The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

Chapter Two

The introductions were brief and rather stilted, but Jon did not waste valuable time in enquiring what suddenly ailed his passenger. He sprang his horses along the empty village street and hauled them to a stand at the rectory gate. A quick glance up at the louring sky warned him that the storm would break at any moment. Polite niceties would have to wait.

Leaving his groom to mind the horses, Jon leapt down and hurried round to Miss Aubrey’s side. ‘There is no time to lose, ma’am. The storm is coming. Pray put your arm around my neck and I will carry you in.’ He ignored her shocked gasp and her chalk-white face. This was no time for displays of missish modesty. He slid one arm round her back and the other under her knees, hefted her into his arms and raced up the path to the rectory door.

‘Would you be so good as to ply the knocker, ma’am?’

It seemed to take her a moment or two to realise what he was asking of her. Was she slow-witted? No, surely not. He was being too hard on her. Perhaps the pain in her ankle had worsened? In addition to her strange pallor, she was also biting her lip.

The door was opened by a very small maid. ‘Oh, miss!’ she cried.

‘Open the door wide, that I may carry Miss Aubrey inside. Hurry!’ He almost pushed his way into the hall. He carried her through the first available door, into the small parlour at the front of the house. It was deserted. ‘Fetch the rector or Mrs Aubrey. Quickly now!’ The maid was still standing in the hall, open-mouthed. Jon knelt to slide Miss Aubrey on to the sofa and then rose again, frowning. He took one angry step towards the girl, who gasped in fright and took to her heels.

Jon turned back to the invalid. ‘Forgive me, ma’am, but I must get my horses under cover before the storm. Perhaps you would give my regards to Mr and Mrs Aubrey? I-’

‘Master Jonathan!’ Mrs Aubrey was standing in the doorway.

Jon spun round and sketched a quick bow. ‘As I was saying to Miss Aubrey, ma’am, I must see to my horses before the storm. Miss Aubrey, I fear, has sprained her ankle, but now that you are here, I know she will be well taken care of. I shall call again, as soon as may be.’ He strode to the door and smiled down at the old lady’s puzzled frown. ‘We shall be able to talk more comfortably then.’ He bowed again. ‘My compliments to the rector.’ Then he hurried back to the front door.

The timid little maid was nowhere to be seen, so Jon let himself out and ran down the path to his curricle. ‘Right, Sam. Let’s see what kind of speed we can make to the Manor. If this pair are going to bolt, I’d much rather they did so on my own land.’

‘You poor child, you are shivering. It must be the shock. Let me find you a shawl.’ Mrs Aubrey tugged hard at the bell. ‘Brandy. The rector always says it is the best remedy. Oh, if only he were here.’ She was talking as much to herself as to Beth. ‘Ah, Hetty. Go upstairs and fetch down Miss Beth’s heaviest shawl. And then bring me the decanter of brandy from the rector’s library. Quickly now. Miss Beth is injured.’

The little maid bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

Beth neither moved nor spoke. She could not. Her teeth were chattering. Her body felt as if it had been doused in freezing water. She could not feel any of her limbs, not even her injured ankle. She was totally numb. Her shining champion was nothing of the kind. She had been looking for his return for months now, while he had completely forgotten that she existed. She had been conjuring up castles in the air, like one of the tiny children in her schoolroom. She was an utter fool!

Mrs Aubrey set a chair by Beth’s feet and pushed aside the grubby muslin skirts. ‘Oh, dear. That is very swollen.’ She began to ease off Beth’s shoes. She was trying to be gentle, but pain shot up Beth’s leg, pulling her sharply back to the real world. She was unable to suppress a little groan. ‘Aye, my dear. I know. It does look very painful.’ Mrs Aubrey ran her fingers very gently over Beth’s foot and lower leg.

Beth gritted her teeth. She would not allow herself to make another sound. She might have behaved like a silly schoolgirl over Jonathan, but she was not such a faint heart as to scream over a turned ankle.

‘I am almost certain that it is only a sprain, my dear, though once the storm has passed, I shall send the boy for the doctor. Just to check.’

‘Oh, ma’am-’ Beth could barely find her voice.

‘Hush, child. Ah, Hetty. Excellent. Here, give it to me.’ Mrs Aubrey helped Beth to sit up a little further and wrapped her warmly in the shawl. Then she slid extra cushions behind her, for support.

Before Beth could say a word of thanks, Hetty reappeared with the decanter and two glasses.

‘Put it down there.’ Mrs Aubrey pointed to the small piecrust table near Beth’s hand. The old lady was in her element, for she loved caring for invalids. ‘Now fetch me a basin of cold water, some cloths, and towels. We must put cold compresses on this ankle before it swells any more.’

The little maid nodded and disappeared again.

‘First, a little brandy.’ Mrs Aubrey poured out a small amount. She hesitated and then poured the merest film of liquid into the second glass. ‘I have had two shocks this afternoon. First, your sprained ankle, and then Master Jonathan’s unexpected return. He has put off his regimentals, too. I wonder…?’ She paused, staring at nothing. Then, recollecting herself, she pressed the fuller glass into Beth’s hand and raised her own. ‘To your speedy recovery, my dear. And poor Jonathan’s also.’

Jon dropped gratefully into the huge leather chair and stretched out his legs. What a day!

His valet, Vernon, pulled off Jon’s boots with gloved hands and exaggerated care. Then he padded off to the dressing room where he had already hung up Jon’s wet coat.

Jon sighed as the door closed between them. There was no noise inside the bedchamber now, apart from the hiss and sputter of the newly lit fire. He let his head fall back on to the leather. For a moment, he stared vacantly at the ceiling. Then he let his eyes drift closed and forced his shoulders to relax. Peace at last.

It was good to be back at Fratcombe. Here he would be spared his mother’s tart reminders of his duty, and his brother’s annoying company, too. Here he could visit his good friend, the rector. That last visit to Fratcombe seemed an age ago now. It had been so short-less that twenty-four hours, all told-that he had barely spoken to the Aubreys. Before he could even unpack, Jon had been summoned to London and sent back to Spain where-

He shook his head vigorously. He did not want to think about Spain.

A question began to nag at the edge of his brain. He had been so busy trying to escape the storm that he had pushed it aside till now. Who on earth was Miss Elizabeth Aubrey? The Aubreys had no children, Jon knew. Nor had there ever been any mention of brothers on the rector’s side. So, probably not a niece or great-niece either. She must be some very distant relation. But why had she never been mentioned before?

Intrigued, Jon decided that he would pay a call at the rectory first thing in the morning. A few polite questions would soon solve this little puzzle. Besides, the lady herself was quite attractive, as far as he could recall. He had been too concerned for his horses to pay much attention to her-until he carried her inside. Lifting her into his curricle was one thing, but carrying her the length of the rectory path and into the little parlour was quite another! He might be unsure of the colour of her eyes, but he certainly remembered the feel of her curves through her thin summer muslins. A tallish lady, and slim, but rounded in exactly the right places to fill a man’s hands.

It was interesting that she was unmarried, for she must be at least two- or three-and-twenty. Lack of dowry, probably. But at least she was old enough to have passed the simpering stage. He was surprised to find he was actually looking forward to becoming better acquainted with the mysterious Miss Aubrey. Perhaps he should invite all three of them to visit the Manor? Nothing at all improper in that, not when he and the Aubreys were such old friends. Yes, he would pay a call tomorrow, and if the lady proved to be amiable-as he fully expected any relation of the rector’s to be-he would issue the invitation. It was too long since he had been in company with real ladies, of the kind who could converse sensibly with a man. By comparison with the insipid schoolgirls that Jon’s mother favoured, Miss Aubrey might be a refreshing change. Just the kind of pleasant diversion he needed during this brief visit to Fratcombe Manor.

Thunder rattled the windows. The storm was now raging immediately overhead: blinding flashes of lightning, followed almost instantly by drum rolls of thunder. Between them, Mother Nature and Father Zeus were showing what they could do.

Behind the closed door of the dressing room, Jon’s valet was probably still tutting over his ruined hat and coat, or muttering about the mud on his boots. Jon did not give a fig for the man. An earl’s consequence required a tonnish manservant, and Vernon was certainly that, but he had little else to recommend him. Jon should have chosen with more care on his return to England, but he had been too world-weary to bother with such a chore.

He had of course ensured that Joseph, his army batman, was properly recompensed and given a comfortable annuity for his years of devoted service. Joseph planned to set himself up in a small public house, he said. He might even find himself a wife.

A wife?

Jon groaned and rose to put more logs on the fire. At this moment, he really longed to see cheerful flames. One of his good and abiding memories of his years in Spain was sitting round the camp fire, sharing the local brandy with his comrades, and laughing together at the very silly tales they told each other.

The valet might be new to Jon’s service, but he had at least thought to provide a decanter of brandy in the master’s chamber. Jon smiled wryly and poured himself a large measure. He was minded to toss it down in a single swallow, but he did not. Once or twice in Spain, he had allowed himself to get very drunk when the pain of loss was almost unbearable. Returning to England’s damp countryside did not justify seeking oblivion in drink. It would insult the friends who had been left behind in baked Spanish earth.

Jon took one large mouthful, savouring the flavours.

The dressing room door opened. ‘Is there anything else I can do for your lordship?’

Jon shook his head and waved the man away. He was too punctilious by half. Perhaps if Joseph had not yet spent his money…? No, that would not do. Joseph was a batman, not an earl’s valet. Besides, he wanted more than a business of his own. He wanted a wife, and perhaps a family. If he returned to serve Jon, what woman would have him? Let it be.

Jon sat down again and took another slow sip of his brandy.

A wife. Everything always came back to a wife. Particularly in his mother’s eyes. Jon had barely had time to kiss her cheek before she started on the subject. Since Jon’s first wife had been dead for well over a year, he should be looking about him for another. The matter was urgent, the Dowager maintained. And this time, he must set up his nursery.

Her ideas of duty-an earl must make a dynastic marriage and produce at least an heir and a spare-were much the same as his late father’s. And just as blinkered. Jon’s wife, Alicia, had been a duke’s daughter, but their marriage had been a total disaster. Even his mother would admit that now. And yet, she wanted him to do it all over again, to select a bride of rank from among the simpering debutantes on the London marriage mart. It would not cross her mind that an age gap of well-nigh twenty years might be unbridgeable. How was he, a man of thirty-five, to take charge of a green girl just out of the schoolroom? He need not spend much time with her, of course-except for the inescapable duty of getting an heir-and he would certainly hold himself aloof, as his rank required, but still, the prospect of all that empty-headed gabbling was more than he could stomach. That was the kind of marriage his father had made, and his grandfather before him. But neither of them had been to war or watched friends die. War changed what a man valued in life…

Beth felt a bit of a fraud, leaning on a walking stick. It was not as if she had done any real damage. On the other hand, it was extremely painful to put her full weight on her injured ankle. So, for the moment, the walking stick would have to stay. The most difficult part of life was coping with the stairs without a strong man to help her. The rector was much too old to carry Beth. If he had offered, she would certainly have refused.

If Jonathan had offered to take her in his arms…

Beth’s insides were melting at the mere thought of his hands on her body. She shook her head, cross with herself for allowing his image to intrude, yet again. She had been trying so hard not to think about him. Sadly, the more she tried, the more he filled her mind and confused her rioting senses. And the more her guilt returned to haunt her.

She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down to the hall. It seemed a very long way, but she would conquer it. With her walking stick in one hand and her other hand on the baluster rail, she started carefully down.

Hetty appeared when Beth had reached about half way. ‘Oh, Miss Beth. Let me help you.’ She started up the stairs.

Beth paused, balanced carefully and shook her head. ‘Thank you, Hetty, but I am quite well enough to manage. I must learn to use my cane and, in any case, you have better things to do than to act as a crutch for me.’

‘Well, if you say so, miss. But you will not go out of the house, will you? I can bring you anything you need.’

Beth finally reached the hallway. She was a little out of breath, but she was proud of herself. ‘No, Hetty, I will not go out of the house. Though I must say that I am glad that it is not a school day. The children would have worried if I had failed to turn up for their lessons.’

‘Mrs Aubrey said she would take over while you were poorly. She’s looking forward to it, she says.’ Hetty grinned knowingly.

‘Does she now?’ Beth smiled back at the maid. It sounded as if Aunt Caro intended Beth to remain an invalid for several more days. Well, Beth would see about that. The rector’s wife had responsibilities enough. She could not be expected to become the schoolmistress as well.

Beth made her way slowly into the little parlour at the front of the house so that she would be able to see the comings and goings in the street. She might even be able to see Jonathan’s curricle. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’

‘Did I do something wrong, Miss Beth?’ Hetty sounded hurt.

Beth realised she had spoken aloud. ‘I am sorry, Hetty. I was berating myself, not you.’ She shook her head. ‘This leg of mine refuses to do what I tell it.’ That was not the cause of her outburst, but it would do.

‘Mrs Aubrey said as you was to sit on the sofa with your leg up. And I was to bring you anything you needed.’

Beth gave in and subsided gratefully on to the sofa by the window. Before she could even draw breath, Hetty was lifting her bandaged leg on to the cushions. ‘There, miss. Now, what may I fetch you?’

‘If I am to lie here, like a pampered cat basking in the sun, I had better do something useful. If you would fetch me the mending, Hetty, I will make a start on that.’

Hetty returned with the mending basket. Beth, mindful of her latest resolution, selected the most difficult piece of work she could find. That should keep her mind occupied until Aunt Caro returned from her visiting. Being alone, and having time to think, was too dangerous. The last thing she needed was one of her sick headaches on top of a sprained ankle.

She had barely completed her first neat darn when Mrs Aubrey bustled in, removing her bonnet. She handed it to the maid. ‘Would you fetch us some tea, Hetty? I am sure Miss Beth would enjoy a cup.’

‘You are very good, ma’am, though I fear I have not earned it. Look how little I have done.’

‘You are an invalid, child. You should be taking your ease, with nothing more than a romantic novel to amuse you. Invalids do not mend shirts.’

‘This one does!’ Beth replied pertly, but with an affectionate smile.

Mrs Aubrey chuckled and sat down opposite Beth. ‘I have visited Widow Jenkinson this morning. She sends her best wishes for your speedy recovery. She was sad to learn that you had not been brought to her house to escape the storm.’

‘It would have given her food for gossip for a month, especially if she had seen Jo-if she had seen his lordship carrying me up the path.’ Mrs Aubrey might have leave to use Jonathan’s given name, but Beth did not.

Mrs Aubrey chuckled again. ‘I made a quick visit to the lodge also, as I was passing, although Master Jonathan was not at home.’

Beth raised her eyebrows, feigning surprise. Mrs Jenkinson and the lodge were at opposite ends of the village. ‘Now that, young lady, is a most impudent look, I must say.’

Beth raised her eyebrows even higher.

‘Oh, very well. No, I was not passing, as we both know. I went there deliberately, to find out about how long he means to remain at Fratcombe, that kind of thing. The least we can do is invite him to take dinner with us. Once you are well enough, of course.’

The thought of seeing Jonathan again, and of the difficult exchanges that might ensue, made Beth’s head pound dangerously. ‘I had best remain upstairs, ma’am. His lordship and the rector will have much to discuss. To have me hobbling about would be an unwelcome distraction.’

‘Now that is a whisker, if ever I heard one.’ Mrs Aubrey shook a mittened finger in mock reproof, but her eyes were twinkling. ‘I shall pretend that I did not hear it at all.’

Hetty appeared with the tea tray and placed it carefully on the table in front of Mrs Aubrey. Just at that moment, someone plied the knocker, with considerable force.

Mrs Aubrey started. ‘Goodness, who can that be, so early in the day? Hetty, go and open the door. Slowly.’ Mrs Aubrey grabbed the mending out of Beth’s fingers, bundled it into the basket and pushed the basket under a chair in the darkest corner of the room. Then she scurried back to resume her seat, clasping her hands demurely in her lap.

Beth was hard put to keep her face straight.

‘The Earl of Portbury,’ Hetty announced, bobbing a curtsy.

He seemed much too large for the small family parlour.

Mrs Aubrey rose and dropped a tiny curtsy in response to her visitor’s elegant bow. ‘Master Jonathan! How kind of you to call. Will you take tea with us?’ He nodded. ‘Hetty, fetch another cup, if you please.’

He took a couple of paces into the room and bowed, separately, to Beth. She was suddenly so weak she could not even start to rise. Her body was remembering the feel of his arms around her, and softening, as if in anticipation. ‘Forgive me, my lord, I cannot-’

‘Pray do not attempt to move, Miss Aubrey. I am sure it took quite enough exertion for you to make your way downstairs this morning.’ He paused, frowning suddenly. Then, turning back to Mrs Aubrey, ‘Would you permit me to send over one of my footmen to help while Miss Aubrey is recovering? He could carry her up and down the stairs. And you could use him for any other convenient chores.’

‘Master Jonathan, I should not dream-’

He waved a dismissive hand. ‘You would be doing me a favour, ma’am. There are far too many servants at the Manor and, with only myself in residence, they do not have nearly enough to do. I cannot abide idleness.’

‘Well…’

‘Am I not to be consulted in this project of yours, my lord?’ Beth’s voice sounded sharp in her own ears, for she had overcome her weakness by stoking her anger against him. He was treating her like a parcel. She would not allow that.

He turned to look down at her. The very faintest tinge of redness had appeared on his cheeks. ‘I beg your pardon.’ His voice grew quieter. ‘It was not my intention to impose on you.’

She softened again, instantly. He had sounded arrogant, but he surely meant well. She had no right to let her inner turmoil betray itself in bad temper. ‘Your offer is most generous, my lord, but it is not necessary. My ankle is mending extremely well and the more I exercise it, the sooner I shall be fully recovered.’

‘Very well, ma’am.’ He made to sit down beside Mrs Aubrey.

‘And I would suggest,’ Beth continued, feeling increasingly in control of this unequal encounter, ‘that if your servants are underemployed, you should put them to work in the village. I am sure Mrs Aubrey can provide you with a long list of chores and repairs which need to be done.’

‘Beth! You go too far!’

‘No, ma’am. Miss Aubrey is quite right. I noticed yesterday, in spite of the storm, that some of the houses need urgent work. My agent has been most remiss in allowing such dilapidation. The repairs will be put in hand today.’ He took a cup of tea from Mrs Aubrey and rose politely to carry it across to Beth. ‘However, I fear I must disappoint Miss Aubrey. I doubt that my footmen have the inclination, or the skills, to carry them out.’

Beth took her tea with a demure nod and pursed lips. Was he roasting her? She hoped so. Strangers did not tease. But he had kept a totally straight face so she could not be sure. Until she was, she certainly must not laugh.

‘Do you remain at Fratcombe long, Master Jonathan?’ Mrs Aubrey poured his tea and handed it to him.

‘Not on this occasion, ma’am, though I expect to return again quite soon. It is a huge change, from the army in Spain to the English countryside, I may tell you. There, our duty was simple-to fight the enemy. Since my return, I have been reminded of my other duties. To my various estates, for example, and to my position in society.’ His voice grated, as if he was finding duty a hard taskmaster. Then, quite suddenly, he smiled warmly at the old lady in a way that transformed him. His face was softer, younger, and his eyes were dancing. ‘Here, at the rectory, I know that I am welcomed as just an unruly lad who happens to have grown up. A little.’

Mrs Aubrey nodded, trying not to return his smile, but she could not conceal her fondness for Jonathan.

Beth swallowed. A knot of anxiety formed in her stomach. He had had the run of the rectory when he was a boy. Did he intend to visit often, to renew his intimacy with the Aubreys? Oh dear. When he was relaxed like this, he was much too attractive. Soon, she would be dreaming of silver-clad knights again, and she must not! She could so easily betray herself. She must find some way of avoiding his company. It was the only solution.

Mrs Aubrey cleared her throat. ‘Perhaps you would tell us about your time in Spain?’

A sudden shadow crossed Jonathan’s face. ‘If you will forgive me, ma’am, I would prefer not to speak of it. Much of it was not…er…pleasant, particularly of late.’

‘I understand,’ the old lady said quietly. ‘We know that you were at the siege of Badajoz.’ They knew, too, that he had been mentioned in dispatches for his part in the final assault, but Mrs Aubrey would not embarrass him by mentioning it. ‘We read about the shameful outrages after the battle.’

He said nothing, but his face had assumed a very stern cast. Beth could not begin to imagine what he had experienced, or what he had seen, in that terrible siege and in the sack of the town which had followed. The casualties in the assault had been enormous, and the soldiers’ conduct in the town afterwards had been utterly sickening.

The awkward silence stretched between them. Jonathan did not even move to drink his tea, though his jaw and his throat were working. He was remembering terrible things, Beth was sure. She tried desperately to think of something to say, to distract him from his obvious pain.

Mrs Aubrey was before her. ‘So, Master Jonathan, what do you think of your lady foundling now? She has improved a good deal, would you not say, from the drowned stray you carried across our doorstep last Christmas?’

‘What? Miss Aubrey is the lady from the clearing?’