The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

Chapter Five

Jon 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.

Barely ten minutes after the cloth had been removed and the dessert and decanters set upon the polished mahogany, Mrs Aubrey took a last sip of her wine and rose. ‘Ladies?’ Though it was earlier than normal, her tone was commanding. She gazed round, as if daring the ladies to object.

Lady Fitzherbert whispered something, quick and low, to the dinner partner on her left. Jon did not catch it all, but he was sure he heard the word ‘impostor’. For a second, his hands clenched under the table. He clamped his jaws together. He must not give any hint that he had heard. He must trust Mrs Aubrey to deal with Lady Fitzherbert’s venom.

Jon and all the other gentlemen rose to help their partners from their chairs. But Beth seemed quite unaware that the ladies were about to leave. Jon moved quickly behind her, put his hands on the back of her chair and bent forward until his lips were only an inch or so above her curls. He could smell lavender-and hot, wild hillsides. ‘Miss Beth,’ he whispered, forcing himself to ignore the subtle scent of her and the tempting pictures it conjured up in his mind. ‘The ladies. Courage!’

She started in her place, but recovered almost instantly. She rose gracefully and turned to smile a little shakily at Jon. ‘Thank you, sir. And for your kind words. I shall treasure them.’ As she spoke, she looked directly into his face. Her eyes were wide and glistening. Not tears, surely? She had shown such self-control since the moment she arrived.

‘Courage,’ he said again, in a lower but more meaningful voice. He took her hand and placed it firmly on his sleeve. There would be no hovering this time. He led her to the door and opened it himself, for, as guest of honour, she must leave first. ‘We will join you soon, Miss Beth,’ he murmured and reluctantly let her go.

He watched as she made her way to the stairs. She had drawn herself up very tall; her spine was ramrod straight. Even from the back she looked like a soldier preparing for battle. In the drawing room upstairs, she would face the claws of the harpies.

Beth was halfway up the stairs, still stunned by Jonathan’s immensely flattering words, when she was dragged back with considerable force. She cried out in shock, grabbing for the baluster rail. Someone had trodden, hard, on the hem of her gown.

‘Oh, I am so sorry.’ It was, of course, Lady Fitzherbert. ‘Have I torn your gown, child? What a pity. It is such a pretty, girlish confection, too.’

Beth did nothing to betray the fact that she knew the damage was intentional. That would be a victory for the woman which she did not deserve. Instead, keeping a firm grip on the wooden rail, Beth turned her shoulder enough to smile sweetly into the older woman’s face. ‘If you would be so kind as to remove your foot, ma’am, I shall see what may be done to repair the damage.’

Lady Fitzherbert whipped her foot away as swiftly as if she had stepped barefoot on to burning coals. ‘I do apologise. Such a silly accident. I am not usually so clumsy.’

‘I am sure you are not, ma’am,’ came Mrs Aubrey’s tart voice from the hallway below. There was a tightness about her pursed lips, too. She clearly knew, just as Beth did, that the incident had been deliberate. If Beth had not had the presence of mind to grab the rail, she could well have tumbled all the way to the foot of the stairs.

The other ladies were twittering helplessly. Mrs Aubrey frowned up at them. ‘Come, ladies. Let us settle ourselves in the drawing room for coffee. Then Beth and I will see to the repairs.’ Mrs Aubrey ushered the stragglers on.

‘Thank you, Aunt Caro,’ Beth said quietly. She lifted the fragile white gauze so that the ripped portion would not trail on the stairs. She doubted that Lady Fitzherbert would try the same trick again, but it was safer to give her no opportunity for further mischief. Beth hurried up the remaining stairs and waited for Mrs Aubrey to join her. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, ‘but I am sure that there is no need for both of us to leave the guests. With a maid’s help, the damage can be quickly repaired.’

Mrs Aubrey nodded. They both knew it would be best not to leave the other ladies to their own devices in the drawing room, where they could pick over Beth’s reputation like vultures. Lady Fitzherbert was quite capable of acting as the malicious ringleader, given half a chance. Under Mrs Aubrey’s gimlet eye, she would not dare. Probably.

The gentlemen would join them very soon, Beth was sure. Jonathan had almost said as much. He was being so very attentive, doing so much for Beth’s comfort, that this dinner party was proving rather less of a trial than she had feared. Where the other guests were concerned, at least… With Jonathan himself, it was much more difficult-conversation, and compliments, and touching… There had been too much dangerous touching.

It had taken Jon longer than he expected to lure the gentlemen away from the decanters. Predictably, Sir Bertram Fitzherbert had been the worst. He insisted on proposing toast after toast, on ever more ridiculous subjects, culminating with the hunter he had recently bought. That had been the final straw and too much for even the rector’s good nature.

As host, Jon brought up the rear when they mounted the stairs. Sir Bertram, in the lead, was definitely swaying. With luck, he would drop into a comfortable chair and fall asleep. That was certainly better than leering at the ladies and repeating the kind of suggestive remarks he had made over his port. It was also the best that Jon dared to hope for. The Fitzherberts were truly a disgrace to their class. Jon’s firm intention was never to permit them to cross his threshold again.

He dawdled on the stairs, reluctant to join the noisy, self-satisfied group above. In half an hour or so, the guests for the evening party would arrive to swell the numbers to more than thirty. There would be several younger ladies and gentlemen among them, so the noise level was bound to grow even worse. That prospect irked him greatly. He had endured too much horrendous noise in the last few years.

He needed peace. And peace of mind.

Yes, of course! That was what he longed for. Now, he understood. He wanted the comfort of a home of his own, a place where he could build his life again. Perhaps there could even be a gentle, smiling wife who would understand and share his desire-his need-for a calm, quiet refuge? A woman of principle who would do good in his name?

He did not require love, or passion. In his experience, they did not exist. Even if they had been attainable, they were not for a man of his class. Love gave a woman power she should never be permitted to have. But a comfortable room, a glowing fire, a patient partner sitting opposite, and children playing at their feet. Was that so much to ask? Surely he could find such a restful woman, such a companion, somewhere in the Upper Ten Thousand?

His decision was made without a qualm. As if he had always known what he should do. He would remain here at Fratcombe for a little longer, restoring his strength of mind in the quiet of his park. He would be able to enjoy his own company, now that he knew what he wanted from life. It was all remarkably simple.

Soon he would begin searching the ton for a placid, restful bride.

He took a couple of deep breaths, relishing these moments of quiet on the deserted stairway. Now that he knew his own mind, he could endure the hubbub, however bad it became. He straightened his shoulders and continued up to the drawing room.

The relative hush surprised him. He had expected chatter and laughter, but there was neither. He was shocked to see that Mrs Aubrey was sitting at the open instrument and Beth was standing next to it, looking a little flushed. It seemed they had only just finished performing. Beth must have been singing. But how could that be? She had no memory of what had gone before. How could she possibly remember music? Or how to sing?

‘Bravo, my dear!’ That was the rector. The guests began to clap. Even Lady Fitzherbert was applauding, though without much enthusiasm.

What on earth had Jon missed?

He tried to slide into the room without being noticed, but he did not succeed. The rector came across and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘A host’s duties are never done, eh? Such a pity you missed Beth’s song.’

‘Perhaps, if I asked her, Miss Aubrey would sing another?’ Jon had not meant to say any such thing, but the words were out now, and sounding very particular. He cursed his unruly tongue. In that same instant, he caught an exchange of knowing glances between Lady Fitzherbert and her husband. That confounded woman would still make mischief if she could. Jon fervently hoped it was not too late to recover the situation. From now on, he would be wise to ensure his relationship with Beth was a model of propriety, especially in public. After all, that was the fact of the case, was it not?

Of course it was.

He found himself waiting by the door to see what would happen next. There was a lingering stillness, an atmosphere that he could not quite account for. He felt as if he were intruding into a private realm, and was there only on sufferance, even though this was his own house. The rector spoke quietly to his wife, and then to Beth. At first, she looked rather embarrassed, but she nodded at last and began to confer with Mrs Aubrey in a low voice. The rector was beaming as he resumed his seat.

She would sing again. In response to Jon’s too particular request.

He decided to remain where he was, detached, and as far as possible from the performers. He leaned against the door jamb and let his head fall back on to the wood so that he was gazing at the ceiling. His guests might assume he had had too much wine, but he did not care. He did not want to be near any of them while Beth sang. He did not want to have to look at their hypocritical faces, either.

At the first notes of the accompaniment, he allowed his eyes to drift closed. It was not a piece he recognised, but it was gentle, and soothing. Mrs Aubrey had chosen well for Jon’s mood.

Beth had not forgotten how to sing. Perhaps one never did? She had the voice of an angel, sweet and caressing. Jon felt the music rippling through his body like a cleansing cascade, washing away his troubles and leaving him refreshed. And consoled. Consoled? He did not understand it, yet it was true. Through her song, he was finding a degree of peace that had been lost to him for years.