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Jane’s eyes rounded in awe. “She’s the daughter of a duke, isn’t she?”
Megs smiled. “And the sister of one. In fact, the duke may be there as well tonight.”
For a moment, the girl was frozen in apparent awe. Then she burst into a flurry of excited movement, chattering all the while about dresses and shoes and what would she wear?
Godric sighed. This was going to be a long day. He caught Megs watching him with a small, approving tilt to her lips.
But perhaps it would be worth it.
THAT NIGHT, MEGS watched as the Duke of Wakefield frowned down at his nephew in ducal disapproval and said, “I don’t understand why the boy cries every time he sees me.”
“He’s developing good taste,” Griffin replied kindly as he picked up sweet William, who immediately quieted, leaning against his father’s chest as he sucked on his forefinger.
Hero rolled her eyes discreetly—something she would never have done before marrying Griffin.
They were in the family sitting room where William had been brought down by his nurse before being put to bed. Great-Aunt Elvina leaned close to Hero, her hand behind her ear to hear whatever Hero was shouting at her. Jane sat ramrod straight, her eyes wide in awe as she watched every movement the Duke of Wakefield made. Beside her, her sisters and mother were more relaxed, obviously enjoying being in such exalted company. Knowing how the gossip mill worked in Upper Hornsfield, Megs knew they could dine upon this night for months. Godric stood near the mantel, watching. Megs frowned. Why was it that he always seemed so apart, even when in the midst of his own family?
William made a sound, drawing her eyes. A splotch of baby drool darkened Griffin’s waistcoat and Megs couldn’t help smirking. Her brother had been such a notorious rake before meeting Hero.
“May I?” she asked shyly, indicating William.
“Of course.”
Griffin placed sweet William in her arms and then she was being examined by large, green eyes the exact shade of his sire. He was heavier than she’d expected, a solid, warm bundle, smelling faintly of milk and biscuits. William had reddish-brown, curling hair, plump cheeks, and his lips, pursed around his finger, were so rosy and sweet Megs couldn’t help kissing him on his little forehead.
Soon, oh, please let it be soon.
William withdrew his finger from his mouth and patted her cheek wetly.
“Babies are terribly messy,” Great-Aunt Elvina announced, then ruined her stern words by making clucking noises at William.
“He’s teething again,” Hero said beside Megs. “Do you want me to take him? He’ll think nothing of ruining your dress.”
took a breath and smoothed her skirts before gliding down the hallway at a sedate pace. She opened the door to the primrose sitting room, bracing herself for some aged relation of Godric’s, but she immediately relaxed with relief when she saw the three ladies within.
“Oh, Mrs. St. John,” Megs exclaimed as she hurried forward. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming to London?”
Megs hugged the elder woman and then stood back. Godric’s stepmother was nearing her fifty-fifth year. A short, somewhat stout woman, she had the flaxen hair that all her daughters had inherited, though hers was faded now to a vague pale color. Mrs. St. John’s face had taken on a ruddy hue as she aged. She was a rather plain woman, physically, but one hardly noticed because of the vivaciousness of her expression. Megs knew from village gossip that Godric’s father had been deeply in love with his second wife.
“We took a page from your notebook, Megs, and thought it best to simply arrive on Godric’s doorstep.” Mrs. St. John huffed as she sat down on a settee.
“Rather like one of those vagabond peddlers,” Jane, eighteen and the youngest St. John sister, said. “The ones who won’t leave the doorstep until you buy some ratty length of ribbon.”
“That ribbon was not ratty.” Charlotte, who was two years older than Jane, looked indignant. “I vow you’re jealous because the peddler came around when you were out romping through the fields with Pat and Harriet.”
“Pat and Harriet needed a good run.” Jane pointed her nose in the air. “Besides, I wouldn’t want a ribbon that ratty if it were given to me.”
“Girls,” Mrs. St. John said, and both sisters abruptly shut their mouths. “I’m sure Megs doesn’t care to hear you bickering over fripperies and the dogs.”
Megs didn’t really mind. She found the St. John sisters’ obvious affection for each other—when they weren’t quarreling—rather refreshing, actually. She’d never been close to her own older sister, Caro. The St. John dower house was in the village of Upper Hornsfield, so she had the opportunity to observe the St. John sororal dynamics quite often.
“I can’t think where Sarah is,” she said diplomatically. “Or Godric, for that matter.”
“We were told that Godric had already gone out,” Jane informed her. “And no one could find Sarah.”
“That’s because I was out for a walk,” Sarah said from the doorway. The two little maids were behind her, carefully holding trays full of tea things. “I only just returned.”
Charlotte and Jane were up immediately, hugging and exclaiming over their sister as if they hadn’t seen her in months rather than little more than a week.
