The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride (8 page)

‘I—’

‘If you do, then we may ride around the park together. What say you, ma’am?’

Was he planning to leave, or was he not? The question was hammering at Beth’s brain, forcing out all other notions. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog of confusion.

‘Oh.’ His voice sounded flat. Was he disappointed? ‘I assure you there is nothing improper in my proposal. I would ensure we were accompanied by a groom at all times.’

He had misunderstood her. No wonder, for she
herself was mightily confused. ‘I did not mean— I beg your pardon, sir, I was not refusing your offer, merely—’ She closed her mouth firmly. This was no time for gabbling like an excited schoolchild. She took a deep breath. ‘I do not know whether I have ever learned to ride, sir, and I agree that it could be…um…interesting to find out. However, I cannot accept your word that your proposal is not improper. Perhaps you will allow me to take Mrs Aubrey’s opinion on that before I decide?’

He was having trouble concealing his smile. ‘Whatever else your memory may conceal from you, ma’am, your sense of propriety is very much to the fore.’

Beth was not at all sure that was a compliment. Before she could work it out, he continued, ‘And, if you will permit me, I shall take it upon myself to persuade Mrs Aubrey to chaperon you. I am sure she will agree that the exercise would be beneficial.’

Beth had no choice. She nodded her agreement and fixed her eyes on the smooth water of the lake. Something disturbed the glassy surface. Ripples were spreading from a point about thirty yards from the bank. ‘Oh, is that a trout?’

‘Possibly.’ He shrugged his shoulders.

‘I am surprised at your reaction. You said you were a keen fisherman, sir. Will you not be fetching your rod in order to catch him?’ He smiled down at her then. Rather indulgently, she fancied, as if he were dealing with a small and ignorant child. Temper overcame her earlier turmoil. She straightened her shoulders and glared at him. ‘May I ask why you are laughing at me, my lord?’

He tried to school his features into a serious expression but he failed. He was laughing at her. Beth wrenched her arm from his and spun round so that she was presenting Jonathan with her back. She would rather not talk to him at all if this was how she was to be treated.

‘If that is a trout, ma’am, it will be a miracle. No laughing matter, in truth. In my absence, the herons have had all the fish. I need to restock.’

She let out a long breath. ‘Oh.’ The light dawned. She turned round to face him again. ‘So that explains why you said— Um.’ One day she would learn to think before she opened her mouth. She was careful and measured with everyone else. So why was it that she behaved like a fool with Jonathan? And only with him? From now on, she must keep her emotions under the strictest control.

He had stopped laughing. Perhaps he had recognised her embarrassment? He held out his hand invitingly. ‘Now that we are both agreed on the subject of riding and fishing—’

‘And sheep,’ Beth put in pertly, recovering a little of her composure and determined not to let him best her again.

‘—and sheep,’ he agreed with a smile that could only be described as slightly sheepish, ‘I suggest that we return to the house to consult Mrs Aubrey on the subject of propriety. Will you take my arm again, Miss Beth?’

Jon relaxed into the hot water and closed his eyes. It had been a perfect day. He could not remember when he had last enjoyed himself so much. The simplest pleasures
were certainly the best, and riding round his own park, in company with Beth Aubrey, was most definitely a pleasure.

She might not know how to fish, though until they tried it, there was no way of knowing that for certain, but she had certainly been taught to ride. Well taught, too. It had been obvious from the first moment he had thrown her up into Becky’s saddle. She sat tall and secure, controlling the old mare easily with whip and heel.

She was definitely a lady. Well educated, cultured, musical, good in the saddle… So who on earth was she? And why was it that no one was searching for her? She had spent the best part of a year at the Fratcombe rectory and there had been not the slightest hint of who she was or where she came from. A mystery. A truly baffling mystery.

He began to soap his limbs. Was Beth doing the same at this very moment? Her muscles must be aching after riding for so long. Mrs Aubrey had smiled benignly and waved them off into the park, with the obligatory groom trotting behind. It had been such a glorious, liberating day that Jon had allowed his pleasure in her company to overcome his common sense. He knew perfectly well that, if Beth rode too long, she would suffer for it. She had made no complaint, of course. She was too much the lady to do so. And, he fancied, she had been enjoying Jon’s company too much to give it up.

He threw the soap into the water in disgust. What a coxcomb he was becoming! Beth Aubrey was his lady guest, nothing more. If she had been enjoying his company as they rode together, it was not to be wondered at, for she had precious little recreation time. She
occasionally visited the Miss Alleyns and Miss Grantley, but apart from that, she spent her time as unpaid schoolmistress to the village and unpaid helper for all Mrs Aubrey’s charity projects. Beth would maintain that she was more than content, that she was merely repaying the Aubreys’ generosity, but Jon was far from convinced. She was a young woman still, and she should have at least a little time to herself to enjoy a young woman’s pleasures. Such as riding.

With him?

He was suddenly glad that he was leaving Fratcombe in a few days, for Beth Aubrey was much too tempting. He could not take her riding again, much as he might wish to. That would start the worst kind of gossip. However, as an acknowledged friend of the Aubreys, he could make provision for Beth to ride the old mare in his absence. His grooms had little enough to do. He would instruct them to make the mare ready every day and to accompany Miss Aubrey whenever she wished to ride out. She would have free rein over the whole of his park which was the least he could do. Once her muscles were used to riding regularly, she would enjoy the exercise, he was sure. And she would have no need of Jon’s company.

He realised, with a start, that he would miss her. With Beth, he did not have to mind his tongue. Indeed, she seemed to understand what he was going to say before his words were out. They laughed together. They talked of anything and everything, without restraint. And they shared the simple joys of nature and fresh air, and a love of the land. It was a pity Beth was not a man. A man could perhaps have become a friend.

He would miss her company, but it was wise, he knew, to avoid her. He had assumed that a little distance would subdue his desire to possess her delectable body. It had not. And now, in addition to desire, there was something more, something deeper—admiration, and liking, also.

With a groan, he dug into the cooling water for the soap and began to scrub at his legs.

‘I’ve brought your hot water, Miss Beth.’ It was Hetty, carrying the large brass can across to the dressing table.

‘Goodness, I have overslept! How could I have—?’ Beth made to sit up and throw back the covers. ‘Argh!’ She could hardly move. Every single muscle was shrieking with pain. With a supreme effort, she rolled on to her side and forced her legs out of the bedclothes so that she could push herself up with her hands. ‘Good grief! I feel as if someone has pounded me all over with a…a cricket bat.’

Hetty set the can down and came across to help Beth to stand. ‘I did warn you, miss, but you wouldn’t listen. You should have had a long hot bath and some of that embarkation rubbed into your muscles.’

Beth laughed. She stopped pretty sharply though, for it hurt. ‘Embrocation, Hetty.’

‘Whatever. You shouldn’t have gone riding for so long, miss, when you’re not used to it. No, not even at his lordship’s invitation. He should have known better, an’ all.’ Of late, Hetty had become extremely forthright with Beth who valued the maid too much to correct her ready tongue.

‘Besides, there ain’t no point in you learning to ride all over again, when you’ll be stopping just as quick. You can’t go riding out on your own, after all, can you? You’ll have had all this pain for no gain, as they say.’ Hetty swung Beth’s wrap over her shoulders and helped her into it.

Beth winced. She had forgotten that Jonathan would be leaving soon to go to one of his other estates. He had not said which one. He had several, he had explained, and all of them needed the master’s careful supervision. That was his duty as Earl.

He took his duties seriously, of course. But he had a lighter side, too, and she was glad to have discovered it. She wanted him to be a…a friend, the kind of person with whom she could share everyday pleasures like riding out with the sun on her back, or walking for miles across lush meadows and shady country paths. The kind of friend who would share her wit, who could tease her until she was doubled up with laughter, and who could subside into easy silence when they were both content to commune with nature and their own thoughts. One day, perhaps, they might come to be all those things together. She must not hope, or dream, of anything more.

She would miss him when he left, but friends parted. It was the way of the world.

‘The groom said as he’s leaving Fratcombe on Monday morning.’

‘Monday?’ Beth choked and began to cough, in an attempt to cover up her shock. Monday? That was the day after tomorrow. Was she to see him at church and then never again?

Hetty poured a glass of water and handed it to Beth, who gulped it greedily.

‘Well, Sam—that’s the groom, miss—said it would definitely be Monday. Unless his lordship changes his mind again.’

‘Again?’ Beth croaked.

‘Aye. Apparently he were all set to leave last week, but decided he wanted to stay on a bit. To enjoy the fine weather and the peace, Sam said.’

‘That sounds rather strange. Are you sure, Hetty?’

‘Oh, yes, miss. When he’s at his main estate, it’s just one long round of parties and entertainments, Sam says, with house guests all the time. Sam reckons it’s because his lordship’s mama is determined to get him married off again, so she fills the house with pretty girls. Can’t see it m’self. I’d say his lordship is too much his own man to be governed by his mama, or any other lady. Don’t you think so, Miss Beth?’

Beth swallowed the rest of her water and muttered something that could have been agreement. Hetty might be right about Jonathan’s character, but the maid did not understand the demands of his position in society. He had been a widower for a considerable time. He had no son. He would not need his mother’s urging to understand that it was high time he married again and set up his nursery. No doubt he was returning to King’s Portbury, to look over yet more candidates to be his new countess.

So much for friendship, and simple shared pleasures.

F
ratcombe Manor had been a peaceful refuge but Lorrington was utter bliss. Jon had forgotten how wild and remote it was here. George had never visited, probably because the Lorrington estate was too poor to provide him with any ready money. And the place was blessedly free of women, too, for there were no gentry families for miles. Jon was spared the plaguey females that always bedevilled him at King’s Portbury.

After two weeks of riding the land and speaking to all his tenants, Jon was ashamed of what he had allowed to happen here. It was his smallest estate, to be sure, but he had failed in his duty to those who depended on him. Their farms were ramshackle and their livestock was scrawny, barely surviving on the thin hill land. There was some good land, but it was not productive, for the farmers had no money for seed or new tools. He would change all that. Some of the surplus from King’s Portbury would be invested here. Lorrington would never
be rich, but his people’s lives would be improved. He was determined on that.

Until now, he had paid them no heed. But Spain had changed him. War had changed him. Among his soldiers, there had been men from the land, good men who had taken the King’s shilling because their families could not afford to feed another mouth. He had seen those men fight, and he had seen some of them die. In the depths of the Spanish winter, he had seen what hunger could do to a man. He would not allow it to touch any of his lands. Never again.

It was a matter of honour, for those who had died. And a matter of duty.

He would discharge his duty here at Lorrington and then he would take a wife. He had delayed for long enough now. There must be no more excuses. Surely there was one lady of rank, somewhere, who was not simply out for herself, simpering and blushing in her efforts to snare a rich husband?

If such a one existed, he had not set eyes on her.

He sighed and reached forward to run his gloved hand over his horse’s glossy neck. As far as he could tell, debutantes were all the same. It was enough to give a man permanent indigestion. Why could none of them be like Beth Aubrey?

He swore aloud. She was intruding again! He kicked his horse into a gallop and began to race across the grass to the foot of the gorse-covered hill. He would make his way to the top for a final check of the Lorrington estate. He might see something he had missed, some out-of-the-way farmstead where the children were barefoot or unable to go to school. It was his duty—he was happy
to accept that now—to ensure that all the children on his estates had a better chance in life.

That reminded him that he had promised Miss Beth he would do something for that young protégé of hers. Peter, was it?

Yes, Peter. Jon would speak to his agent about the child as soon as he got back to Fratcombe. He did not want to see the disappointment in Beth’s fine eyes if she discovered that he had failed to live up to his promises. Why had she not challenged him on it before he left?

Because she trusted him to keep his word. She trusted him, and confided in him, as a friend.

He could not return that trust—he confided in no one—but he could rely on her word. He knew that, without a shadow of a doubt, because of the remarkable person she was.

He would rather spend an hour with her than whole weeks among the carp and cackle of the ladies of the
ton
. Unlike them, Beth was an eminently restful woman, now he came to think about it. Had he been so taken with her luscious curves that he had failed to see that? And value it?

He hauled his horse to a stand and threw himself out of the saddle so that he could make the rest of the steep climb on foot. Beth was the only woman in England who came near to being the kind of wife he wanted, and needed. Yet she was a woman he could not have. Why was fate so determined to laugh in his face?

He plodded on. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a beautiful voice began to sing, softly at first, and then more clearly, so that the bitter fury of his thoughts was
calmed. It was Beth Aubrey’s voice, as if from far away. And it consoled him.

Why could he not marry her?

Because he was the Earl of Portbury and his duty required him to marry a lady of rank. Duty. It had driven him for years, but what had it brought him, apart from hardship and heartache? Surely a man could be more than the sum of his duties? Jon was a man of rank and wealth. An earl. An earl did not need to play by the rules of lesser mortals. Nor did he have to pay heed to anyone else’s opinion. Not even his father’s. Not any more. An earl could decide for himself where his duty—and his own best interests—lay.

Jon’s decision was made. He would call at the rectory as soon as he was back at Fratcombe Manor.

Beth was glad when her solo ended and she could resume her place in the rectory pew. Glad, too, that Jonathan had not returned, to hear her sing and to wonder yet again if her memory loss was some kind of fraud.

If only it were! Then she might have some certainty about who she was. There were those dreams—nightmares, sometimes—in which she saw bits and pieces of memories, of places, even of people, but none of it made any sense at all when she woke up.

But last night’s dream had not been like that. It had been full of colour and scent, almost more vivid than life itself. Because of him. Because of Jonathan. She had been dreaming about Jonathan.

‘Let us pray.’ The rector’s voice recalled Beth to her devotions. She knelt and began to pray, fervently, for
deliverance from the man who was haunting her. The man she had not dared even to address as her ‘friend’.

The service passed more quickly than usual. Beth knew she had made all the responses, though she could remember none of it. But it was over. The rector was standing in his normal place outside the door, exchanging kind words with everyone, asking after missing parishioners, the sick and the old. From inside the church, he was only a dark silhouette. Beth watched from the far end of the aisle, waiting for her turn to leave. He was such a good man. No wonder the whole district loved him.

‘I think we may go now, Beth, dear,’ Mrs Aubrey said at last, nodding towards the empty doorway. ‘I wonder if the rector has invited any guests?’ she added, as an afterthought. After divine service, he made a habit of inviting needy souls to eat in the rectory kitchen. It was part of God’s charitable purpose, he always said, and his wife did not disagree.

For once, there seemed to be no unexpected guests waiting around when the two ladies emerged, though it was difficult to see clearly. Beth blinked and screwed up her eyes against the sudden dazzle. It had been over-cast when they went into church, but now the sky was a bright, clear blue and the slight breeze was warm from the early autumn sunshine, contrasting with the cool airiness from which they had come. Beth let her shawl drop, closed her eyes and turned her face up into the warmth.

‘Beautiful, is it not?’

That was not the rector’s voice. Jonathan! He had returned!

Beth stepped back so quickly that she almost tripped over her skirts.

A strong arm held her up. ‘You must take more care, Miss Beth, or you will fall. Wait until your eyes are accustomed to the light before you start prancing about.’

He was still holding her arm. She could feel the strength of his fingers through her muslin sleeve. And the warmth of his body—

‘Miss Beth? Is anything amiss?’

She forced herself to turn to look at him. Jonathan. The face from her dreams. This time, he was not surrounded by vibrant colour but starkly outlined against the venerable grey stone of the church. And still he was beautiful.

‘Lord Portbury,’ she said softly, trying to withdraw her arm from his clasp without seeming to struggle. ‘We did not look to see you in Fratcombe again so soon.’ That sounded suitably polite. And distant, too.

‘I’m afraid I arrived too late to attend divine service this morning. I was apologising to the rector, but he will have none of it.’

‘Do you tell me, Jonathan, that you have been travelling on the Sabbath?’ Mrs Aubrey wagged a finger at him. ‘Fie on you, sir. I hope the rector has reproved you soundly.’

‘Unfortunately not, ma’am.’ He was grinning like a naughty schoolboy.

‘No, indeed,’ the rector put in, ‘for what good would it do? But you may take him to task yourself, Caro. I have invited him home to dine with us.’

It was almost over. He must go soon, surely? He seemed to be taking an inordinate length of time to drink a single cup of coffee.

Beth concentrated on listening to the rector’s words. And trying to avoid Jonathan’s eyes.

At last, he rose from his place by the rector and crossed to the table where Beth sat over the tea and coffee pots. He was simply doing her the courtesy of returning his empty cup. Now, he would certainly go!

He seemed a little hesitant. He stood over Beth, but made no move to put down his cup. He half-turned to glance at Mrs Aubrey, and then back to Beth. His behaviour was most disconcerting, and it was making Beth’s inner turmoil even worse. She had known and admired him as a decisive man. What had happened to him during his absence from Fratcombe?

The thought settled around her like a shroud. He was going to announce that he was about to marry again. Yes, that must be it. It was common knowledge in Fratcombe that his mother had been inviting all the most eligible young ladies of the
ton
to visit King’s Portbury. Even a duke’s daughter, according to the lodge-keeper. Beth told herself it was only what he deserved. He had an ancient title and needed a wife of suitable rank. A duke’s daughter would suit admirably.

Beth tensed her muscles, held her breath and waited for the words she was dreading. She was resolved that she would not betray, by the slightest blush or blink, that his news was a disappointment. For who was she, the supposed Elizabeth Aubrey, to believe she had any
claim on such a man? She was, as he said, a foundling. A nobody. Not even high enough to be a friend.

‘Mrs Aubrey, you and the rector have given me the friendliest possible welcome on my return, by inviting me to your table. I am truly grateful. But I wonder if I might impose on you even more? I should very much like to take a turn round your garden before I return to the Manor.’

What on earth was he talking about? Walking round the garden? At the beginning of October?

‘I could not help but notice that some of your trees are looking very fine in their early autumn colours. Especially in the late afternoon light.’

‘I did not have you down as a garden lover, Jonathan,’ the rector said with a hint of laughter in his gentle voice. ‘But even if it be a recent conversion, I will not deny you.’ He made to rise. ‘My dear, will you—?’

Mrs Aubrey shook her head, settling herself more comfortably.

Jonathan quickly raised his hand. ‘Forgive me, sir, Mrs Aubrey, I did not mean to impose my whims on you. Pray do not disturb yourselves on my account.’

The rector nodded and sank back gratefully into his seat. ‘I am sure Beth would welcome a chance to take a stroll, after sitting for so long listening to an old man prosing on.’

‘Come, come, my child,’ the rector said, when Beth began to protest, ‘we cannot let our guest wander our shrubberies without escort. Spare my old bones, if you would be so good.’

Beth knew she was about to lose. She threw one pleading glance at Mrs Aubrey, in hopes that the old
lady would change her mind and accompany them, but Mrs Aubrey was gazing at the rector with concern.

‘I am a little tired, Caro, that is all. Sunday is not a day of rest for the clergy, you know.’ He chuckled. ‘I am saving my strength for evensong.’

Mrs Aubrey seemed to be reassured, for her features softened. She turned to Beth instead. ‘And you, my dear. Do make sure you take a wrap with you. The afternoons soon grow chilly at this time of year.’

Beth nodded and looked around for her shawl. She had had it earlier, but in the confusion of the moment, she could not remember where she had laid it down. Before she could move an inch, Jonathan came forward with it in his hands and stroked it round her shoulders without even asking leave. His touch was so caressing that her skin began to burn. Her mouth was suddenly too dry to say a word, even though she knew she ought to upbraid him for taking such a liberty.

He was smiling down at her. ‘Shall we, ma’am? Before the sun goes down and we lose the last of the warmth?’

She gave a tiny nod. It was the most she could manage. Together they strolled out through the French windows and into the garden.

They had gone the length of the shrubbery path before Beth forced herself to break the silence. ‘For a garden lover, sir, you are paying remarkably little attention to the turning trees.’ She had not meant it to sound like an accusation of bad faith, but it did. She could not help herself. She was barely in control.

His voice, when it came, was strained. ‘Miss Aubrey. Miss Beth. I was hoping for a moment’s
private conversation with you. My excuse was clumsy, I am afraid.’ He stopped dead. Beth had no choice but to do the same. He took a sideways step so that he was standing in front of her. ‘There are…er…things I need to say to you.’

Beth’s heart began to beat very fast. He was going to do her the courtesy of confiding his plans in private. That was more than she had looked for. He really was treating her like a friend. A tiny spark of warmth flickered around her heart but quickly died. This friendship would be doused as easily as an uncertain flame.

He was gazing out over Beth’s head towards the trees and the graveyard beyond, but he was focused on nothing. ‘I…er…I have decided that I must remarry. It is essential, given my position in society. There needs to be a Countess of Portbury. And…er—’ He glanced down into Beth’s face at that moment. She saw the hint of embarrassment in his eyes, though he was not blushing.

Beth’s emotions might be in confusion, but she was not fool enough to mistake his meaning. He needed a wife, and then a son.

‘I have considered carefully. I find I do not hold with these new-fangled notions of love.’ He was trying to sound matter of fact and uncaring. Perhaps, when it came to marriage, he was both of those? ‘I do not believe in such things. A man must choose a partner who suits him in every way—a lady who will grace his table and take charge of his household, a lady who will create a comfortable, restful home, a refuge where a man can take his ease.’