The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

Chapter Eleven

When Beth opened her eyes, she was alone on the bed. How long had she been asleep? She had no idea. But she had clearly been dead to the world for some time, since her naked body was now warmly wrapped in the padded velvet bedcover. The crackle of a branch drew her eyes to the hearth. The fire had been made up and was burning fiercely. Where the folly room had been comfortably warm before, it was now becoming rather too hot.

‘Jonathan?’ He must be here somewhere.

The only response came from the fire, spitting like a snake as it consumed the dry logs. Beth began to shiver uncontrollably, as if she had been drenched in icy water. She was alone. Jon had taken his pleasure. And then he had left her.

At least he took the trouble to ensure you would not be cold as well. Her cynical internal voice pecked at her conscience like a vulture.

That single thought was enough. She refused to lie helpless like a victim. She was her own mistress, and she would take responsibility for everything she had done. Even this. The slight ache in her belly was real enough, a reminder of her own complicity. She would not regret it. After such bliss, she could not. But her reputation must not be lost along with her virginity. She must be safely back at the rectory before first light.

The prospect of making her way across the expanse of Fratcombe Manor park in the dark was daunting. She would have only starlight to see by, for there was no moon. Still, it could have been worse. If the sky had been clouded over, there would have been no light at all.

She sat up, struggling to free herself from the velvet folds. She must find her clothes. Thank goodness she had had the sense to dress warmly.

As Jon had warned her to do. Had it been his intention, from the first, to leave her to walk back to the village alone? Was he so callous, so calculating?

‘Beth.’ A draught of freezing air swept across the room, turning the flames bright orange.

He is still here. As I should have known he would be. He asked me to trust him and, faint-heart that I am, I failed to do so. I shall not do so again.

‘I did not think you would wake so soon.’ He was beside her on the bed, pulling her into his arms, caressing her hair.

Beth tried again to free herself from the bedcover. She was desperate to return his embrace, to prove to him-and to herself-that she trusted him completely. ‘Oh, bother, I-’ She growled in frustration.

Jon responded by tightening the covers around her, pulling her even closer, and kissing her very thoroughly. Yet he was laughing at the same time. ‘You must not get cold, my dear,’ he murmured as he broke the kiss.

‘But you-’ It was only then that Beth saw he was fully clad. He was even wearing those confounded boots!

She turned her gaze to the fire. ‘Is it time to leave?’ she asked quietly. She could feel the colour rising on her neck. The thought of returning to the rectory, even with Jon’s careful help, was reminding her of just how far she had strayed from the path of propriety.

‘No, not yet. There is something I wish to show you first.’

Beth whipped round to look at him. He looked more relaxed, more at ease, than she had ever seen him. The fine lines on his face seemed to have been smoothed away and there was a slight curve about his mouth…Not a smile, exactly, but a sign that he was content, at peace with his world. Was she, Beth, responsible for that?

He stood up and, in a single powerful movement, lifted her into his arms. Wrapped as she was, she could not resist. In truth, she had no desire to. She did try to free her arms, for she needed to touch him. Very much.

‘Don’t fight me, Beth. It is too cold for that.’ He dropped a kiss on her forehead and started for the door.

Beth was too astonished to say a word. Jon shouldered the door open and carried her out into the night. He had been right about the cold. Under the cloudless sky, the air was almost freezing. If Beth had not been so warmly held, she would have shivered. As it was, she sank deeper into Jon’s arms. She did not care where he was taking her. It was glorious simply to be held so.

He carried her round to the back of the folly. She heard noises, scuffling movements on the ground, and whiffling. Saracen, of course. He must be stabled somewhere near. To Beth’s surprise, Jon ignored the horse and started to climb some stairs. She had not realised they existed.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘On to the roof.’

‘Why?’

They had reached the top of the stairs. Jon strode across to the middle of the roof and planted his feet firmly so that he could adjust Beth’s position in his arms. ‘Look up, and you will see.’

She leant her head back on to his shoulder. ‘Oh. Oh, how beautiful it is.’ The sky was not black, as she had expected. It was a deep rich colour, somewhere between darkest blue and purple. And the stars were strewn across it like daisies in a meadow-except that these daisies were twinkling and they would never fade and die, as mere flowers did.

‘Have you never gazed at the stars before, Beth?’

‘N…not like this.’

He laughed, low in his throat, and tightened his grip. ‘It is a little unusual, I admit. But when we are married, we can do it again. Only if you wish it, of course,’ he added, sounding apologetic.

‘Is that why you come here? To look at the stars?’

‘Mmm. In the wilds of Spain, the night sky always seemed immense, and magical. So I had the folly refurbished as an observatory. I come here at night. And not for the nefarious purposes you suspected yesterday, Miss Prim.’ His white teeth flashed. He was trying to make his grin look like a leer, but it was not working. He was laughing too much.

‘Fie on you, sir! To call me “Miss Prim” when I am here in your arms and we have-’ She stopped. Even with their new-found closeness, she could not quite say the words.

Jon’s reply was to carry her over to one corner of the roof where he sat down on a wooden bench and settled Beth on his lap. ‘From here, you may see most of the park, as well as the stars.’ He gestured towards a fine telescope and a small stool behind it.

Beth snuggled against him. Was this what their life together would be? He had talked of companionship, but she had never imagined it could be so close, so warm, so trusting. She was right to love this man, even if he would never be able to love her in return.

The back of her head was on his shoulder. His arm was around her, holding her snugly, safely against his body. Then he rested his cheek against her hair so that she could feel his breath on her skin. She closed her eyes to savour the moment. She wanted to remember this for ever.

‘I’m afraid that gnarled old tree rather spoils the panorama.’

His prosaic comment shattered Beth’s reverie. She opened her eyes and followed his pointing finger. ‘You could always cut it down, if it offends your notion of perfection,’ she said, a little sharply.

‘Oh, no, I could never do that. It is the only tree on the whole estate with mistletoe growing on it. I never saw a single sprig of it in Spain.’

‘Mistletoe?’ Beth suddenly felt very, very cold. It made no sense. She was as warmly wrapped as before, and just as secure in Jon’s arms.

‘It is my childish fancy, I fear, but I know you will not betray my weakness. An earl is not supposed to feel affection for such things. But, when I was a little boy, mistletoe seemed to be the symbol of Christmas. It was a truly happy time for all of us, especially for Henry and me, as we were so close in age. We played such games together! We- Sadly, he died, and I became the heir. Nothing was quite the same afterwards. George and I-’

Jon’s bleak grimace was telling. In her sudden concern for him, Beth pushed the image of mistletoe from her mind.

‘He is a great deal younger than me and we…we have very little in common,’ Jon said in a low voice. ‘You will meet him soon, of course.’

Jon’s brother was bound to attend the wedding, however quickly it took place. ‘Shall you invite him here?’ She could not bring herself to mention the wedding itself. If she dared to assume it was going ahead, some demon might appear and snatch it from her fingers. ‘No!’

Beth could not believe how much anger there was in that single word. Did Jon have reason to hate his brother?

‘No. George does not come to Fratcombe Manor.’ He kissed her hair, breathing deeply. When he spoke again, his anger was leashed. ‘You will meet him-and my mother-at King’s Portbury. But only after I have made you mistress of it. Which requires a wedding. A very private wedding. As soon as I can arrange it.’

‘You mean here?’

‘Why, yes. I assumed you would wish the Reverend Aubrey to perform the ceremony? Was I wrong?’

She shook her head. Her throat was too tight for speech and she could feel the beginning of tears in her eyes. To be married to Jon, and by the dear man who had protected her against so much pain and loneliness…It was much more happiness than she deserved.

‘Excellent. I shall speak to him tomorrow. Or rather-’ he glanced up at the sky, but it was still quite dark ‘-later this morning.’

‘What if he will not agree? What if-?’

‘He will agree, I promise you.’

‘But-’

Jon silenced her protests by putting his lips to hers and kissing her hungrily. Soon passion was beginning to consume them both, just as before. For Beth, everything else was forgotten.

She tore her mouth from his at last. ‘I need to touch you.’ She was wriggling within her velvet. ‘I don’t care if I freeze in the process.’

‘But I do,’ he said, on the thread of a laugh. He rose easily to his feet and started across the roof, still holding Beth securely wrapped. ‘Let us return downstairs where it is warm. We have hours yet before I must take you back. A long, long time, Beth, in which I promise I shall let you do exactly as you wish.’

Jon strode so quickly along the hallway that Mrs Aubrey’s little maid was left a long way behind. ‘I will announce myself,’ he called over his shoulder. Better to have this done quickly. He rapped on the library door and threw it open, without waiting for the rector to respond.

‘Jonathan!’ Mr Aubrey had been sitting behind his desk, quill in hand, gazing vacantly out of the window. He threw down his pen and started to his feet, smiling broadly. ‘What brings you to see us so early?’

Jon paused in the open doorway to bow politely, before closing it quickly and coming forward into the small book-lined room. A good log fire burned in the grate, warming the library against the autumn chill, just as Jon had warmed the folly room last night…

‘Jonathan?’ The rector’s smile had become a little uncertain.

Jon dragged his wandering thoughts back to the business in hand. This should be a straightforward interview, a matter of plain dealing between two men who knew each other very well. So why did memories of sweet-tasting skin and sighs of ecstasy keep trying to intrude and divert him from his purpose?

Because this was more than a business transaction now. Those last blissful hours holding Beth in his arms, uniting their bodies till they were sated with loving, and yet still yearning for each other… In one night, Jon had learned that their physical union could be more satisfying than he would have dreamt. Could be? Rather, it would be, for both of them, provided there was no impediment now.

‘Good morning, sir. I have come to ask your permission to marry Beth.’

The rector’s mouth dropped open. He stared. No wonder. Jon had blurted out his request like a panting, love-sick boy, rather than a grown man. What had become of the Earl of Portbury’s hard-won self-control?

The rector cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. ‘It is perhaps a little early in the day,’ he said carefully, ‘but I think I should welcome a glass of Madeira.’ He crossed to the little table where the decanters stood. Stopper in hand, he half-turned back to Jon. ‘You will join me, I hope, my boy?’

Jon forced himself to respond as if this interview were the most normal thing in the world. ‘Thank you, sir. With pleasure.’

By the time the rector had set down the glasses and resumed his seat behind the desk, they had both had time to collect their thoughts. Jon took the visitor’s chair opposite the rector’s and allowed himself a small swallow of wine. It was only Madeira, but it burned its way down to his empty stomach. After returning to the folly to remove every last trace of Beth’s presence there, he had stopped only long enough at the Manor to change his clothes.

The rector set his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. ‘You are asking my permission to marry Beth?’

‘Yes, sir. As soon as may be. We hope you will perform the ceremony, too. If you agree, I plan to post up to London for a special licence.’ He had not said as much to Beth, but it was the only sensible way to proceed. She would accept that. She was nothing if not sensible.

‘Jonathan, I… My boy, I do not see that I can give you what you seek. Beth lives here as our adopted daughter, it is true, but I have no authority over her, especially not in something as important as this. She is a grown woman and her own mistress.’

Jon nodded. ‘I am aware of that, sir. And I am proud to say that she has already accepted my proposal of marriage.’

‘Indeed? You surprise me.’

Jon bristled. ‘May I ask why?’

The rector laid his hands flat on the desk and leaned forward, frowning. ‘Beth has great common sense, and great delicacy, too. She knows-as you and I do, also-that she is a lady born and bred, but a lady with neither name nor family. A nameless female cannot marry a peer of the realm. I cannot believe that she would have agreed to such a thing.’

Jon swallowed his surging temper. This old man was his friend, and Beth’s protector, to boot. If he could not be brought round to see the advantages of the match, no one else would, either. ‘Beth has your name, sir, and that is quite honourable enough for this peer of the realm. Allow me to be open about this. I may be an earl, but I do not seek another great match, for I have learned how disastrous they can be. What is more, I have seen the available candidates. Believe me, sir, I could not abide any of them for even a week.’ He forced himself to relax a little, and tried to smile winningly. ‘Beth and I have an understanding. She will bring me the peaceful, comfortable home I have been longing for and-God willing!-the children I need to carry on my line. In return, I will give her my name and the position she has lacked since her unfortunate accident. Once she is the Countess of Portbury, no one will dare to question her past.’

The rector’s eyebrows rose but he said only, ‘So it is not a love match?’

Love? Jon shook his head vehemently. ‘Love is for hot-headed young bloods and simpering misses just out of the schoolroom. No, sir, this is to be a union of wiser heads than that. I esteem Beth greatly. She is a woman of sterling qualities, as she has amply demonstrated during her time here at Fratcombe. She will make me a splendid countess on the public stage. And in private, we shall enjoy the quiet companionship we have both come to value.’

‘I see.’ Mr Aubrey sounded a little sad. He was staring down at his hands, avoiding Jon’s gaze.

In the end, it was Jon who broke the tense silence. ‘Will you agree to perform the ceremony, sir? It is Beth’s dearest wish.’

The rector slowly raised his head. His eyes had lost their usual brightness. They were rheumy, as if he had suddenly aged ten years. ‘I am sorry, Jonathan. It is impossible. You must see that, surely?’

Jon drew himself up. ‘No, sir. I do not.’

The rector sighed. ‘I have to know that the couple are free to marry. You are a widower, but Beth… Jonathan, she could be anything, even some other man’s wife.’

Jon took a deep breath. He was going to have to be extremely frank and trust to the old man’s discretion. ‘I can assure you that Beth has not been any man’s wife, sir.’ He held the rector’s gaze, waiting for a sign that the full import of his words had been understood. It came sooner than Jon had expected. The rector’s eyes widened a fraction, and his sharp intake of breath echoed in the silence. ‘I see that you take my meaning, sir. To put the matter beyond doubt, I should perhaps add that there is now every reason to carry out the marriage ceremony as soon as it may be arranged.’ It was a little underhand to lead Mr Aubrey to believe that Beth might be with child, but Jon found he was prepared to go to almost any lengths to achieve his purpose. Nothing else mattered.

The rector downed the rest of his wine in a single swallow, got to his feet and began to pace. There was precious little room in the tiny library. He had to turn after every three or four steps.

Jon remained perfectly still, watching. There was nothing more he could do until the old man had finished struggling with his conscience.

‘You leave me with no choice,’ the rector said at last, in a weary voice. ‘You assure me that Beth has been no man’s wife, and I must accept your word. Though I must tell you, my lord, that I deplore what you must have done to establish your proofs of that. I would not have trusted you alone with Beth if I had suspected you might fail to behave as a gentleman should.’ He glowered at Jon. ‘It seems my judgement of you was wrong.’

Jon had risen when the rector began to speak. Now he clamped his lips tightly together. He could say nothing at all in defence of his own honour without impugning Beth’s. That he would not do.

‘If there is a risk that you have got her with child…?’

Jon looked the rector in the eye but made no other response. He had done enough to hurt the old man. He would not tell him a direct lie.

The rector shook his head sadly. ‘If she was a virgin when you took her, there is at least no risk of bigamy.’

Jon allowed himself a tiny nod.

‘And as there must now be a risk that she is with child, I have no choice but to ensure that this…er…irregular union of yours is sanctified in church. You have forced my hand, Jonathan, as I have no doubt you intended.’ He frowned up at Jon. ‘Go to London. If you return with a special licence, I will marry you both.’

Jon let out a long breath. ‘Thank you, sir. I…I ask your pardon for the-’ His voice trailed off. He could not think of an appropriate word.

‘Deception?’

Jon flushed like a guilty schoolboy caught in some childish mischief. ‘You have every right to be angry, sir, and I admit that my behaviour has been…er…less honourable than you had the right to expect. For that, and that alone, I apologise unreservedly. I hope that I may, one day, regain your trust.’ He raised his chin. ‘However, I cannot apologise for what has been done, since there was no other route that could have led to marriage between myself and Beth. That I could never regret, even if it were to lead to a rift with you. Needless to say, I fervently hope that it will not.’

The rector’s eyes had lost their rheumy cast. They had become thoughtful instead. He nodded slowly, twice. ‘I doubt there will be any rift, provided… Jonathan, I have one question for you. Tell me the truth of it, on your honour. Was Beth a willing partner in this?’

The question twisted in Jon’s gut. The rector was asking if he had taken Beth by force, to ensure she could not refuse him. How could a Christian gentleman think such a thing?

Because he does not know what to think of you now, Jon. The voice of Jon’s conscience was strong. He had given the rector every reason to doubt his honour. He must reassure the old man now. But he must not betray Beth. After a pause, he said only, ‘Beth was a willing partner. Yes.’

The rector sighed. With relief, Jon supposed. ‘Since I have every intention of forgetting what has passed between us this morning, you may be easy now, Jonathan.’ The harshness of tone was gone. ‘I shall say nothing to my wife. Or to Beth. Other than to offer my congratulations, of course.’ His warm smile lit up his eyes. He might disapprove of what they had done, but he was glad for them both, or for Beth, at least.

‘You are very generous, sir.’

‘Thank you, my boy. Shall you live here at Fratcombe, do you think?’ It sounded like the most natural enquiry possible. The inquisition was done, and forgotten.

‘For some of the time, I am sure,’ Jon replied, relaxing at last. ‘Beth will want to keep an eye on her school and on the progress of her little ones. I shall endow it on her behalf, of course, so that you may employ a replacement teacher. But I imagine we shall spend much of the year at King’s Portbury, my principal seat. May I hope, sir, that you and Mrs Aubrey will visit us? I am sure that Beth will join me in issuing the invitation, the moment we are settled at Portbury Abbey.’

The rector cocked his head on one side and narrowed his eyes, though his smile did not falter. After a moment, he said, ‘That is very generous of you, Jonathan. Mrs Aubrey will be most gratified, I am sure. And speaking of Mrs Aubrey-’ he crossed to the fire to pull the bell ‘-I think it is high time we gave her this momentous news. She will wish to congratulate you both.’

He turned to smile wickedly at Jon. ‘I have not seen Beth yet today. I wonder how she will look? I imagine-don’t you?-that she will be blooming like a rose, now that she is…er…betrothed.’