Page 3 of The Mistletoe Duke

Anne glanced at Meg. “Well, I say.”

“Indeed,” Mawbry added.

The dowager huffed a frosty breath. “I hope she knows she’s not getting a good reference from me.”

“Of course not.” Meg patted her hand. “Shall I go talk to her?”

“Oh, bollocks,” she snorted. “Let her be. Mawbry. You go ride with the girls to Sutton.”

It was clear from the way his eyes bulged, the way his wormy lips worked, that he was mortified at the proposition, which Meg found irritating. Vicca and Lizzie were somewhat unruly, but they were not beasts from the bowels of hell. Most days.

“I’ll ride with them, dear,” she said patting Anne’s hand again. “The two of you have a party to plan and no time to spare.”

Mawbry nearly collapsed with relief.

“Are you sure, darling?” Anne asked.

“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 the title…and everything. God alone knew where she would have ended up otherwise.

“But we like you,” Vicca murmured.

“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.”