The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride (15 page)

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.

A
fine carriage was bowling down the drive towards the house. Beth automatically took half a step back from her sitting room window, even though she knew that the passengers could not possibly see her up here. She did not know which guests these were, and she could not go downstairs to find out. The Dowager’s instructions had been absolute on the point. Her house guests expected to be shown to their bedchambers, so that they could refresh themselves and change their dress before they came down to greet their hostess.

Beth moved closer to the window in order to see down to the sweep where these first guests were about to alight. She had to stand on tiptoe and crane her neck to catch even a glimpse of what was happening.

As she stretched, warm breath shivered across her taut skin. The scent of horse and leather and warm man surrounded her, creating vivid, sensual pictures in her mind. Her body came alive instantly, tingling at the
prospect of being touched. She felt herself softening, waiting.

‘Good morning, my lady,’ Jon said softly, his breath caressing the back of her neck. He was standing just behind her, almost kissing her skin with his words.

Beth took a deep breath, reminding herself sternly that Jon would not be feeling any of the excitement that was coursing through her veins. Outside her bedchamber, he was always perfectly correct and infuriatingly distant. She fixed a polite smile on her face and turned. ‘Good morning, my lord. I did not hear you come in. Did you enjoy your ride?’

Her movement forced him to take a step back. ‘I…’ There was something in his eyes, a hint of sparkling mischief, that Beth had not seen before, but his smile was as polite as her own. ‘Yes, it was splendid, thank you. The weather is remarkably fine for so late in the year. Indeed, you could—’ He stopped short.

Had he been going to ask Beth to ride with him? Her heart began to beat even faster.

A noise from below caught his attention. He ushered her closer to the window so that they could both see down. ‘Your first house guests, my dear.’ His voice was neutral, matter-of-fact. As it always was in public.

A small, rotund gentleman climbed down from the carriage, and turned to help an even smaller, rounder lady. They made for the door without waiting for the third passenger, a much younger lady who stepped down and stood for a moment, gazing round her. She was tall, but she lacked the elegance of movement that Beth always associated with tall ladies. In fact, there was even something a little awkward about her.

‘Sir James and Lady Rothbury, and Miss Rothbury,’ Jon murmured.

‘They have only the one daughter?’

‘Yes, but there is also a son. Rather wild. He declined the invitation. I will admit that I was glad to hear it. As it is, we must make do with the daughter who is not, I fear, the sharpest needle in the box.’

Beth stifled a shocked giggle. Goodness, he was becoming quite free with his opinions, even thought it was broad daylight and they were standing in the sitting room. Was this progress at last?

‘Look!’ Jon pointed down the long drive. In the distance, a second carriage could just be seen. ‘More guests, thank goodness. At least you will not have to entertain only the Rothburys, my dear. On their own, they can be something of a trial. They—’ He stopped to clear his throat. ‘Well now, if I am to help you to greet them all, I had better go and change my dress.’ He bowed slightly to Beth. ‘Excuse me. I shall be down to join you shortly.’ He strode through the door into his own bedchamber and closed it behind him. The confidences were at an end.

Beth hesitated for a moment. Should she wait for Jon? No, best to go downstairs so that she was already waiting in the drawing room when the first guests came down. The Rothburys might be the kind who could get changed in just a couple of shakes. It would not do for them, or for any of the guests, to find their hostess missing from her place.

She walked calmly into her bedchamber to check her appearance in front of the glass. Yes, she looked very well in her elegant silk morning gown. Jon had
not commented upon it, but Beth knew the simple style suited her. Was that what had brought that stray sparkle to his eyes? Impossible to tell. She shook her head at her reflection, picked up her brightly patterned shawl and made her way along the corridor and down the sweeping staircase to the entrance hall.

Her timing was as wrong as could be. She arrived in the hallway just as the latest guests were shown into the house. How on earth had they arrived so quickly? They must have sprung their horses all the way down the drive. For a second, she stood stock still, horrified, searching for an avenue of escape. There was none.

‘My woman will direct the unloading of the luggage and— Oh!’ As the butler moved aside, the new arrival caught sight of Beth, marooned at the foot of the stairs. This rather gaunt lady lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and looked down a very long nose at Beth before dropping the smallest of curtsies. ‘Lady Portbury, I presume?’

Beth returned the newcomer’s tiny curtsy. She added a polite smile, too, since this unknown lady was her guest. ‘Welcome to Portbury Abbey, ma’am. I shall not attempt to detain you, for I am sure you will wish to rest after your journey. Goodrite will show you to your chamber.’

‘Thank you, my lady. We shall be—’ The newcomer frowned suddenly and pursed her lips. ‘How strange! Forgive me, ma’am, but have we met before? I was told not and yet… You seem familiar, somehow.’

It was all Beth could do to maintain a semblance of composure. Did this woman come from her past? If so, what did she know? Beth forced herself to glide forward
a few steps and to smile condescendingly. ‘I think not, ma’am. I hope I should not have been so impolite as to have forgotten you if we had.’ She shook her head a little, to complete the effect.

‘Er…um, no. Of course not. Forgive me, I was clearly thinking of someone else. Pray excuse me, ma’am.’ She hurried towards the stairs.

Goodrite turned to one of the footmen. ‘Bring Mrs Berncastle’s valises to the yellow bedchamber,’ he said deliberately, ensuring that Beth would hear the lady’s name. ‘And be quick about it.’

Beth walked along the corridor to the morning room, trying not to look as though she were escaping. Berncastle. An unusual name, to be sure, but it seemed totally unfamiliar. Oh, why could she not remember? And what did Mrs Berncastle really know?

Quite possibly nothing at all, for where would Beth have met such a rich society lady? Beth had certainly been poor before she arrived in Fratcombe. Poor women did not mix with the likes of Mrs Berncastle.

Should she warn Jon? No, she would say nothing of this to anyone, for even if Mrs Berncastle had some lingering suspicions, she would never embarrass her hostess by giving the least hint. Such an insult could lead to a speedy departure for the guest in question, and a scandal, besides. Mrs Berncastle had come to enjoy a Christmas house party. She would never take the risk of being asked to leave.

Beth resolved to put the encounter behind her and to spend the rest of the day concentrating on welcoming more of her guests.

‘Your ladyship, I have such news!’ Hetty gasped the next morning. She dumped the ewer of hot water by the basin and turned, her face full of animation.

Beth straightened the wrapper over her nightrail and assumed a stern expression. ‘Do you mean
news
, Hetty, or gossip? You know that you are forbidden to spread gossip in this house.’

‘No, truly it
is
news, m’lady.’ Before Beth could say a word more, Hetty burst out, ‘His lordship has given notice to Mr Vernon.’

Beth tried to frown the girl down. What, after all, was so exciting about the departure of Jon’s top-lofty valet? Now that almost all the guests had arrived, Hetty should have better things to do. Beth certainly did.

‘But that is not the
real
news, m’lady. His lordship has sent for his old army batman to take Mr Vernon’s place. I’m told that her ladyship—his lordship’s lady mother, I mean—is fit to be tied.’

‘Now
that
,’ Beth said sternly, ‘is definitely gossip.’ It was, indeed, but Beth recognised that it was also likely to be true. She had found out that on Jon’s return from Spain, the Dowager had urged him to take on a top-o’-the-trees valet. Jon must have shared her view, for he had paid off his army batman, and engaged Vernon. It seemed that he had now changed his mind. But what did it mean?

No doubt the servants knew, but Beth could not possibly question Hetty, not after giving the girl such stern warnings about the evils of gossip. Did she dare to ask Jon himself? Well, why not? They were man and wife, after all, and he had asked Beth to run his household.
He should have told her that he had engaged a new valet. He should have told her.

Since it was still very early, he would be downstairs in his library, working. Later, once the guests’ breakfast was over, he would be spending his time entertaining the gentlemen, but for the moment he would be alone.

She would finish dressing and then she would go downstairs to Jon’s library and ask him what he had done. And why.

The weak morning sunshine was struggling to illuminate Jon’s library. If his desk had not been near the window, he would have needed candles in order to work. At least there was not much correspondence to deal with. Possibly the last two days’ bad weather had delayed the post?

The door opened to admit the butler. ‘Miss Mountjoy has called and begs the favour of an interview with your lordship. She is waiting in the yellow saloon.’

So early? Jon continued to write. ‘Let her wait. In fifteen minutes’ time, you may invite her to join me here.’ He glanced up just in time to see a flicker of surprise cross the butler’s face. No, it was not how the Earl of Portbury was wont to treat a lady guest, but Jon was not at all sure that Miss Mountjoy deserved either title. He hurried to finish the instructions for his steward at Fratcombe. There was still much to be done there to remedy the damage done by his brother. George had a lot to answer for.

After some minutes, Jon sanded and folded the paper ready for dispatch. He checked the time by the long case clock. Any moment now.

Seconds later the door opened. ‘Miss Mountjoy to see your lordship,’ the butler intoned.

Jon rose politely but did not acknowledge his visitor. Instead, he held out the letter. ‘See that this is sent to my steward at Fratcombe Manor immediately, Goodrite. That will be all.’

As the door closed, Jon turned to Miss Mountjoy and favoured her with a cursory bow. ‘There was something you wished to discuss, Miss Mountjoy?’ He waved her to the chair opposite him. With a swift curtsy, she crossed the floor in an angry swish of silken skirts and took her seat. Jon leaned back in his chair, calmly steepled his fingers and set his facial expression to bland. Then he waited.

‘I imagine, Lord Portbury, that you were expecting me to call? In the circumstances.’

Jon raised an eyebrow. Otherwise, he did not move. The loud tick of the long case clock was the only sound to be heard in the room.

‘I have come to tell you, Lord Portbury, that I will not be abused and manipulated in this outrageous fashion.’

‘Outrageous, is it?’

‘You know very well that it is. When you settled that annuity upon me, and gave me the cottage to rent, it was in response to your wife’s last request. It was a sacred trust, yet now you would renege upon it.’

Jon allowed his hands to drop softly to the desk. ‘I have reneged on no promise, Miss Mountjoy,’ he said carefully. ‘Your annuity remains in place. Your cottage, however, was a mistake, about which I was not consulted. It is worth a rather higher rent than you are
paying. Therefore, as my agent informed you, the rent will increase from the next quarter day.’

‘To a level which you know I cannot afford!’

‘That, ma’am, is not my concern. You have your annuity. You may always move to cheaper accommodation.’

‘You have ensured that there is none available, Lord Portbury. You take me for a fool, but I know you intend to force me to leave the district.’

‘If you know it, ma’am, why are you here?’ Jon said silkily.

‘I have come to tell you that I have no intention of quitting King’s Portbury,’ she snapped, ‘or the cottage I am renting from you. If you try to force me out, I shall fight you. I am not without ammunition, as you should be aware.’

Jon leant forward a little and allowed a sardonic smile to curl the corner of his mouth. ‘Indeed? Perhaps you would enlighten me? I do
own
your cottage, after all.’

‘I cannot stop you from evicting me, but I can ensure that your reputation, and that of your house, is destroyed if you do. If you proceed against me, I shall tell the whole world about your first wife’s preferences and why the Earl of Portbury was unable to sire an heir.’

Jon leaned back once more and sighed theatrically. ‘What a fascinating piece of gossip that will make, especially once your own role, as my late wife’s
paramour
, is made plain to all. I fancy your reputation might suffer at least as much as mine. Do you imagine you would be received after that?’

‘It is a price I would gladly pay for a victory over you, my lord. After all, I could always remove from the district later, perhaps even change my name. You, the
great Earl of Portbury, have no such escape route. Once the world learns that Alicia preferred me to you, you will be the butt of every scandal-sheet in the land.’

Jon nodded slowly, as if considering her threat. ‘Do tell me about this escape route. If you move to another district, precisely what will you live on?’

She smiled then, for the first time, a confident, knowing smile. ‘Unlike the rental of my cottage, you cannot change my annuity, my lord. It was my deathbed gift from Alicia, a token of her regard. You merely executed her wishes. I find it gratifying that, even if I ruin your reputation, you will still be obliged to maintain me.’

‘Ah, I see. You believe your annuity renders you invulnerable.’ He pushed back his chair and rose. With one fleeting sideways glance at her, he strode across to the window and stood staring out at the garden with his hands clasped behind his back. ‘You know, Miss Mountjoy,’ he said evenly, ‘you really should read legal documents with more care.’ He heard her sharp intake of breath, but he did not turn. ‘If you had done so, you might have noticed the character clause I inserted in your annuity. It states, quite clearly, that if the beneficiary should lose her character, whether by criminal conviction or otherwise, her right to any payment will cease. I would wager a considerable sum that a woman who admitted to having a lewd relationship with the late Countess of Portbury would forfeit her character in the process.’ He turned slowly. ‘Shall we put the matter to the test?’