The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride (13 page)

The rector’s eyebrows rose but he said only, ‘So it is not a love match?’

Love?
Jon shook his head vehemently. ‘Love is for hot-headed young bloods and simpering misses just out of the schoolroom. No, sir, this is to be a union of wiser heads than that. I esteem Beth greatly. She is a woman of sterling qualities, as she has amply demonstrated during her time here at Fratcombe. She will make me a splendid countess on the public stage. And in private, we shall enjoy the quiet companionship we have both come to value.’

‘I see.’ Mr Aubrey sounded a little sad. He was staring down at his hands, avoiding Jon’s gaze.

In the end, it was Jon who broke the tense silence. ‘Will you agree to perform the ceremony, sir? It is Beth’s dearest wish.’

The rector slowly raised his head. His eyes had lost their usual brightness. They were rheumy, as if he had suddenly aged ten years. ‘I am sorry, Jonathan. It is impossible. You must see that, surely?’

Jon drew himself up. ‘No, sir. I do not.’

The rector sighed. ‘I have to know that the couple are free to marry. You are a widower, but Beth… Jonathan, she could be anything, even some other man’s wife.’

Jon took a deep breath. He was going to have to be extremely frank and trust to the old man’s discretion. ‘I can assure you that Beth has not been any man’s wife,
sir.’ He held the rector’s gaze, waiting for a sign that the full import of his words had been understood. It came sooner than Jon had expected. The rector’s eyes widened a fraction, and his sharp intake of breath echoed in the silence. ‘I see that you take my meaning, sir. To put the matter beyond doubt, I should perhaps add that there is now every reason to carry out the marriage ceremony as soon as it may be arranged.’ It was a little underhand to lead Mr Aubrey to believe that Beth might be with child, but Jon found he was prepared to go to almost any lengths to achieve his purpose. Nothing else mattered.

The rector downed the rest of his wine in a single swallow, got to his feet and began to pace. There was precious little room in the tiny library. He had to turn after every three or four steps.

Jon remained perfectly still, watching. There was nothing more he could do until the old man had finished struggling with his conscience.

‘You leave me with no choice,’ the rector said at last, in a weary voice. ‘You assure me that Beth has been no man’s wife, and I must accept your word. Though I must tell you, my lord, that I deplore what you must have done to establish your proofs of that. I would not have trusted you alone with Beth if I had suspected you might fail to behave as a gentleman should.’ He glowered at Jon. ‘It seems my judgement of you was wrong.’

Jon had risen when the rector began to speak. Now he clamped his lips tightly together. He could say nothing at all in defence of his own honour without impugning Beth’s. That he would not do.

‘If there is a risk that you have got her with child…?’

Jon looked the rector in the eye but made no other response. He had done enough to hurt the old man. He would not tell him a direct lie.

The rector shook his head sadly. ‘If she was a virgin when you took her, there is at least no risk of bigamy.’

Jon allowed himself a tiny nod.

‘And as there must now be a risk that she is with child, I have no choice but to ensure that this…er…irregular union of yours is sanctified in church. You have forced my hand, Jonathan, as I have no doubt you intended.’ He frowned up at Jon. ‘Go to London. If you return with a special licence, I will marry you both.’

Jon let out a long breath. ‘Thank you, sir. I…I ask your pardon for the—’ His voice trailed off. He could not think of an appropriate word.

‘Deception?’

Jon flushed like a guilty schoolboy caught in some childish mischief. ‘You have every right to be angry, sir, and I admit that my behaviour has been…er…less honourable than you had the right to expect. For that, and that alone, I apologise unreservedly. I hope that I may, one day, regain your trust.’ He raised his chin. ‘However, I cannot apologise for what has been done, since there was no other route that could have led to marriage between myself and Beth. That I could never regret, even if it were to lead to a rift with you. Needless to say, I fervently hope that it will not.’

The rector’s eyes had lost their rheumy cast. They had become thoughtful instead. He nodded slowly, twice. ‘I doubt there will be any rift, provided… Jonathan, I have one question for you. Tell me the truth of it, on your honour. Was Beth a willing partner in this?’

The question twisted in Jon’s gut. The rector was asking if he had taken Beth by force, to ensure she could not refuse him. How could a Christian gentleman think such a thing?

Because he does not know what to think of you now, Jon.
The voice of Jon’s conscience was strong. He had given the rector every reason to doubt his honour. He must reassure the old man now. But he must not betray Beth. After a pause, he said only, ‘Beth was a willing partner. Yes.’

The rector sighed. With relief, Jon supposed. ‘Since I have every intention of forgetting what has passed between us this morning, you may be easy now, Jonathan.’ The harshness of tone was gone. ‘I shall say nothing to my wife. Or to Beth. Other than to offer my congratulations, of course.’ His warm smile lit up his eyes. He might disapprove of what they had done, but he was glad for them both, or for Beth, at least.

‘You are very generous, sir.’

‘Thank you, my boy. Shall you live here at Fratcombe, do you think?’ It sounded like the most natural enquiry possible. The inquisition was done, and forgotten.

‘For some of the time, I am sure,’ Jon replied, relaxing at last. ‘Beth will want to keep an eye on her school and on the progress of her little ones. I shall endow it on her behalf, of course, so that you may employ a replacement teacher. But I imagine we shall spend much of the year at King’s Portbury, my principal seat. May I hope, sir, that you and Mrs Aubrey will visit us? I am sure that Beth will join me in issuing the invitation, the moment we are settled at Portbury Abbey.’

The rector cocked his head on one side and narrowed
his eyes, though his smile did not falter. After a moment, he said, ‘That is very generous of you, Jonathan. Mrs Aubrey will be most gratified, I am sure. And speaking of Mrs Aubrey—’ he crossed to the fire to pull the bell ‘—I think it is high time we gave her this momentous news. She will wish to congratulate you both.’

He turned to smile wickedly at Jon. ‘I have not seen Beth yet today. I wonder how she will look? I imagine—don’t you?—that she will be blooming like a rose, now that she is…er…betrothed.’

J
on gazed at the dying fire as he savoured the last of his port. Supper had been something of a trial, even though he had dismissed the servants. Beth had seemed subdued, even anxious. Jon could not understand it. Now that they were married, her position was secure. No mere Lady Fitzherbert could harm her. Surely she could not be fearing her wedding night? They both knew that their lovemaking could be glorious.

She would be in her bedchamber now, their private realm. Jon felt his body stirring in anticipation and swore at the flames. He could not endure the thought of backstairs gossip about the master’s feelings for his wife. If he was to avoid that, he would have to pay particular attention to keeping a proper distance from Beth. Cool formality was required between an earl and his countess. He had seen it between his parents, even without servants present. It was a lesson Jon had
learned very young. It should not be difficult to put it into practice now.

He glanced at the clock. Too soon yet to join her. He would drink another glass of port. Slowly.

He began to make plans for the journey from Fratcombe to London, hoping that it would divert his thoughts from the night’s pleasures to come. Gentle, prolonged lovemaking was what they needed, for the early days of their marriage. Unfortunately, travelling so late in the year would not make that easy.

Tomorrow, he would tell his steward to organise Portbury horses at all the staging posts. That would make the journey more comfortable for Beth, and quicker, too. The sooner Jon had her installed at King’s Portbury, the sooner their comfortable union could truly begin. And then his mother could take over the task of instructing Beth in her duties.

His mother would welcome Beth with open arms, he was sure. He could not promise her an heir yet, but he fully intended to do his best to get one. With Beth, he would enjoy the intimate side of their life. Perhaps, one day, he might even be able to tell her about—

No! There were some things that a gently bred lady should never hear, even from her husband. In that dark moment, Jon realised that he would not be able to sleep in Beth’s bed, however much he wanted to hold her in his arms. He could not take the risk. He must always leave her to sleep alone.

This was not a bedchamber, Beth decided. It was paradise.

‘Happy, my dear?’

Beth forced her heavy eyelids open. Jon was leaning over her, gazing down into her face. ‘Mmm.’ The tiny lines around his eyes relaxed but otherwise he did not move a fraction. He was waiting for her to say something a little more…er…meaningful. ‘When we were…um…together at the folly,’ she began shyly, ‘it was wonderful. I did not think that anything could be— But here, in our marriage bed, it was utterly blissful.’

‘Ah.’ He sank back on to the bed beside her and pulled her into his embrace. After a second or two, his fingers began idly playing with a lock of her hair, pulling it straight and watching it spring back into a tight curl. ‘You have beautiful hair, Beth. I cannot tell you how often I have longed to do that.’ He repeated the gesture and laughed at the simple pleasure of it.

She was, without doubt, the happiest woman in the world. She had married the man she loved and, while he did not love her in return, he must care for her a little. How could their physical union be so glorious if he did not? He was very formal and reserved in public—too much so for Beth’s taste—but that might change. And, even if it did not, she would have moments like these, when he held her in his arms and they could talk about anything, and nothing. They had all the rest of the night in front of them.

‘Will you teach me about the stars, Jon?’

‘If you wish it. But that cannot be until we return to Fratcombe, next year.’

‘Oh.’ Beth had dreamt of being carried up to the folly roof again, safe in Jon’s arms. But perhaps it was for the best. It was truly winter now. They could wait until the summer, when the weather would be warm
enough to dispense with clothes altogether. Goodness, what an outrageous thought! It must be the effects of all the wanton things that she and Jon had been doing together. She snuggled a little closer and tried to stifle a yawn. It had been a long, tiring day but she was not yet ready for sleep. Not when Jon’s naked body was so tantalisingly close.

He dropped a kiss on her hair and rested his cheek against it. ‘After London—where our visit must be very brief—we shall be at King’s Portbury until after Christmas. In January, I shall have to be in London when Parliament reassembles, but there is no reason for you to leave the Abbey until just before the Season starts. We probably shan’t be able to return to Fratcombe until the summer. Can you wait until then for your lessons?’

‘I…’ He had her life all mapped out. And large parts of it seemed to involve leaving her alone in a house where she knew no one, except Hetty Martin. Thank goodness Beth had had the strength to insist that Hetty should serve as her lady’s maid.

Jon stroked a finger down her neck and over her breast. His touch was magical. Her body took fire instantly. She reached up to pull his mouth down to hers. ‘The lessons I need, husband,’ she said huskily, ‘are here and now.’

Jon lay motionless until he was sure that Beth was sound asleep. She was a wonderful bedmate, so generous, so passionate. He would never have believed that a virgin could turn into a seductress in such a short space of time. But she had. If he were younger, and less conscious of his position, he would remain in her bed
for a week, at least. But that would shame them both before the servants. He could not do that to Beth. Their intimacy must be reserved for the hours of darkness.

He allowed himself to drop one last kiss on her curls and slipped out from under the covers. His heavy silk dressing gown was as he had left it, draped across the chair by the bed where he could easily lay his hand on it in the dark. He let it slide over his body. The silk felt cold and stiff compared with Beth’s soft, caressing touch, but he fought down the urge to return to her.

He padded barefoot to the connecting door. The way was clear, for he had been careful to ensure there was nothing he might trip over. He had even counted the steps.

He left Beth’s bedchamber without looking back.

Beth was finding London something of a trial. Since Parliament was not sitting, most of the great families were on their country estates, slaughtering birds. Jon had taken rooms at Grillon’s Hotel, in order—he said—to avoid opening up Portbury House. He was also avoiding any formal announcement that the Earl and Countess of Portbury were in residence in town, and ensuring that Beth could go about the business of acquiring a new wardrobe without having to receive calls from sharp-eyed town tabbies, eager to find new material for tittle-tattle.

Unfortunately, Beth’s shopping expeditions had been lonely ones, for Jon would not accompany her. A man was worse than useless on such occasions, he maintained; besides, he had business affairs to attend to. Beth was prepared to accept that his business might be
more important than his new wife’s wardrobe, but did it really have to occupy every waking hour? Did he have to be so distant?

After three days with only Hetty for company, Beth concluded her husband was avoiding her. There was no other possible explanation. Why, they had dined together only once, and he had left again immediately, without a word of excuse.

On the fourth day, she woke with a pounding headache and the old familiar nausea. Her nightmares had returned to point accusing fingers at her guilty past. Had she been wrong to let Jon persuade her into marriage? He had been adamant that her past did not matter, that his great position would place his wife beyond criticism. Yet he himself was now avoiding her. Was he having second thoughts about his hasty proposal and their even hastier wedding?

She tried to push the drumming guilt away. She had not deceived him. She had refused him. But he had ignored her objections and then used wicked—wonderful—persuasion to change her mind. He was still doing so every night.

He could not make love to her with such tenderness if he regretted their marriage. She would not believe that. He was distant because…because he was always so, with everyone. She refused to believe that he might be ashamed of her. But he certainly wanted to establish her at King’s Portbury, and with his family, before they entered London society as a newly-wed couple. Was that also why he planned to return to London alone, in the New Year? He must know that she was haunted by guilt about her mysterious past. He had thrown the protective
cloak of his rank around her, but that would not stop the whispering, malicious gossip. Was it to save Beth from wicked tongues that he was leaving her behind?

But no, that could not be the way of it. He had announced his intentions on the very day of their wedding. It was not out of concern for Beth’s sensitivities that he planned to go to London without her. He had not considered Beth’s preferences at all.

She was being unfair, and she knew it. Jon was not callous in that way. He simply stood aloof. He was sure of his own judgement and consulted no one before making decisions. He was convinced that Beth would soon find herself very much at home at King’s Portbury. Why should his wife wish to exchange such a comfortable situation for the cold and clamour of London in early January? The weather would no doubt be foul, and the roads quite appalling. It would never occur to him that his wife would gladly endure hours of freezing travel, and damp posting-house beds, in return for just a few hours a day with the husband she loved.

He did not know, he would not ask, and she could never tell him.

The private parlour was heaped with packages. Poor Hetty was trying to unwrap and arrange the contents in piles suitable for packing, but even so, there was barely space to sit down.

‘Good Gad, ma’am! More purchases?’

Beth spun round. Jon was leaning against the door jamb, surveying the chaos through narrowed eyes. A thread of anxiety began to uncoil in her stomach but, this time, she refused to let it grow. She was awake,
and in control of her doubts. This was Jonathan, her husband, the man who came to her bed and took her to paradise. He was not hostile to her, and he did not seek her humiliation. His public manner was only a mask he wore, to protect them both from the barbs of the gossips, inside or outside their household.

She had learned one way of cracking his mask during these last few days in London. ‘I have a confession to make, my lord.’ She bowed her head meekly. ‘I think I may have bankrupted you.’

He roared with laughter and started towards her. Hetty, eyes demurely downcast, sidled out behind him and closed the parlour door.

Beth raised her head again, and gazed at Jon. When he had first appeared in the doorway, she had thought he looked worn, but now he seemed alive again, almost carefree. ‘This is the last of them.’ She gestured towards the piles of expensive clothing he had urged her to buy. ‘We may leave London as soon as you wish.’

‘Excellent.’ He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, but pulled it away hurriedly before it could touch her skin. He flushed very slightly, as if embarrassed by what he had almost done.

Beth held his gaze unwaveringly. She had finally come to accept, reluctantly, that he never made gestures of affection, even when they were alone. It was as if he expected an interruption at any moment. In her bedchamber, it was different, but only there. And he never, ever, stayed with her till morning.

‘Everything is ready for our journey,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, I think. I have arranged for Portbury horses at all the staging posts, so we should not be delayed.’

Beth tried to keep her expression neutral. She disliked travelling in such pomp, with servants bowing and scraping at every turn. She had been surprised that Jon chose to do so. At Fratcombe, he unbent a little, at least with the Aubreys. The moment he left it, he donned this starched-up, aristocratic manner with everyone. Sometimes, she was not sure what kind of man she had married.

He was spelling out the route they would take. ‘We will travel light. Any extra baggage may follow on behind.’

‘Hetty will take care of it.’

‘No. Your maid will travel with you, ma’am, in your carriage. The Countess of Portbury does not travel alone.’

‘You…you do not accompany me, sir?’ Beth did not quite manage to control the tremor in her voice.

‘But of course. However, I plan to ride. I have taken far too little exercise while we have been here in London.’

He was avoiding her company, even more than on their journey from Fratcombe. It must all be part of that confounded mask he would not discard. But why? What could he possibly be hiding from?

‘We shall reach King’s Portbury in a few days, if the weather holds. Then, at last, we will be able to settle down to that comfortable, companionable life I promised you, Beth. You will learn to run my household—my mother will instruct you in your role there—while I deal with the business of my estates, and my duties to Parliament. I have neglected both, I fear, since my return from Spain. In the evenings, we will be able to sup together,
as a family, and sit by the fire. It is a delightful picture, is it not?’

It was not delightful at all. It appeared that the Dowager would be living with them, as well as
instructing
Beth. That sounded daunting enough. Worse was that Jon clearly wished to avoid being alone with Beth, except in her bed, which was simple necessity, for the getting of an heir. She had thought he valued her, as a trusted friend. She was beginning to wonder if she had been wrong.

‘Ah, Jon. Punctual as ever.’ His mother was beaming at him without a trace of artifice. ‘Do come over to the fire. I know how chilly you find it, here in England.’

Jon took his stance in front of the roaring fire and let it warm his back. He glanced round at his mother’s cosy sitting room. Soon, she would return to the Dower House and Beth would take over this room. In the spring, he decided, he would offer to have it redecorated for her, in any colour she wanted. She might like new furniture, too. There was no reason why she should have to keep what Alicia had chosen. The memory of his dead wife sent the usual shudder down his spine.