The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

Chapter Six

Jon groaned aloud and forced his eyes open. He was drenched in sweat, as usual, but he was accustomed to that now. He dragged his pillows back into place and pushed himself upright. The chill night air raised gooseflesh on his naked torso as he reached for his tinder box.

By the light of his candle, he checked his watch. Nearly four o’clock. Little more than an hour till dawn and blessed daylight. Anything was better than the dark, and the ghosts it brought.

He would not think about them. Nor would he sleep again. In sleep, he too often fell prey to emotions he could not control. It was laughable, really. All those years when his father had been trying to school him to be cold and calculating and distant. The old man thought he had succeeded, too. Even Jon thought he had succeeded. But he had not reckoned with the ghosts.

He must not give in to such weakness! Cross with himself, he set the bedclothes to rights and lay back, hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the silken bed canopy and forcing his mind to go over the evening’s events, to focus on images he could control. He was quite proud of what he had done to the upstart baronet and his wife. The Fitzherberts would know their place in future. And they would not dare to cut Beth again, he was certain. The Aubreys might not approve of Jon’s methods, but they would surely approve of the result. Jon had done it for them, because of the immense debt he owed them. He had not done it for Beth Aubrey. Indeed, he had barely thought of her until a few hours ago. Not as a woman, at least. She had been a foundling, a possible fraud, and a source of irritation to his ordered life.

It was impossible to think of her in those terms any more. Her memory loss must be real; he was convinced of it. Besides, she was beautiful, and desirable, and when she sang…

He could not fathom his reaction to her singing. It had been as soothing as waves on the sea shore, gently caressing the sand. Sadly, the effect had not lasted long enough. He might have felt peace and consolation in his drawing room, but here in the darkness of his bedchamber, nothing had changed.

That reminded him, uncomfortably, of his need for a woman in his bed. He had been celibate for months since his return from Spain. At first, even the thought of coupling had disgusted him, but now, with the passage of time, he was becoming whole again, as his thoroughly masculine reaction to Beth’s ravishing appearance had proved. Unfortunately, she was the adopted daughter of the people he admired most in the world! It was shameful to want to bed her.

He forced himself to go logically through the facts of her case. He had rescued her last Christmas, and deposited her with the Aubreys like a half-drowned kitten. She had no memory of her past life, but she was certainly a lady-last night’s dinner had proved that, even by Jon’s exacting standards-and almost on a par with the Aubreys for goodness and generosity of spirit. She had precious little standing in life, but she cared for those who were even worse off than she was.

He must not lust after her as if she were a lightskirt! It would be dishonourable to debauch a lady, especially one who was in the care of people who trusted him. His options were stark: keep away, or marry her!

Where on earth had that thought come from? The Earl of Portbury could not possibly marry a woman with no past and no family. It was unthinkable, no matter how desirable the female. Nor could she become his mistress. So she could not be anything at all.

Perhaps she could be a friend?

That subversive thought came as a shock. Friendship led to attachment, and attachment was dangerous. And yet…and yet something might be possible, provided he could behave like a gentleman. The answer to misplaced desire was to keep his distance from Beth Aubrey. If he avoided her for a while, the urge would subside. That was the answer. Perfectly logical.

He would spend a week or two alone, supervising improvements to his estate. Hard work would divert his mind and tire his body. Then he would invite the Aubreys, and Miss Beth, to spend the day at Fratcombe Manor. He would treat her as a guest and prove to himself, in the process, that his hard-earned lessons in detachment still held sway. His father had surely been right. A nobleman had to be cold and unemotional; his position required it. Feelings led to weakness that would always be exploited. Jon had buried them all, long ago.

Outside in the courtyard, a dog barked.

It sounded just like Caesar. Horrified, Jon screwed up his eyes against the memory. It was not buried after all. His father, the gun, the boy and his beloved dog. A gundog that was gun shy. There had to be a test, his father had said. If Caesar was gun shy, he must be shot so that he could not breed. The first barrel had proved it beyond doubt. Caesar had been shivering with fear. The second barrel had ended his life. Jon, at ten years old, had been forced to pull the trigger. And then to fetch a shovel and bury his best friend. He had never had another.

The Aubreys were friends, surely?

No. The Aubreys treated him almost like a son-and they called each other ‘friends’-but Jon had never granted them the intimacy of true friendship. They knew how much he had mourned for his dead brother, but they knew nothing else. Once Jon became his father’s heir, he had never confided in anyone. The burdens of his childhood and his marriage were his to bear. As were the horrors of war. He would bear them alone.

‘Forgive me, Miss Beth, but I am curious. You have no memory of your life before you came to Lower Fratcombe and yet you do remember how to sing. Quite beautifully, too. How does that come about?’

They were in company again for the first time since that dinner party in her honour. In the intervening two weeks, they had not exchanged a single word. She had thought about him, dreamt about him constantly, but since he seemed determined to maintain a certain distance, she had had to comply. At church, they had merely bowed. Now, walking across his park and with a chance to converse at last, the first thing he did was to question her about her singing?

Beth sensed increasing suspicion. Jonathan was wondering whether her lack of memory was a fraud. Deep hurt settled in her gut, where it began to eat away at the fragile self-esteem she had worked so hard to build. He had lauded her in public, at the dinner. Now, in private, he was set on cutting her down. She had been wrong to hope he trusted her. He was not her champion at all.

He was waiting for her answer. He looked implacable. Like an inquisitor.

‘I cannot explain it. I must have been taught, I suppose, at some time in my past life. Like…like learning to read. Or to write. I can still do both of those, but I have no memory of how or when I learned. You do not find it strange that I can read and write. Why should singing be different? It is simply one more basic skill.’ When he still looked doubtful, her pent-up feelings overcame her and she rounded on him. ‘I see that you do not believe me, sir. That being so, I shall relieve you of my presence.’

She turned on her heel and began to march back towards the Manor and the safety of the Aubreys’ company. She could see them in the distance, strolling contentedly around the flower garden by the house. She would join them. Unlike Jonathan, they did not doubt her honesty.

She had gone barely half a dozen steps when he caught her by the arm and forced her to stop. His fingers were almost biting into her flesh through her fine Norwich shawl. She froze, refusing to turn to look at him. ‘Please release me, sir.’ Her voice was a low, angry hiss. How could he do such a thing? This-their very first touch since the party-was neither friendly nor gentle. This was nothing like the touch she had longed for. She needed to get away from him. In a moment, her head would start to pound.

He relaxed his grip a little, but he did not let her go until he had moved to stand directly in front of her, blocking her path. Then he dropped his hand. ‘I apologise, ma’am, both for my words and for my actions just now. It was not my intention to insult you.’ He raised his hand and stood gazing down at his cupped fingers as if they belonged to someone else, as if they had chosen, of their own volition, to seize Beth so roughly. After a moment, he shrugged and dropped his arm. He seemed perplexed.

She could not begin to understand him. He had been so intent on using that party to restore her to her rightful place in society, but then he had spent two whole weeks practically ignoring her. The change dated, she realised with a start, from the moment he had heard her sing. Without a shred of evidence, he had apparently concluded, there and then, that she was a fraud. And to be shunned.

Had he invited Beth and the Aubreys to visit the Manor this afternoon so that he could question her in private? She had assumed, naively, that it was a kindness to the Aubreys, because the sun was shining for the first time in a fortnight. Was he so very devious?

‘Miss Aubrey.’ His voice was low, almost inaudible.

Beth was staring at the lush grass beneath her boots and refusing to look at him. She dared not think about him, either, lest her body betray her yet again. She focused instead on the salutary effect of two weeks of rain on the growth of grass.

‘I will escort you back to the house if that is your wish, ma’am. But may I not tempt you to walk with me as far as the lake? You must be feeling the want of exercise after so many days of rain. I admit I do myself.’ He paused. His voice softened even more. ‘May we not call a truce?’

It was a real apology this time, not just mere words, Beth decided. She raised her head and looked into his face. His eyes were troubled and he was frowning. Conscience, perhaps? Well, she would show him that she was not to be cowed, no matter what he might say of her. She was not such a poor creature. ‘If you continue to frown so blackly at me, sir, I shall not accept your escort at all.’ He blinked in surprise, but his frown disappeared on the instant. That made her smile. ‘Much better. I accept your offer of a truce. Let us talk of nothing in the past, neither mine nor yours. Shall we agree on that?’

A fleeting shadow crossed his face. Then he, too, smiled. ‘I am only now coming to understand how wise you are, ma’am. Will you allow me to say that I have missed our conversations these last weeks? You have such a refreshing way of seeing the world.’

Beth felt herself beginning to blush. This would not do at all. ‘Just at this moment, sir,’ she replied a little tartly, ‘I should like to be refreshed by walking up to your lake so that we may discuss the…the-’ she scanned the rolling parkland, desperate to light on an innocent topic of conversation ‘-the rearing of sheep,’ she finished triumphantly.

He threw back his head and laughed heartily.

Beth found herself laughing, too. Her absurd remark had served to break the increasing tension between them.

He offered Beth his arm. He was still grinning. ‘Let us walk then, ma’am, and I shall do my best to enlighten you on the subject of…er…sheep.’ When Beth hesitated a little, wary of his touch, he took her arm-gently this time-and tucked it into his. ‘There. That is much better.’

To her surprise, it was. For once, her insides were not churning simply because her fingers were on his arm. She refused to let herself dwell on the strength of the muscles beneath that elegant sleeve. She would concentrate solely on the scenery. Surely she had enough self-control for that?

They began to walk towards the distant lake. Beth noticed that he was matching his stride to hers. He was again the considerate companion.

He managed a couple of extremely general sentences about the size of his flock. ‘And of course, warm weather and rain make the grass grow strongly which is, in turn, good for the sheep. More wool and more meat.’

Beth waited politely for him to continue. He did not. They walked on for another twenty yards. Still nothing. Now it was Beth’s turn to burst out laughing. ‘Have you imparted the full extent of your knowledge of sheep, sir? That they do better when they have good grass to eat?’ She could not stop laughing. ‘I do believe that the five year olds in my schoolroom could have told me that. You, sir, are a fraud.’

He shook his head in mock contrition. ‘Yes, I fear I am. Sadly, I spent too much of my youth dreaming about the army. I was not the heir, you see, so there was no point in my learning to manage the estates. I-’

Beth stopped him by the simple expedient of laying her free hand on his arm. ‘Nothing of the past,’ she said softly. Then, after a short pause, she began brightly, ‘Tell me, sir, do you have many trout in your lake?’ She waved her free hand in the general direction of the water. It was much safer than leaving all her fingers in contact with his warm, tempting flesh.

She had lit on a subject he did understand. He spoke at some length about his love of fishing and of the fine specimens that had been taken from the lake over the years. ‘Do you fish, Miss Beth? Many ladies do.’

‘I…I don’t know.’ There was no point in racking her brains over it. If there was a memory, it would refuse to show itself, as always. Perhaps, if he put a rod in her hand, she would do it automatically? Perhaps the body remembered such things all by itself, just like writing or singing?

He laid his free hand over hers for a moment in a brief gesture of reassurance. ‘Forgive me. That was clumsy of me. And in breach of our agreement, besides. But if you would like to learn to fish, I should be more than happy to teach you. I-’ He stopped dead, struck by some sudden thought. ‘Ah, no. Not this year. What a pity.’

The shock of his words numbed her senses as surely as a cascade of icy water. He must be planning to leave again soon. She was going to lose even those brief chances to feast her eyes on him. Beth’s throat was suddenly too tight for speech. Her silver-armoured knight had delivered her to safety and now he was about to ride off in search of new adventures, perhaps to rescue some other lady in distress.

If there had been anguish in her face, he had not noticed it, for he continued, as if thinking aloud. ‘Riding, now, is a different matter. That can be enjoyed all year round. I wonder, Miss Beth, if you ride? No, do not tell me that you do not know. Tell me instead that you are willing to give it a try. Let me mount you on my most biddable mare and then we shall both see whether you know what you are doing in the saddle.’

‘I-’

‘If you do, then we may ride around the park together. What say you, ma’am?’

Was he planning to leave, or was he not? The question was hammering at Beth’s brain, forcing out all other notions. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog of confusion.

‘Oh.’ His voice sounded flat. Was he disappointed? ‘I assure you there is nothing improper in my proposal. I would ensure we were accompanied by a groom at all times.’

He had misunderstood her. No wonder, for she herself was mightily confused. ‘I did not mean- I beg your pardon, sir, I was not refusing your offer, merely-’ She closed her mouth firmly. This was no time for gabbling like an excited schoolchild. She took a deep breath. ‘I do not know whether I have ever learned to ride, sir, and I agree that it could be…um…interesting to find out. However, I cannot accept your word that your proposal is not improper. Perhaps you will allow me to take Mrs Aubrey’s opinion on that before I decide?’

He was having trouble concealing his smile. ‘Whatever else your memory may conceal from you, ma’am, your sense of propriety is very much to the fore.’

Beth was not at all sure that was a compliment. Before she could work it out, he continued, ‘And, if you will permit me, I shall take it upon myself to persuade Mrs Aubrey to chaperon you. I am sure she will agree that the exercise would be beneficial.’

Beth had no choice. She nodded her agreement and fixed her eyes on the smooth water of the lake. Something disturbed the glassy surface. Ripples were spreading from a point about thirty yards from the bank. ‘Oh, is that a trout?’

‘Possibly.’ He shrugged his shoulders.

‘I am surprised at your reaction. You said you were a keen fisherman, sir. Will you not be fetching your rod in order to catch him?’ He smiled down at her then. Rather indulgently, she fancied, as if he were dealing with a small and ignorant child. Temper overcame her earlier turmoil. She straightened her shoulders and glared at him. ‘May I ask why you are laughing at me, my lord?’

He tried to school his features into a serious expression but he failed. He was laughing at her. Beth wrenched her arm from his and spun round so that she was presenting Jonathan with her back. She would rather not talk to him at all if this was how she was to be treated.

‘If that is a trout, ma’am, it will be a miracle. No laughing matter, in truth. In my absence, the herons have had all the fish. I need to restock.’

She let out a long breath. ‘Oh.’ The light dawned. She turned round to face him again. ‘So that explains why you said- Um.’ One day she would learn to think before she opened her mouth. She was careful and measured with everyone else. So why was it that she behaved like a fool with Jonathan? And only with him? From now on, she must keep her emotions under the strictest control.

He had stopped laughing. Perhaps he had recognised her embarrassment? He held out his hand invitingly. ‘Now that we are both agreed on the subject of riding and fishing-’

‘And sheep,’ Beth put in pertly, recovering a little of her composure and determined not to let him best her again.

‘-and sheep,’ he agreed with a smile that could only be described as slightly sheepish, ‘I suggest that we return to the house to consult Mrs Aubrey on the subject of propriety. Will you take my arm again, Miss Beth?’

Jon relaxed into the hot water and closed his eyes. It had been a perfect day. He could not remember when he had last enjoyed himself so much. The simplest pleasures were certainly the best, and riding round his own park, in company with Beth Aubrey, was most definitely a pleasure.

She might not know how to fish, though until they tried it, there was no way of knowing that for certain, but she had certainly been taught to ride. Well taught, too. It had been obvious from the first moment he had thrown her up into Becky’s saddle. She sat tall and secure, controlling the old mare easily with whip and heel.

She was definitely a lady. Well educated, cultured, musical, good in the saddle… So who on earth was she? And why was it that no one was searching for her? She had spent the best part of a year at the Fratcombe rectory and there had been not the slightest hint of who she was or where she came from. A mystery. A truly baffling mystery.

He began to soap his limbs. Was Beth doing the same at this very moment? Her muscles must be aching after riding for so long. Mrs Aubrey had smiled benignly and waved them off into the park, with the obligatory groom trotting behind. It had been such a glorious, liberating day that Jon had allowed his pleasure in her company to overcome his common sense. He knew perfectly well that, if Beth rode too long, she would suffer for it. She had made no complaint, of course. She was too much the lady to do so. And, he fancied, she had been enjoying Jon’s company too much to give it up.

He threw the soap into the water in disgust. What a coxcomb he was becoming! Beth Aubrey was his lady guest, nothing more. If she had been enjoying his company as they rode together, it was not to be wondered at, for she had precious little recreation time. She occasionally visited the Miss Alleyns and Miss Grantley, but apart from that, she spent her time as unpaid schoolmistress to the village and unpaid helper for all Mrs Aubrey’s charity projects. Beth would maintain that she was more than content, that she was merely repaying the Aubreys’ generosity, but Jon was far from convinced. She was a young woman still, and she should have at least a little time to herself to enjoy a young woman’s pleasures. Such as riding.

With him?

He was suddenly glad that he was leaving Fratcombe in a few days, for Beth Aubrey was much too tempting. He could not take her riding again, much as he might wish to. That would start the worst kind of gossip. However, as an acknowledged friend of the Aubreys, he could make provision for Beth to ride the old mare in his absence. His grooms had little enough to do. He would instruct them to make the mare ready every day and to accompany Miss Aubrey whenever she wished to ride out. She would have free rein over the whole of his park which was the least he could do. Once her muscles were used to riding regularly, she would enjoy the exercise, he was sure. And she would have no need of Jon’s company.

He realised, with a start, that he would miss her. With Beth, he did not have to mind his tongue. Indeed, she seemed to understand what he was going to say before his words were out. They laughed together. They talked of anything and everything, without restraint. And they shared the simple joys of nature and fresh air, and a love of the land. It was a pity Beth was not a man. A man could perhaps have become a friend.

He would miss her company, but it was wise, he knew, to avoid her. He had assumed that a little distance would subdue his desire to possess her delectable body. It had not. And now, in addition to desire, there was something more, something deeper-admiration, and liking, also.

With a groan, he dug into the cooling water for the soap and began to scrub at his legs.

‘I’ve brought your hot water, Miss Beth.’ It was Hetty, carrying the large brass can across to the dressing table.

‘Goodness, I have overslept! How could I have-?’ Beth made to sit up and throw back the covers. ‘Argh!’ She could hardly move. Every single muscle was shrieking with pain. With a supreme effort, she rolled on to her side and forced her legs out of the bedclothes so that she could push herself up with her hands. ‘Good grief! I feel as if someone has pounded me all over with a…a cricket bat.’

Hetty set the can down and came across to help Beth to stand. ‘I did warn you, miss, but you wouldn’t listen. You should have had a long hot bath and some of that embarkation rubbed into your muscles.’

Beth laughed. She stopped pretty sharply though, for it hurt. ‘Embrocation, Hetty.’

‘Whatever. You shouldn’t have gone riding for so long, miss, when you’re not used to it. No, not even at his lordship’s invitation. He should have known better, an’ all.’ Of late, Hetty had become extremely forthright with Beth who valued the maid too much to correct her ready tongue.

‘Besides, there ain’t no point in you learning to ride all over again, when you’ll be stopping just as quick. You can’t go riding out on your own, after all, can you? You’ll have had all this pain for no gain, as they say.’ Hetty swung Beth’s wrap over her shoulders and helped her into it.

Beth winced. She had forgotten that Jonathan would be leaving soon to go to one of his other estates. He had not said which one. He had several, he had explained, and all of them needed the master’s careful supervision. That was his duty as Earl.

He took his duties seriously, of course. But he had a lighter side, too, and she was glad to have discovered it. She wanted him to be a…a friend, the kind of person with whom she could share everyday pleasures like riding out with the sun on her back, or walking for miles across lush meadows and shady country paths. The kind of friend who would share her wit, who could tease her until she was doubled up with laughter, and who could subside into easy silence when they were both content to commune with nature and their own thoughts. One day, perhaps, they might come to be all those things together. She must not hope, or dream, of anything more.

She would miss him when he left, but friends parted. It was the way of the world.

‘The groom said as he’s leaving Fratcombe on Monday morning.’

‘Monday?’ Beth choked and began to cough, in an attempt to cover up her shock. Monday? That was the day after tomorrow. Was she to see him at church and then never again?

Hetty poured a glass of water and handed it to Beth, who gulped it greedily.

‘Well, Sam-that’s the groom, miss-said it would definitely be Monday. Unless his lordship changes his mind again.’

‘Again?’ Beth croaked.

‘Aye. Apparently he were all set to leave last week, but decided he wanted to stay on a bit. To enjoy the fine weather and the peace, Sam said.’

‘That sounds rather strange. Are you sure, Hetty?’

‘Oh, yes, miss. When he’s at his main estate, it’s just one long round of parties and entertainments, Sam says, with house guests all the time. Sam reckons it’s because his lordship’s mama is determined to get him married off again, so she fills the house with pretty girls. Can’t see it m’self. I’d say his lordship is too much his own man to be governed by his mama, or any other lady. Don’t you think so, Miss Beth?’

Beth swallowed the rest of her water and muttered something that could have been agreement. Hetty might be right about Jonathan’s character, but the maid did not understand the demands of his position in society. He had been a widower for a considerable time. He had no son. He would not need his mother’s urging to understand that it was high time he married again and set up his nursery. No doubt he was returning to King’s Portbury, to look over yet more candidates to be his new countess.

So much for friendship, and simple shared pleasures.