cockles tingle. He wasn’t sure where cockles were, but he had his suspicions.
“Your Grace.” She gave a curtsey and put her gloved hand in his. He didn’t want to let go.
“Meg,” Mother said with a sigh. “Don’t you look lovely?”
“She does,” Christian said, earning a glare as well. “It was a Susana’s doing,” his friend said when he noticed the frown.
Susana laughed. “Hardly. All I did was loan her a dress.”
“And the sapphires, of course,” Meg said, touching the bluer than blue stones at her throat.
“You look…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Words failed him.
“Doesn’t she though?” Susana said with a smile. “Now come, darling.” She hooked her arm in Meg’s and towed her off into the room, presumably to make introductions. Jonathan didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to stay here by his side. Where she belonged.
But what could he do?
There was propriety to follow after all.
He hated bloody propriety.
Once Meg had arrived, the last thing Jonathan wanted to do was stand in the receiving line, but there was nothing for it. Mother wouldn’t let him leave. Not until all the guests were accounted for.
Was it wrong to be peeved that Mattingly and St. Clare were late?
By the time they came down the stairs, the party was in full swing. It was a small crowd, for a London soiree, but an absolute crush for a house party with over fifty guests. Mother had arranged for a string quartet to play in the niche, and a full buffet featuring her favorite holiday offerings. But Jonathan had no desire to eat.
Once his friends appeared, all he wanted to do was go find Meg. She’d disappeared into the throng.
He worried that she would be out of her depth with the mavens of the ton, and the mothers of the young girls Mother had invited. He hated the thought that she might be uncomfortable, or feel out of place. She hadn’t been to a real party in…
Well, he had no idea.
“So,” Mattingly said, rubbing his hands together. “Where is she?”
The question was beginning to annoy him. “Who?”
“Who?” St. Clare chuckled. “This woman we’ve come all this way to meet. You must introduce us so we can take her measure. Oh, I say, is that Hisdick?”
Mattingly whistled. “And who is that lovely creature with him?”
Jonathan scanned the crowd. His stomach tightened as he spotted Hisdick in a corner, where he was wont to be. But he was sitting with Meg. And she was laughing.
Laughing!
He set his teeth and headed in that direction, ignoring Mattingly and St. Clare as best he could.
As he approached, Meg smiled at him. “Hallo, Your Grace. Is the receiving line finished?”
“Quite finished.” He tried not to snap.
“This is a lovely party,” Hisdick said. Was he aware there was a crumb clinging to his moustache? Probably not. Hisdick never was aware of much.
“What are you two doing?” Surely this was not the accusation it sounded.
“We’re talking,” Meg said with an elated glint in her eye, “About Pride and Prejudice.”
Jonathan frowned at her. “Odd topic.”
She laughed. “It’s a book, silly.”
“By Jane Austen,” Hisdick felt required to add. “It’s a fiction.”
Meg nodded. “But a lovely fiction.”
“Well.” What could he say to that? “I don’t read fiction.”
Hisdick reared back. “Well, you should.”
“I don’t have time.”
“Perhaps when Parliament is out?” Meg suggested.
Unfortunately, Jonathan had no time to respond. Because his erstwhile friends, Mattingly and St. Clare, descended just then.
“I say, Devon. Aren’t you going to introduce us to this lovely vision?”
No.
But hell. Did he have any choice? Begrudgingly, he made the introductions and resolved to stay by her side all night.
What a pity his mother had other ideas. She found him and took his arm and skillfully led him away to a pocket of guests that included Glorianna Pickering. Miraculously, everyone else melted away, leaving the two of them together. Once the girl realized what had happened, she paled.
“I-I. Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Miss Pickering. How are you enjoying the party?”
One would think such a question would not be a stumper. Lovely Miss Pickering’s mouth came open and then didn’t close. But no words came out.
He leaned closer and whispered, “A nod will do.”
Of this, apparently, she was capable.
They stood there in silence and he tried to think of yes or no questions he could ask, but his mind wasn’t working properly. He kept glancing over to where Meg was holding court. Hisdick, Mattingly, and St. Clare had been joined by several other young men—none of whom Jonathan had invited. A prickle ran up his nape. Who were they? What were they saying? And why did she keep laughing, for pity’s sake?