Dukes By the Dozen

by Alyssa Alexander

  Miss Ainsley nodded. “Would you like them to perform?”

  A wicked smile curled on his lips. Subject his onerous guests to his daughters’ caterwauling? “Yes, please.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.”

  He nodded to her and turned away, but then had another thought. “And Miss Ainsley?”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Let’s have them wear those tiaras, shall we?”

  Chapter 8

  Meg awoke well rested the next morning, which was a minor miracle, because she and Susana had stayed up half the night talking. She was also excited for the day. The dowager had asked her perform at the musicale that afternoon, but she hadn’t decided yet what she might sing. So she was thrilled when Vicca and Lizzie burst into her room and jumped on her bed, announcing they were to sing as well and could they please do a trio?

  The girls were followed by Susana, who had a wide smile on her face. “Good morning,” she said as she plopped down on the bed as well. “I suppose you’ve heard the news. The girls are to sing this afternoon.”

  “And we’re to wear our tiaras!” Vicca crowed.

  Lizzie bounced up and down, chanting, “Tiaras, tiaras, tiaras!”

  “How lovely.” Meg sat up and settled against the pillows. “I would love to sing with you.” They did so many times in Devon, though usually not for an audience. “What would you like to sing?”

  “Ave Maria,” Lizzie suggested, but Vicca made a face.

  “That’s not Christmassy enough.”

  “Does it need to be Christmassy?” Susana asked.

  The girls stared at her as though she’d sprouted a second nose. Or a third.

  “Of course it does,” Vicca said. “But Ave Maria isn’t in English, and the guests might not understand the words.” Meg nodded, though she knew the truth. Vicca simply didn’t care for all the high notes. The minx scrunched up her adorable face and said, “I think we should sing ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’.” Yes. Both of them could hit all those notes.

  “I like that idea,” Meg said. “Because you two are angels.”

  “Mama is an angel,” Vicca corrected her. “We are girls.”

  “But we could sing it for Mama,” Lizzie suggested.

  Meg nodded, trying to ignore the tears prickling her eyes. “I think that is a wonderful sentiment.” Tessa would love it.

  “There we go. It’s decided.” Susana was nothing if not all business. “Now, let’s go practice.”

  “Aren’t the boys going to sing too?” Vicca asked, as Susana bundled them out so Meg could dress.

  “No one thinks that’s a good idea,” Susan said starchily, and both Vicca and Lizzie chortled. Because everyone knew boys couldn’t sing.

  * * *

  Jonathan searched for Meg all morning to no avail. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say to her—surely it wasn’t to ask where her room was—but he knew he needed to see her. His desperation was stoked by the fact that Mattingly, St. Clare, and Hisdick were apparently searching for her as well.

  They found him in the salon at breakfast and hounded him about how beautiful and charming she was, and how she would make a perfect society wife, until his hair wanted to stand on end.

  She was beautiful and charming and would make a perfect society wife. All that was true. What irked him was that he hadn’t been able to stake his claim and his soul howled to think one of them might get to her first and convince her he was the man for her.

  He wasn’t. He never would be.

  She was his.

  If only he could claim her.

  To his utter and complete consternation, he didn’t see her again until he wandered into the salon after lunch for the musicale. She stood at the piano, going over music with Susana, but the room was so crowded by then, it would be impossible to have a private conversation.

  To make matters worse, Cicely Peck found him and grasped his arm and insisted on sitting with him. Louisa Mountbatten took the seat at his other side.

  He felt somewhat like a reluctant kitten being petted by two overzealous girls.

  When Meg met his gaze and smiled, he sent her a help me look, but it only made her smile more. Clearly there was no help from that quarter.

  Nor was his mother willing to help, when he sent her the same look. Nor his sister.

  He was a duke, for Christ’s sake. How was he not in control of the situation?

  But he was not. He was forced to sit there in a wholly uncomfortable chair and listen to the musicale. And there was no whisky to be found.

  Whose idea had it been to serve lemonade? They should be shot.

  Also—he determined moments later when Charlotte Everton sat at the piano—whomever had selected the performers should be shot.

  Or perhaps he should be shot. It might save time and misery.

  There was one sure thing that could be said about Miss Everton’s playing. She definitely hit the keys. Pity she hit more than Bach had intended. Often, at the same time.

  It was an effort not to wince as she butchered one of his favorites.

  He clapped when she was done.

  Because she was done.

  But he shouldn’t have been so happy to see her exit the stage, because Glorianna Pickering was up next with a curious rendition of “When Daisies Pied”. For a girl who was not inclined to speak, she could certainly screech. Her cuckoos were excruciating.

  Fortunately, it was a shortish song and over soon.

  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.

  * * *

  The last thing Meg expected, after her performance, was to be surrounded by all the guests and be gushed over as she was. It took quite some time to thank them all. Long enough for her to recover from her embarrassment at the fuss they made. When it was over, she was exceedingly warm, thirsty, and tired. Certainly ready to escape, although Hisdick, Mattingly, and St. Clare seemed inclined to follow her wherever she went.

  Fortunately, there was one place they could not follow, so she headed to the water closet. She stayed there for a long time, until she was certain they were gone.

  When she peeped out to find herself alone, she breathed a sigh of relief and vowed never to sing before a crowd again.

  She knew that after the musicale, a tour of the conservatory was planned, so she didn’t head there. Rather she sneaked off to her favorite room in the house, the library.

  It was quiet and dark and cool. Exactly what she needed.

  Despite the business of the morning and the melee of the musicale, she’d been beset with one single thought.

  That kiss from Jonathan.

  It had dominated her mind since last night, but she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  Jonathan wasn’t the kind of man to run around kissing girls all higgledy-piggledy. In fact, since Tessa, she doubted he’d even looked at another woman. Who would? Tessa had been a diamond of the first water.

  But he had kissed her.

  It had been the single most thrilling moment of her life.

  And the most confusing.

  She made her way through the darkened room to the window seat, where she loved to sit and read and, occasionally, look out at the drifts of snow covering the garden. She wondered what the garden might look like in spring, but she knew she would probably never find out. She certainly would never come to Sutton House again. At least, not after Jonathan married.

  The thought depressed her.

  “That is a fierce frown.”

  His voice, in a dark rumble from the king’s chair by the fire, surprised her.

  “Jonathan!” She huffed a laugh. “I was just thinking of you.”

  Oh dear. Thank heavens he couldn’t see her flush in the shadows.

  “Were you?” He stood and made his way over, then sat beside her, which was hardly wise. The window seat was not all that generous. As it was, his thigh touched hers; the propinquity scorched her and she edged away, but he, oblivious followed. “I was just thinking of you.”

  His voice was playful and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  “What were you thinking about?” Her performance, probably. “Did you like the aria?”

  “I loved the aria. It’s my favorite, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.” How could she? They’d never discussed the opera.

  “Well, it is. And I adored the song you and the girls sang.”

  “They are very talented.”

  “Like their father, no doubt.” His smile was crooked.

  “They sang it for Tessa.”

  When she spoke her friend’s name, the mood shifted. It went from playful to sober. “I’m sure she appreciated it. But no. Those were not the things I was thinking of.”

  He took her hand. His was warm. His gaze made her tremble.

  “What-what were you thinking about?”

  “How lovely you are.”

  Her breath caught. She brushed back her hair. Swallowed. “I… Thank you.”

  “All my friends are besotted, you know.”

  “Are they?” She had to smile at that. “They’ve been following me like hungry pups.”

  “I imagine they have been. You’ve…really won them over. No doubt a proposal is yours, if you so wish it.”

  She quirked her head. “From which one?” Not that it mattered. None of them made her heart patter in the slightest.

  He laughed. “All of them, I imagine.”

  “Oh. Lovely.”

  He leaned closer. Her pulse kicked up. “You don’t sound pleased.”

  “Is it so wrong that I don’t want to marry any of them?” she asked.

  “I shouldn’t think so,” he shrugged. “You will always have a home here, if you wish.”

  Ah. “How kind.”

  “Not in the least.” He moved closer. “Do you want to know what else I was thinking of?”

  She met his gaze, held it. She thought she knew what he was going to say, and it made her breathless. “Yes.” A peep.

  “I was thinking about that kiss last night. Do you remember it?”

  She couldn’t hold back a laugh. Did she remember it? “Honestly, Jonathan. How terrible do you think my memory is?”

  “So you do remember?”

  “Of course I do. It was…”

  “What?” He came closer still. His breath caressed her cheek.

  “It was wonderful,” she whispered. It was all she could manage.

  “I thought it was wonderful too. I’d like to do it again.” Somewhere, in his words, was an inherent question, which was ridiculous. In response, she put her hand to his cheek. His day beard scratched her palm and she loved it. So she stroked.

  “Ah,” he said, closing his eyes and leaning in to her touch. “Meg. My Meg.”

  The words stunned her—my Meg—but she had no time to react, because he touched his lips to hers, ever so tenderly. She allowed him to kiss her like that for a long time, but when he deepened the kiss, her conscience smote her, and n
ot for the first time.

  Gently, slowly, she pulled away. “We shouldn’t.”

  His brow furrowed. “Why ever not?”

  “Someone might see.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She frowned at him. “You should. You’re supposed to be here looking for a wife—”

  His gaze glinted. “I am.”

  “A young wife.”

  His frown blossomed into a glower. “You’re younger than me.”

  “But your mother has invited the cream of the crop, just for you.”

  His snort echoed.

  “The cream of the crop? Glorianna Pickering won’t speak, Louisa Mountbatten won’t stop, and Cicely Peck…”

  Something in his tone made her wild with curiosity. “What about Cicely Peck?”

  “She showed up in my chambers last night.”

  Meg’s chin dropped. “She didn’t.”

  “She did. Fortunately, I wasn’t there. But Rodgers was. He’s now locking my doors.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  “Rodgers is the best valet in Christendom.”

  “Methinks he deserves a bonus.”

  Jonathan grinned. “Methinks I agree. But aside from all that, someone else had caught my eye. Dare I say, my heart?”

  She stared at him, her mind in a whirl. There were so many thoughts, she didn’t know where to start. Oh, she was delighted that none of the others interested him, certainly. And she was thrilled beyond bearing that he seemed to be courting her. But something had haunted her for years, and haunted her still.

  When he took her hesitation for assent, and moved to kiss her again, she stopped him, but it cost her.

  She had to look away. “Tessa was my best friend.” It was terrible to feel guilty for wanting to take her place. It was heart-rending in fact.

  “And George was mine.” He turned her to face him. Offered a smile. “I like to think of them in heaven together.”

  She had to smile at that.

  “I think they would approve of us. Being together. They would approve of our marriage.”