The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

Chapter Thirteen

The Dowager smiled complacently. ‘The first guests should arrive tomorrow, Jon.’

He was struck by a sudden uncomfortable thought. ‘I take it they do not include the young ladies from your summer party, Mama?’

Her haughtily raised eyebrows were eloquent. No duke would allow his unmarried daughter to attend a house party where there were no eligible male guests. George, even if he deigned to attend, was far from eligible, for he was only an impecunious younger son, and had a reputation as a rake, besides.

‘Beg pardon, ma’am. I should have known better than to ask.’

Mollified, his mother began to list names, while Jon made mental notes of what he needed to say to Beth about her house guests. Some of them, sadly, were much too high in the instep to be good company.

The butler appeared in the doorway. ‘Your ladyship asked to be informed when the countess returned from her drive.’

‘Ask her ladyship if she will be good enough to join us.’

Before Goodrite could bow in response to the Dowager’s instruction, Jon was on his feet and making for the door. ‘No need. I will do it,’ he said curtly.

In the entrance hall, Beth was in the process of removing her heavy pelisse and bonnet. She turned at the sound of his step. Her cheeks were flushed from the chill wind, but her eyes were sparkling. He had clearly been right to send her out to take the air, to restore her bloom after several days of sitting at the Dowager’s feet, being tutored in her new role.

She smiled up at him. ‘Good afternoon, my lord,’ she said formally, though there was nothing in the least formal about the way her gaze softened when she looked at him. It reminded Jon, much too forcefully, of the way her eyes locked with his when they were making love.

One unwary memory, and desire was thrumming through him. He tried to say something innocuous, but he could not find the words. To cover his confusion, he took her hand and bowed over it, hoping that his extravagant gesture would make up for the words of polite greeting he could not utter.

She must have sensed something, for she ran her middle finger across his palm in a teasing caress. The unexpected touch rippled through his whole body. What on earth was she doing? It was the middle of the afternoon, and they were standing in the hallway, watched by the butler and two footmen. He dropped her hand like a hot coal and hurriedly stepped back.

‘That will be all, Hetty,’ she said, calmly nodding dismissal to her maid. ‘You wanted something of me, my lord?’

Oh yes! I want to carry you up to your bedchamber and ravish you until we are both mindless with passion!

Shocked by his own reactions, Jon assumed the haughty manner he always adopted when he was at risk of betraying his inner feelings. ‘My lady mother is waiting for us in the saloon. Will you join us, ma’am?’ As custom required, he offered Beth his arm, willing his flesh to remain totally numb. He was determined that there would be nothing for the servants to remark upon.

There was something very knowing about the way she smiled and laid her hand on his arm to be escorted to the saloon. For a woman who was only lately wed, she had learned extremely quickly how to drive a man to madness. Was that what it was? Or was he imagining it all?

‘How well you look, my dear.’ Jon’s mother smiled in welcome and waved them to the seats opposite her. Behind them, the butler closed the door without a sound.

Jon led Beth to the seat opposite his mother, but he did not take his place beside her. Better to observe her from a distance, he decided, throwing himself on to the far end of the Dowager’s sofa and trying to appear more relaxed than he felt.

Beth held out her hands to the blazing fire. ‘We had a delightful drive, ma’am. There was a sharp wind, to be sure, but the sun was shining and the sky was absolutely clear. The park was quite beautiful, even though the trees were bare.’ She turned to Jon, raising her eyebrows a fraction. ‘Perhaps, when your business is less pressing, my lord, you might be able to join me, to show me more of the estate? I should so like to know about all the features here. At one point, I thought I saw an old stone building, half hidden by trees. Do you have a folly here, too?’

Minx! Her confidence was clearly growing by the day. She was roasting him. And in front of his mother, too! He ought to be cross with her, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain his austere mask. In truth, he wanted to laugh aloud. And then to kiss her till she begged for mercy. He was going to have some very strong words with the new Countess of Portbury. Later, when they were safely alone.

‘Jon and I have been discussing the arrangements for the house guests,’ the Dowager put in tartly. ‘If the weather continues fine, Jon will be able to entertain the gentlemen with outdoor pursuits. I imagine some of the ladies might like to join them. I recall that some of the younger ones are excellent horsewomen.’ She turned to Jon, who nodded rather absently. ‘I imagine that you will prefer to rest quietly here at the house, Beth. In the circumstances.’

Beth blushed rosily and turned away to stare at the fire.

‘I see no reason why Beth should not go riding if she wishes to,’ Jon said, rather more harshly than he had intended. ‘She is a fine horsewoman, too, and she may have the pick of my stables.’

‘Thank you.’ Her response was very low and directed at the hearth.

‘Hmmph. I should tell you, Jon, that one of a hostess’s duties is to ensure that her guests are entertained. Beth may of course go riding, but only if all the other lady guests are doing so. If some of them choose to remain at the house, as I would expect, their hostess cannot desert them. We are agreed on that, are we not, Beth?’

Beth raised her head and turned to look directly at the Dowager. ‘None of our guests will have cause to fault the hospitality in this house, ma’am. Your lessons will not go unheeded.’

The Dowager nodded slowly twice, as if accepting due homage from an inferior. Jon found himself wondering just what had taken place during the last few days when his mother was supposedly helping Beth to assume her duties as mistress of Portbury Abbey. Was there a degree of friction between the two of them? He had blithely told Beth that, once she was his countess, no one would dare to malign her. But his mother, a dowager countess and the daughter of a wealthy and powerful family, had no need to mind her tongue. If she disapproved of Beth, she could certainly turn her life into a trial.

Jon stared across at his wife, trying to read her expression. Poor Beth. She was still far from secure in her new position. She was haunted by fears that ghosts might appear from her past to accuse her of wicked crimes. Sometimes, those fears had become so strong that she suffered appalling sick headaches. They were less frequent since her marriage, she said, but if his mother-

‘I must say that you seem to be quite an apt pupil, Beth,’ the Dowager said loftily. She ignored Beth’s sharp intake of breath and turned to Jon. ‘Your wife may have come to us with little knowledge of how to run a great house, Jon, but she is certainly trying to learn. I have no doubt that she will do extremely well. Eventually. Once she has had a chance to put my lessons into practice.’

That was exceedingly barbed, and quite unnecessarily hurtful. Jon looked at his mother with new eyes. He had thought her the pattern card of ladylike behaviour, but this…? What on earth did she have against Beth? His mother was a great lady, but she clearly lacked Beth’s kind heart and generosity of spirit. Beth did not deserve to be the butt of his mother’s sour tongue.

‘Beth, you are beginning to look rather pale,’ the Dowager continued, in slightly friendlier tones. ‘Are you sure you are quite well? Miss Mountjoy told me that she found you laid upon your bed last week. She had concerns that your health might be…er…delicate. She is quite experienced in such matters, of course.’

In the space of seconds, Beth’s slight pallor had changed to a fiery blush. She made to speak, but no words came out.

Jon was shocked and angered by his mother’s sly hint that Beth was not in robust good health. Apart from the occasional headache, she was blooming. He would not permit his wife to be tormented by Miss Mountjoy’s malicious insinuations, even at second hand. Equally, he could not rebuke his mother in front of his wife. ‘I am surprised to learn that Miss Mountjoy took it upon herself to venture up to my wife’s bedchamber. She is no longer employed here. As a visitor, she does not have the run of my house,’ he finished firmly, looking directly at his mother.

The Dowager raised her chin a fraction and glared back at him. ‘I understood that Beth had invited Miss Mountjoy upstairs.’

Jon did not believe that for a moment.

Beth was shaking her head. ‘I fear you have been misinformed, ma’am. I did no such thing. Nor would I,’ she added, with unusual vehemence. ‘Miss Mountjoy told me that you yourself had sent her to offer me the benefit of her…er…experience.’

The Dowager clamped her lips together. Her eyes were flashing angrily.

Jon knew exactly where to place the blame. Miss Mountjoy was capable of almost anything in pursuit of her hatred for Jon. This time, he would certainly have to deal with her, but first he had to prevent a rift between his mother and his wife. ‘Beth, my dear,’ he said gently, crossing to where she sat and raising her to her feet, ‘I am truly sorry there appears to have been a misunderstanding over this. But Mama is right, you do look a little pale. May I suggest you rest this afternoon? You have been working so hard, preparing for the house party. And you will have precious little time to yourself once the guests start arriving.’ He clasped her hand firmly and led her to the door. She did not resist, of course. She was too well bred to argue with Jon in front of his mother.

‘I will deal with this, I promise,’ he murmured into her hair, as he ushered her into the hall and stood watching while she made her way towards the stairs. He tried to ignore the sway of her hips, but the motion was exceedingly attractive to the eye. It was partly his own fault, since he had encouraged her to buy that expensive velvet carriage dress. Its every movement reminded him all too vividly of the body concealed beneath.

He was shaking his head when he returned to the saloon. He must stop enjoying his wife’s attractions and start thinking about how to deal with his mother’s apparent antipathy to her. What on earth could be the cause of it?

‘Was there something in particular you wished to discuss, Mama?’ he began innocently, taking the seat that Beth had vacated. ‘In relation to the guests?’

His mother seemed to have relaxed now that Beth was no longer in the room with them. ‘No, nothing in particular. I merely wanted to impress on your wife how important it is for this house party to pass off well. It is, after all, her first experience of acting as hostess since she became your countess. She has some rather…er…quaint notions of how to go on.’

Jon swore inwardly, but schooled his features into neutrality. ‘Indeed? I’m afraid I must have missed those, for I have seen nothing amiss. As a mere male, of course…’ He allowed his words to hang in the air, like a fly dancing on the surface of the water for the fish to bite.

His mother rose to the bait. ‘No, you would not. Men never do, I’m afraid. Your father was just as bad.’ When Jon said nothing, she continued, a little hesitantly, ‘I am hoping that your wife will come to appreciate the difference between her guests’ dressers and her own maid. I do not see that a chit from the workhouse, or wherever that girl came from, is at all appropriate to serve as lady’s maid to a countess. You understand what is needed. Your own new man knows exactly what an earl’s consequence requires.’ The Dowager was starting to sound much more confident. ‘I wish your wife would take her cue from you and engage a proper dresser.’

Jon nodded curtly. ‘Thank you for your advice, Mama. I will ensure the matter is dealt with.’ He paused a moment to bring his seething anger under control. First Miss Mountjoy, and now this! ‘Was that the only thing you wished to discuss with me, ma’am?’

His mother looked for a moment as though she were about to make some other comment, but there must have been something in Jon’s expression that warned her to take care, for she pursed her lips and shook her head.

Jon smiled tightly. ‘I must thank you for all the help you have given Beth since we arrived, Mama. I am sure that, thanks to your tuition, she will do very well in her role as mistress of the Abbey. I know that you have found it irksome to be acting as my hostess over all these months, but I am very grateful. I imagine you will wish to return to the peace of the Dower House now that you have helped Beth to settle in?’

‘I…er…’ There was just a hint of a flush rising on the Dowager’s neck. She swallowed. ‘That is very considerate of you, Jon,’ she said tightly, ‘but I think it would be unwise for me to leave your wife alone quite yet. I am sure she will appreciate having a more experienced female at her side to act as…er…co-hostess. After all, she has had no chance yet to practise everything I have taught her.’

‘Quite so, quite so,’ Jon said, nodding. ‘And there will be other benefits of having two ladies to act as hostess. For example, you will be able to remain here at the house to entertain the older ladies, while Beth rides out with the younger ones, will you not?’

‘I-’ For once, the Dowager looked nonplussed.

Jon leaned across to pat his mother’s hand. ‘It is very good of you to do this, Mama, and I know Beth will appreciate the extra freedom you are giving her. As do I.’

His mother nodded. She was clearly outmanoeuvred, but she was much too proud to say a word.

Jon rose and bowed. ‘I must ask you to excuse me, Mama. I have urgent letters to write and some other business that must be discharged today.’ With his jaw set, he made his way out into the hall where the butler was hovering. ‘Have a message sent to my land agent, Goodrite. I will see him here, in one hour.’ Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Jon made for the stairs. Dealing with his agent was important, but there was something else that had to be done first.

When Jon entered the sitting room that he shared with Beth, he was surprised to find it empty. There was no sound at all, not even the crackle of a fire, but the door into Beth’s room stood partly open. He paused, wondering. He knew Beth was quite sharp enough to have understood the meaning underlying her mother-in-law’s words. Would he find her weeping in her bedchamber?

He stole forward and peeped round the half-open door. Beth was lying on top of the bed, fully clad, but with her eyes closed. The maid, Martin, was sitting alongside, stroking Beth’s face and- No, the girl was bathing Beth’s forehead with lavender water. The subtle scent was unmistakable. And it meant Beth had the headache again. No wonder, perhaps, after that nasty confrontation downstairs. Jon took a silent step into the bedchamber.

The little maid must have sensed his arrival. She looked over her shoulder and frowned at him. Then, pert little madam, she dared to put a finger to her lips and motioned to Jon to leave!

Jon’s first impulse was to reprimand her for her impudence, but one more look at Beth’s peaceful face choked the words in his throat. If she was now sleeping, he should let her rest. He could deal with the maid without waking his wife. He would simply retreat to the sitting room and wait.

After a few moments, Martin emerged, closing the door very quietly behind her. Only then did she remember to curtsy. ‘Her ladyship is asleep, my lord.’

‘So I saw. Is she…?’

‘She had the headache, and a little nausea, my lord, but she was quite determined that no one should be aware of it. She…she made me promise not to tell you.’

‘And if I had not seen, you would have said nothing?’

‘No, my lord. I…I could not betray my lady’s trust. I…I am sorry.’ She looked up at him, unafraid, in spite of the implicit challenge in her words. Hetty Martin might be still very young, but there was no doubt of her devotion to Beth. Love was shining in her eyes. Love for Beth.

Jon’s few remaining doubts evaporated on the spot. That sort of devotion more than made up for any lack of dressing skill, or French genius with ointments and potions. He doubted that any of the top-lofty dressers arriving with his mother’s guests would show even a fraction of Hetty’s loyalty and commitment.

‘I would not wish you to do so, Hetty,’ Jon said quietly, noting how the maid’s eyes widened at his use of her given name. ‘You are her ladyship’s dresser and personal maid. Your loyalty must be to her. And only to her.’

Hetty curtsied again.

‘I am truly sorry that my wife is unwell, Hetty. I think I know the cause, on this occasion, and I will deal with it. However, if…if she should be upset in the future, or…or afraid, I should like you to come and tell me. Will you do that?’

Hetty stared at the floor, shaking her head.

‘What do you mean, no?’ Jon snapped. ‘If my wife needs help, who should provide it but I?’

The maid was still shaking her head. ‘I could not betray my lady’s confidence,’ she whispered. ‘Not even to your lordship. Not to anyone.’ She continued to stare at the floor, like a prisoner waiting for sentence.

No wonder Beth had braved the Dowager’s disapproval to keep her own maid by her. This girl was a pearl beyond price. ‘I am not asking you to betray your mistress, Hetty,’ Jon said, more gently. ‘I only ask you to use your common sense. If my wife should need help, should need a friend, please encourage her to come to me. Or come to me yourself.’

She glanced up, surprised. For a moment, she seemed to be considering his words. Then, at last, she nodded.

‘And whatever should happen, I thank you for your devotion to my wife.’ With that, he nodded her dismissal and strode into his own bedchamber.

‘Is there anything I can do for your lordship?’ Vernon, the valet, slipped into the room, soft-footed as ever. Did he feel a fraction of the loyalty that little Hetty was showing to her mistress?

‘No. I shan’t need you until it is time to dress for dinner.’ Jon glared balefully at Vernon until the man bowed himself back into the dressing room. Then Jon sat down at the small desk under the window to make the most of the remaining light. He would not know for a few days whether his plan was going to work. All would depend on the response to this letter.

He pulled out a sheet of his embossed writing paper and dipped his pen in the standish. It took only a few minutes to complete the short letter and seal it. Devotion was worth more than rubies. And this would prove whether he had earned it, as Beth had.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he rose and made his way downstairs, dropping the letter on the silver salver in the entrance hall. He would have to be patient until a response could come. And in the meantime…

Jon smiled to himself and strode down the corridor to his library. By now, his agent should be waiting for his new instructions.

Beth woke early and lay staring up towards the silken canopy. She could see nothing in the gloom. And she was alone again.

Jon had been a little hesitant about coming to her bed this last time. He had enquired, obliquely, if she wished to sleep alone. Of course, she did not! She wanted to sleep in his arms all night, but she could not tell him so. The most she could do was to encourage him to come to her, even if only for an hour or so.

Instead of ignoring the Dowager’s hurtful remarks, Beth had stupidly let them prey on her mind. So the headache had been her own fault. She must simply accept that her mother-in-law did not like her, or trust her. But the Dowager’s power in the household would diminish, as Beth became more secure. She must do what she could to hasten the process. She had managed to respond with spirit, on occasion. She would cling to that. The Countess of Portbury must not cower, or flee.

She strained her eyes towards the shuttered windows. Soon it would be dawn. She thought she could already hear the servants stirring. This late in the year, they could not wait for daylight to begin their chores, especially as the first guests were to arrive soon. To her own surprise, Beth found she was not at all anxious about dealing with Jon’s friends, or even the Dowager’s. Beth had learned during her time with the Aubreys to handle all sorts of people, from the highest to the lowest. And in the weeks since her marriage, she had even begun to learn how to deal with her husband.

She smiled up into the darkness. She was beginning to understand him. A little. In public, he was the essence of the aristocrat-distant, austere, mindful of his duty, and polite to a fault. Some of it was assumed, though not his concern for his duty. He had inherited that from the old earl, who had valued duty and rank above all else. Beth fancied he had not been a loving father to Jon. There was no doubt, however, that even though the Dowager did not approve of her son’s choice of second wife, she did love Jon very much. For that alone, Beth would endure any insult that her mother-in-law might voice.

Beth shrugged against the pillows. There was precious little she could do to remedy the Dowager’s poor opinion. Jon had married Beth out of hand, without introducing her to anyone first. Had he been determined to have his ring on Beth’s finger before his mother could object to a penniless woman of no family? Had he-?

‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ she said aloud. She was the Countess of Portbury now, and Jon was her husband. It was up to her to make this marriage work. And that included the task of running this vast mansion. Beth was sure she would have the measure of it soon. Somewhere in her past life, she imagined, she must have been taught the way of managing servants, for it came naturally enough. Beth fully intended to demonstrate just how much she had learned from the Dowager, too. If she could make Jon’s mother proud of her, it might ease the tension between them. She would make Jon proud of her, too, if she could.

If only he would stay with her at night. If only he would spend more time with her in the day. Sometimes, she was sure he was deliberately avoiding her company. But why? He did not come to her bed merely for the getting of an heir. Beth might have been an innocent before that astonishing night in the Fratcombe folly, but she could tell that the passion they shared was very special. Jon could not make love to a woman he did not esteem. His first wife had repelled him. With Beth, there was desire, and passion, and rapture for them both.

She laughed softly, remembering. Each time was different, and yet the same. He still explored her body with a sense of wonder, as if he were uncovering something magical. That reverence almost made up for being left to sleep alone.

Almost, but not quite. There must be a way to persuade him to stay, if only she could find it. If she continued to tease him, in private ways that only the two of them understood, he might eventually unbend.

Had his mother noticed that second of shock on his face when Beth had asked about a folly at Portbury? That tiny flicker of response had been utterly delicious. She hugged the memory to herself. Teasing him in public, ever so subtly, was the way to ensure he remained aware of his wife. All the time.

It was a good plan. And she would use it again. She had half expected to be well scolded once they were alone together, but Jon had been too concerned about her to do any such thing. He was a truly considerate man. And, heaven help her, she loved him to distraction! If only he-

She shook her head, vehemently. Jon did not love her. Perhaps he had never loved any woman? Perhaps he never could? She had seen precious few signs of attachment to anyone, or anything, apart from his duty. It would have to be enough that Beth loved him without reserve. One day, God willing, she would put a son into his arms and see him gazing down, with love, on a child of their joined flesh. Perhaps that would be enough.

In the meantime, she would do everything in her power to prove that she was fit to take her place by his side. Let the Dowager judge as she would. Beth was going to show Jon that she could be a worthy countess.