The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride (6 page)

Mrs Aubrey’s little maid answered Jon’s knock, as usual. At the sight of him, her eyes grew as round as saucers. She stood rooted to the spot, making no move to admit him. Impudent wench! It was not for a mere servant to have opinions on how often Jon chose to call.

‘Is Mrs Aubrey at home?’ he asked sharply.

She nodded and showed him directly to the parlour, without first seeking leave from her mistress. Almost as if he were one of the family.

‘Why, Jonathan! Three visits in three days! We are honoured.’ Jon did not miss the hint of laughter in Mrs Aubrey’s voice as she rose from her work table and dropped him a tiny curtsy. It was only yesterday that he had finally persuaded the old lady to use his given name, as her husband always did. It felt right. He was truly glad of it.

Beth—Miss Aubrey—would do nothing so intimate. She too had risen from her place, laying aside her pen. Her curtsy was a model of decorum. It showed off her slim figure and upright carriage, too. Somewhere she had been well schooled. ‘Good afternoon, Lord Portbury.’ Her voice was low, almost husky. He persuaded himself it sounded a little strained. Could she be worrying about tomorrow’s party?

He smiled down at her. ‘You have been working too hard again, ma’am. You have ink on your fingers, I fear.’ He was hoping to make her laugh as readily as on the previous afternoons.

Instead, she looked horrified. She lifted her fingers to stare at the dark stain as if some monster had settled on her skin. ‘Oh, dear. I shall never get it clean in time. What shall I—?’

Mrs Aubrey stepped forward and clasped her wrinkled old hands over Beth’s smooth ones. ‘Stop worrying, my dear. I have a remedy for that, I promise. You shall be as white as snow when you don your new evening gown.’

Beth resumed her seat, but her eyes were still wide and apprehensive, Jon saw. It had not occurred to him before now that she might worry about appearing at his party. She seemed so confident in everything else she
did, in the school, with the villagers, with servants, even with him… She was a lady, but she was still a nobody, and about to be foisted on to a group of haughty gentle-folk who most definitely did not wish to accept her as an equal. Of course it would be an ordeal. Why had he not seen that? In the long run, it would make her life easier, he was sure, but that was little consolation today. Even a true lady could be afraid of confrontation.

He hastened to reassure her. ‘In any case, you will be wearing evening gloves, and—’

‘Jonathan!’ Mrs Aubrey interrupted sharply, adding a warning shake of her head. ‘Will you take tea with us?’

Now, why…? Oh, yes, of course. The ladies would remove their gloves at the dinner table. Stupid of him. His wits had gone a-begging. He was not helping Beth at all. He smiled his agreement to the old lady and set about restoring poor Beth’s peace of mind.

He joined her on the sofa. ‘You seem incredibly busy, ma’am.’ He gestured towards the pieces of card spread across the table. ‘Is this for my party, too?’ He picked one up. The name ‘Sir Bertram Fitzherbert’ was written in a very elegant hand.

‘Place cards for your dinner table, my lord. We remembered them only this morning.’

‘Ah, yes. Yet another of the hostess’s duties. I had not realised quite how many burdens I was putting on Mrs Aubrey’s shoulders when I asked her to take this on.’ He glanced across at the old lady who was standing in the open doorway, giving instructions to her maid. ‘It must be much more difficult for a hostess who does not actually live in the house.’

Beth shook her head. ‘It could be, but your butler is extremely competent. And we had weeks to prepare while you were away…’ Her voice tailed off. She threw him an enigmatic sideways glance and then quickly looked away.

Was that an accusation? That he had decreed this grand party and then fled the field? If only she knew! Those three weeks at King’s Portbury had been more dangerous than any battlefield. If he had not been awake to the matchmakers’ scheming, he might have found himself forcibly leg-shackled to a chit he could not abide. Fratcombe was a peaceful refuge by comparison. Here he could relax and be himself. Here, no one was scheming.

Except himself, of course!

He laughed aloud at that subversive thought.

‘My lord?’ She sounded hurt. She still did not know him well enough to realise he would never laugh at her.

‘Forgive me, ma’am.’ On impulse, he reached out to cover her ink-stained fingers with his own and patted her hand reassuringly. She froze instantly. Good God, what was he doing? He drew in a quick, horrified breath, but forced himself to give her one last friendly pat before nonchalantly dropping his hand back into his lap, as if he had done nothing in the least improper. ‘I was laughing at the picture you painted…of myself.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Far too top-lofty to involve myself in anything as mundane as
work
. And absconding from the scene to ensure I could not be called to account. Very remiss, I agree.’

‘Oh, no!’ She was blushing now. The tints of rose
on her cheeks merely served to highlight her perfect complexion. There was colour on her neck, too, though it was partly hidden behind her high collar. Under her muslins, he had no doubt that even her bosom was delicately pink and—

She pulled another card towards her and busied herself with carefully writing the name. Just as well that she was not looking at Jon. She might be a single lady, but she was almost certainly old enough to recognise sensual awareness in a man’s face. He had no right to allow himself to stray into such thoughts. She was a nobody, a protégée at most. It was beneath his dignity to dally with her.

‘Oh, bl—!’ Her nib had broken and blotted the card. ‘Bother!’ she corrected herself quickly. When he did not react, she threw him a mischievous look. Unlike the simpering debutantes, she was sensible enough to realise that his touch had been a mistake. And to be forgotten at once. Yes, sensible, but delightful company, too, as he had learned since his return. Her eyes were now dancing with mischief. ‘You will permit me to observe, my lord, that your
supervision
of my work is not helping.’

Excellent. She was back to her normal quick-witted self. Easy with him, and more than ready to take him to task. He much preferred her that way.

He allowed himself a sheepish grin. ‘I will take myself further off at once, ma’am.’ He rose and crossed the room to Mrs Aubrey’s side. ‘It is clear that Miss Aubrey finds my presence a burden this afternoon. However, my intentions were of the best, I assure you. I knew there were bound to be last-minute chores and,
since it is my party, I thought I should offer my services. Is there any way in which I can help?’

Mrs Aubrey smiled, shaking her head. ‘No. Apart from the place cards, everything is done. Unless you wish to help with those?’

He snorted with laughter. ‘If you had seen my hand writing, ma’am, you would not ask.’

She laughed, too. ‘I thought as much. It tends to be the way with gentlemen. No, you may sit and converse with me over the teacups, so that Beth is left in peace to finish her task. We are treating you as a friend of the family, you understand, rather than an exalted visitor who must become the centre of everyone’s attention.’ She paused. Jon thought he saw a fleeting shadow cross her face. ‘After all these daily visits, it could hardly be otherwise.’

Was that a warning? Had he overstepped the mark?

‘But we do appreciate your help and advice,’ the old lady went on quickly. ‘However, I warn you that you must not call tomorrow, Jonathan. Both Beth and I shall be fully engaged with gowns and curling tongs. Male company will definitely
not
be welcome.’

He nodded an acknowledgement, trying to keep his face straight. ‘I shall wait with…er…interest to see the results of so much female industry. I dare say I shall not recognise my hostess and my guest of honour when they cross my threshold.’

Mrs Aubrey’s eyes were sparkling wickedly now. That was too much for Jon, who laughed aloud. In a moment, Mrs Aubrey was laughing, too.

For some reason, Beth did not respond at all. Clearly she was too absorbed in her work to have heard another word he said.

Beth touched slightly shaky fingers to her lips and then, even more tentatively, to her hair. It was a splendid confection, but much too elaborate for a woman with no name. Could she go through with this? She closed her eyes. She really did not want to look at the woman in the mirror. That was not Beth. That was some other person, a fine lady, the kind of lady who could go into society and hold her head high.

She swallowed hard. She had promised Jonathan that she would do this. She had repeated the promise during one of his recent visits. But he did not know who Beth was or where she came from, any more than she herself did. When she was with him, talking and laughing as they had been doing over these last three days, she had begun to feel calm, almost serene. He treated Beth exactly as he treated Mrs Aubrey. Like a lady. But was she a lady?

It was true that she had not been a menial. Her soft hands proved that. But she could just as well have been a lowly companion, or in some other inferior position in a household. The fact that she enjoyed her duties as the village schoolmistress, and that she was apparently so good at it, suggested she might have been some kind of teacher, or governess. That would make her a lady—of sorts—but not one whose position in society allowed her to sit at the right hand of an earl.

Her eyes flew open in horror. She stared at her reflection. She had turned stark white at the thought of sitting
in the place of honour at Jonathan’s table. He was going to insist upon it. He had said so, and Mrs Aubrey had readily agreed. According to the printed invitations, the select dinner, followed by a larger evening party, was ‘to introduce Miss Aubrey’. Therefore, she would have to take the place of honour on the host’s right, no matter how high the station of any other of the lady guests.

Beth cringed inwardly. How could she possibly do this? She had promised not to develop a convenient headache. Unfortunately, she was beginning to develop a real one.

She rose and began to pace up and down her bedchamber. The skirts of the beautiful new evening gown floated about her caressingly. Oh dear. Mrs Aubrey had gone to so much trouble, and so much expense, for this. The gown was a very elegant affair of delicate white gauze over pomona-green silk. It had a low square neckline and vandyking on the sleeves and hemline, to show off the gleaming colour beneath. Much too fine for a foundling.

The bedroom door opened. Hetty was back. Her excited chatter would begin all over again. Beth was not sure she could bear it.

‘Mrs Aubrey sent these.’ The maid opened a flat leather case with exaggerated care.

Beth stopped and gazed. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. The jewel case contained a single strand of exceedingly good pearls, with matching ear drops. Perfect.

‘Sit down, Miss Beth, and I will put the necklace on for you.’

What choice did she have? The whole household was determined that, like Cinderella, she should go to the
ball. But, unlike Cinderella, Beth could never be worthy of this prince.

Hetty quickly clasped the pearls around Beth’s neck and helped her to hook the earrings in place. Beth straightened her shoulders. There was no going back now. She had promised them all, and so she must do everything in her power to play her part in this…this charade. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips a little. That was better. There was colour now, in both. She rose again and shook out her skirts. She could do this. She would.

She forced herself to smile as she drew on her long gloves and took up her matching fan and reticule. ‘Thank you, Hetty, for the hairstyle.’ On an impulse, she put her gloved hands on the girl’s shoulders and dropped a kiss on her cheek. ‘You are a wonder.’

Hetty blushed to the roots of her hair. And then she dropped a curtsy. ‘Miss Beth, I— Oh, ma’am, thank you.’

Beth could not tell which of them was more overcome. Not wishing to embarrass Hetty further, she patted the girl’s shoulder and left the room.

At the foot of the stairs, the rector and Mrs Aubrey were waiting. Mrs Aubrey had fashioned that wonderfully unusual red-purple silk into a most flattering evening gown. She had garnet drops in her ears, and a matching aigrette in her hair.

‘Oh, ma’am!’ Beth stopped halfway down the stairs. ‘How fine you look. His lordship could not have a more splendid hostess at his side.’

Mrs Aubrey preened a little and touched her grey
curls. She too had had the benefit of Hetty’s clever fingers. ‘Thank you, child.’

‘May I say,’ the rector intervened, ‘that both my ladies look extremely fine.’ When Beth reached the hallway, he shook out her evening cloak and placed it gently on her shoulders.

Mrs Aubrey leant forward to tie it for her, straightening the folds so that the deep green velvet would hang beautifully. ‘You look radiant, Beth. Exactly how a guest of honour should be. Come now. Since his lordship has kindly sent his carriage to fetch us, we must not keep his horses standing any longer. What time do you have, James, my dear?’

The rector checked his silver pocket watch. ‘If we leave now, we will have at least a quarter of an hour before any of the other guests arrive.’

Unless they are truly bad-mannered. What if they arrive early, in order to ogle Cinderella before she has learned how to walk in her glass slippers?

Beth could not silence that unruly voice in her head. There were certainly some of the guests who were capable of such rudeness. Beth could imagine Sir Bertram and Lady Fitzherbert doing so. Lady Fitzherbert would give that tinkling, tittering laugh of hers, place her beautifully manicured fingers on Jonathan’s sleeve, and gush that she ‘must have mistaken the time’.

I will not let them embarrass me. They shall not look down on me. Whoever I was, I am now Miss Aubrey. If the rector and Mrs Aubrey are prepared to treat me as a lady, everyone else shall do so, too. Jonathan believes in me. Surely that is enough?

J
on paced up and down in his library, waiting for the butler to appear, to warn him that the carriage was coming up the drive. For some reason, he was a little nervous. He could not understand why. He was only preparing for an evening party, not an assault with bayonets fixed and guns blazing.

The butler entered silently and bowed. ‘Your lordship’s carriage will be at the door in a few moments. Shall I show the guests into the crimson saloon?’

‘No, Sutton. Mrs Aubrey is my hostess, and Miss Aubrey is the guest of honour. I shall meet them at the door myself.’ He strode out into the hallway, past the thin-lipped butler. The man clearly did not approve of such condescension to a mere rector and his family.

The footman had already thrown the great door wide. Mrs Aubrey led the way into the house, followed by the rector, with Miss Beth on his arm. Mrs Aubrey let her cloak slip from her shoulders into the footman’s waiting
hands. Then she curtsied in response to Jon’s deep bow. ‘Good evening, Jonathan.’

Jon smiled broadly and returned her greeting. It still gave him a warm feeling to hear her use his given name.

He turned to greet the rector. ‘Good evening, sir, and welcome.’

The rector was too busy removing Miss Beth’s cloak to reply. He took her hand and led her forward. ‘Good evening, Jonathan.’ He bowed briefly. ‘May I present your guest of honour, Miss Aubrey?’

There was only time for a single glance before she sank into a deep curtsy, a curtsy fit for a queen, not a mere earl. When she did not rise immediately, Jon stepped forward and took her hand to raise her himself. His eyes had not deceived him. She looked utterly radiant, as beautiful as the dawn. His breath caught. For a second, he could not find any words. How did you tell a woman that she had been transformed into a vision out of a fairytale?

Mrs Aubrey was gazing at Beth with pride in her eyes and a slight smile on her lips. But it was the rector who broke the silence. ‘Fit to grace any man’s table, I’d say. Wouldn’t you agree, my boy?’

Jon found his voice at last. ‘Rector, I have no doubt that your ladies—both your ladies—will outshine any in the county.’

By the time the guests were seated at the dinner table, Jon had more or less recovered from the revelation of Beth’s astonishing beauty. How had he failed to see it before? Had he stopped using his eyes once he decided
she was a foundling in need of rescue? It was possible. In Spain, after the siege of Badajoz, many women had been attacked by drunken British soldiers. Jon and his fellow officers had been unable to save them from molestation, and worse. That failure still haunted him, so much so that he had sworn he would always defend a lone woman in distress. That was part of the reason he had made common cause with the Aubreys to support Beth, though it had suited his other purposes, too. Had he been so intent on securing his own place in Fratcombe society, that he had failed to understand she was not just a cause, but also a living, breathing woman?

He knew it now. The living, breathing body beneath that filmy gown was the stuff of a man’s dreams.

His heart was still beating faster than normal but he fancied he had hidden his physical reactions pretty well. He had even succeeded in escorting her to the dining room without betraying himself. She had rested her hand so lightly on the sleeve of his dress coat that he had had to check it was actually there. It was, but even then he was not totally convinced. Her fingers could easily have been hovering a fraction of an inch above his arm. Was she as aware of his body as he was of hers? He could not tell. But he must not allow himself to lust after her. She was far beneath him, but she
was
a lady. It was his duty to treat her as one.

The dinner was for a very select group—the Aubreys, Beth, Jonathan and the other couples who had done most to turn Beth’s stay in the district into a severe trial. Worst among them were the Fitzherberts, of course. Rank dictated that, while Jon had the pleasure of seeing
the beautiful Miss Beth on his right hand, he had to suffer the gushing Lady Fitzherbert from his left.

The dinner progressed relatively smoothly. Knowing that Lady Fitzherbert was listening to every word, Jon began the first course by trying to draw Beth out on innocuous subjects such as books and music. Her responses were polite but unforthcoming. He could not blame her. What lady would want to offer up her opinions to Lady Fitzherbert’s vinegar-soaked tongue?

After Beth’s third murmured monosyllable, Jon began to feel thoroughly frustrated. What had happened to the girl who had even dared to sharpen her quick wits on him? He was beginning to think he preferred the rather dowdy poor relation, if the price of her physical transformation was to be the cowing of her spirit. Beauty, as he had discovered to his cost with his late and unlamented wife, was no guarantee of character.

‘Mrs Aubrey tells me you have made excellent progress at the village school. Perhaps I may pay a visit and see your teaching for myself?’ When that produced no response other than a rather startled glance, he continued calmly, ‘Do you have many pupils this year?’

It was like opening a sluice gate. She had hesitated to speak of herself, but the colour returned to her cheeks as she spoke more and more enthusiastically about her charges. ‘The most promising child is Peter. He has a bright, enquiring mind and is already reading very well for one so young. His figuring is good, too.’

‘So you foresee a golden future for him?’

She dropped her gaze to her plate and began to push some of the uneaten food around with her fork.

Something was troubling her about this child. After
a moment’s pause, Jon said, ‘In my experience, the cleverest children are often the naughtiest. One of my cousins—I shall not name him, to save his blushes—was just such a one, always into mischief, and leading all the others astray.’

‘Oh no, Peter is extremely well behaved in school, and no more boisterous than the other boys outside. It is just that he—’ She took a deep breath. Her lush bosom rose alluringly against her tight décolleté. Jon tried to keep his eyes from straying. He must remember his role as host.

‘I must tell you, sir, that his father is only a labourer. As soon as Peter is strong enough to work on the farm, his father will take him out of school.’ She sighed. ‘It is his right, of course. The family has many mouths to feed.’

They both knew it was not her place to interfere, however good her motives. It was no business of Jon’s, either. He should turn the subject. To his surprise, he heard himself asking, ‘Where does the father work?’

Her silence was eloquent, as was the look she gave Jon. She had huge, and very beautiful eyes, the colour of rich chocolate. Eyes to drown in. One more entrancing feature of an entrancing girl.

‘Ah. Do I take it that he is employed by one of my tenants?’

‘Er, no.’ Her voice was barely audible. ‘He works on your home farm.’

Jon almost laughed. Had the man been employed by one of Jon’s tenants, it could have been awkward, even improper, to make special arrangements for the family. But for a home farm labourer, the solution was
in Jon’s gift. He would give the boy a future, in return for one more approving look from those beautiful eyes. ‘Estates need good men at all levels, Miss Aubrey. My agent will arrange it. If Peter continues to excel at his lessons, a place can eventually be found for him in my estate office. He will learn a good trade. Will that content you?’

She nodded to her plate. Then, when he said nothing more, she raised her head. Her peach-bloom complexion was glowing and the smile on her lips was beyond mere politeness. And her shining eyes were glorious. ‘Thank you, my lord. I had not thought that you could be so—Thank you.’

Jon started to reach for her hand. He wanted to show her that he truly approved of her motives. At that very moment, the butler ordered the footmen forward, to clear the first course. Jon’s hand dropped back to the table.

Just as well. What on earth had possessed him to do such a thing? And with Lady Fitzherbert watching, too? He must keep himself under tighter control. He must not allow himself to be beguiled by a pair of fine eyes.

Beth had begun conversing with the gentleman on her right, while Jon would now have to endure Lady Fitzherbert’s incessant chatter. He consoled himself that his penance could not last too much longer. Eventually, the cloth would be removed and he could turn back to Beth. With rather more care, this time.

The conversation round the table got louder and louder during the second course. No doubt, Jon’s excellent cellar was lubricating the guests’ throats, particularly those of the gentlemen. He listened with half an ear to Lady Fitzherbert’s boasting of her eldest son’s
prowess on the hunting field. One lesson had not been enough to keep the confounded woman in her place, it seemed.

‘Very commendable,’ he said with a nod and a half-smile. Then he raised his voice a little, to be sure most of the other guests could hear, and asked casually, ‘I fancy Fitzherbert is not a common name. Are you, by any chance, related to Mrs Fitzherbert, ma’am? The Prince Regent’s former…um…
friend
?’

One or two of the guests gasped aloud. Lady Fitzherbert’s eyes goggled. She became so still she might have been stuffed. Eventually her mouth worked as she tried to speak, but no words came out.

Beth Aubrey’s clear voice broke the strained silence. ‘Is it possible your years in Spain have led you into error, my lord? Perhaps you were not aware that Mrs Fitzherbert is a Roman Catholic?’ She turned to fix big, innocent eyes on Jon, though there was nothing innocent in her neat defence of Lady Fitzherbert. Why on earth should Beth do such a thing for a woman who had wronged her?

Because, unlike Jon, she was kind, even to her enemies. Beth had absorbed the Aubreys’ goodness in a way that Jon, to his shame, had not. He suspected he must be looking a little self-conscious now. In an effort to recover, he said quickly, ‘You are right, of course, Miss Aubrey. My mistake. The Fitzherberts of Fratcombe are pillars of the established church.’

When he turned back to Lady Fitzherbert, he found she was glowering across the table at Beth, as if the insult were Beth’s doing rather than Jon’s. No sign of
Christian charity there. But it was his duty to show that he had a little, at least. ‘I ask your pardon, ma’am, if my thoughtless remark has disturbed you in any way.’ He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her acceptance.

Lady Fitzherbert simpered and inclined her head, before pointedly changing the subject back to her children’s achievements. Their little spat was over. Unfortunately, her ladyship seemed to be even more set against Beth than before. Was that because Beth was an easy target, while Jon himself was not? In the early part of the meal, Lady Fitzherbert had been watching Beth like a cat eying a captive mouse, but Beth’s behaviour had been impeccable. Jon suspected that perfect manners had been bred in her from a very early age. Everything was done correctly and without a moment’s hesitation. There was nothing in the least ill-bred about the delicious Miss Aubrey, however much the sight of her might stir a man’s blood.

Beth was a lady. He had absolutely no doubt of that now. Her ravishing appearance this evening, coupled with her faultless and unselfish behaviour, was serving to prove that. No one should have cause to snub Miss Aubrey after this. And once Jon had carried out the final part of his plan, even the Fitzherberts would have to toe the line he had drawn.

The servants were waiting to remove the cloth. Soon the ladies would leave for the drawing room.

The moment was now. He nodded to the butler to refill the wine glasses. Then he rose in his place.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to welcome you to the first dinner party that I have given here for many years. When I was here as a boy, I found
Fratcombe to be one of the friendliest and most generous parts of England. I have always remembered it with fondness. It is to return some of that generosity that I have invited you here, for you are the first families of the district.’

There was a great deal of preening around the table. Most of the guests were smiling rather smugly. Two feather head-dresses were nodding vigorously.

‘My other reason for this dinner party, as you will know, is to welcome Miss Aubrey into Fratcombe society.’ Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that she was beginning to blush and was staring down at her tightly clasped hands. No matter. This had to be done. Honour demanded it. ‘Miss Aubrey is a distant relative of our good rector.’ Jon smiled at the old man sitting half-way down one side of the long table. ‘Since she came to stay at the rectory, she has done immense good for all of us, by volunteering to be school mistress to all the children of the district. She shows the same selfless nature as Mr and Mrs Aubrey, and I am sure you will all agree that the whole district is beholden to her.’

He paused, letting his gaze travel slowly round the table, resting on each guest in turn until they nodded in agreement. Good.

‘Miss Aubrey will be remaining at the rectory since, sadly, she no longer has any other family of her own. However, that is Fratcombe’s gain, and we are fortunate indeed to have her here among us. I therefore propose a toast. To Miss Aubrey, a most welcome, and valued, member of Fratcombe society.’

Jon raised his glass. There was a scraping of chairs as all the gentlemen rose, some more willingly than
others, but with Jon’s eye on them, they had no choice. The toast was repeated and drunk.

Glad that his stratagem had worked, Jon tossed the contents of his wine glass down his throat in a single swallow. Then he let out a long breath and smiled round at his guests, before resuming his seat. On his right hand, Beth had not moved a fraction. Her colour had risen, but she was still staring at her clasped hands. He knew she was embarrassed and would not wish to speak to him now. She probably would not even wish to look at him. Understandable enough, in the circumstances, for he had given her no hint of what he intended. But he would miss those glowing eyes.

He glanced at Mrs Aubrey and gave her a tiny nod. It was now up to her how this little melodrama would play out.