The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

Chapter Twelve

Jon gazed at the dying fire as he savoured the last of his port. Supper had been something of a trial, even though he had dismissed the servants. Beth had seemed subdued, even anxious. Jon could not understand it. Now that they were married, her position was secure. No mere Lady Fitzherbert could harm her. Surely she could not be fearing her wedding night? They both knew that their lovemaking could be glorious.

She would be in her bedchamber now, their private realm. Jon felt his body stirring in anticipation and swore at the flames. He could not endure the thought of backstairs gossip about the master’s feelings for his wife. If he was to avoid that, he would have to pay particular attention to keeping a proper distance from Beth. Cool formality was required between an earl and his countess. He had seen it between his parents, even without servants present. It was a lesson Jon had learned very young. It should not be difficult to put it into practice now.

He glanced at the clock. Too soon yet to join her. He would drink another glass of port. Slowly.

He began to make plans for the journey from Fratcombe to London, hoping that it would divert his thoughts from the night’s pleasures to come. Gentle, prolonged lovemaking was what they needed, for the early days of their marriage. Unfortunately, travelling so late in the year would not make that easy.

Tomorrow, he would tell his steward to organise Portbury horses at all the staging posts. That would make the journey more comfortable for Beth, and quicker, too. The sooner Jon had her installed at King’s Portbury, the sooner their comfortable union could truly begin. And then his mother could take over the task of instructing Beth in her duties.

His mother would welcome Beth with open arms, he was sure. He could not promise her an heir yet, but he fully intended to do his best to get one. With Beth, he would enjoy the intimate side of their life. Perhaps, one day, he might even be able to tell her about-

No! There were some things that a gently bred lady should never hear, even from her husband. In that dark moment, Jon realised that he would not be able to sleep in Beth’s bed, however much he wanted to hold her in his arms. He could not take the risk. He must always leave her to sleep alone.

This was not a bedchamber, Beth decided. It was paradise.

‘Happy, my dear?’

Beth forced her heavy eyelids open. Jon was leaning over her, gazing down into her face. ‘Mmm.’ The tiny lines around his eyes relaxed but otherwise he did not move a fraction. He was waiting for her to say something a little more…er…meaningful. ‘When we were…um…together at the folly,’ she began shyly, ‘it was wonderful. I did not think that anything could be- But here, in our marriage bed, it was utterly blissful.’

‘Ah.’ He sank back on to the bed beside her and pulled her into his embrace. After a second or two, his fingers began idly playing with a lock of her hair, pulling it straight and watching it spring back into a tight curl. ‘You have beautiful hair, Beth. I cannot tell you how often I have longed to do that.’ He repeated the gesture and laughed at the simple pleasure of it.

She was, without doubt, the happiest woman in the world. She had married the man she loved and, while he did not love her in return, he must care for her a little. How could their physical union be so glorious if he did not? He was very formal and reserved in public-too much so for Beth’s taste-but that might change. And, even if it did not, she would have moments like these, when he held her in his arms and they could talk about anything, and nothing. They had all the rest of the night in front of them.

‘Will you teach me about the stars, Jon?’

‘If you wish it. But that cannot be until we return to Fratcombe, next year.’

‘Oh.’ Beth had dreamt of being carried up to the folly roof again, safe in Jon’s arms. But perhaps it was for the best. It was truly winter now. They could wait until the summer, when the weather would be warm enough to dispense with clothes altogether. Goodness, what an outrageous thought! It must be the effects of all the wanton things that she and Jon had been doing together. She snuggled a little closer and tried to stifle a yawn. It had been a long, tiring day but she was not yet ready for sleep. Not when Jon’s naked body was so tantalisingly close.

He dropped a kiss on her hair and rested his cheek against it. ‘After London-where our visit must be very brief-we shall be at King’s Portbury until after Christmas. In January, I shall have to be in London when Parliament reassembles, but there is no reason for you to leave the Abbey until just before the Season starts. We probably shan’t be able to return to Fratcombe until the summer. Can you wait until then for your lessons?’

‘I…’ He had her life all mapped out. And large parts of it seemed to involve leaving her alone in a house where she knew no one, except Hetty Martin. Thank goodness Beth had had the strength to insist that Hetty should serve as her lady’s maid.

Jon stroked a finger down her neck and over her breast. His touch was magical. Her body took fire instantly. She reached up to pull his mouth down to hers. ‘The lessons I need, husband,’ she said huskily, ‘are here and now.’

Jon lay motionless until he was sure that Beth was sound asleep. She was a wonderful bedmate, so generous, so passionate. He would never have believed that a virgin could turn into a seductress in such a short space of time. But she had. If he were younger, and less conscious of his position, he would remain in her bed for a week, at least. But that would shame them both before the servants. He could not do that to Beth. Their intimacy must be reserved for the hours of darkness.

He allowed himself to drop one last kiss on her curls and slipped out from under the covers. His heavy silk dressing gown was as he had left it, draped across the chair by the bed where he could easily lay his hand on it in the dark. He let it slide over his body. The silk felt cold and stiff compared with Beth’s soft, caressing touch, but he fought down the urge to return to her.

He padded barefoot to the connecting door. The way was clear, for he had been careful to ensure there was nothing he might trip over. He had even counted the steps.

He left Beth’s bedchamber without looking back.

Beth was finding London something of a trial. Since Parliament was not sitting, most of the great families were on their country estates, slaughtering birds. Jon had taken rooms at Grillon’s Hotel, in order-he said-to avoid opening up Portbury House. He was also avoiding any formal announcement that the Earl and Countess of Portbury were in residence in town, and ensuring that Beth could go about the business of acquiring a new wardrobe without having to receive calls from sharp-eyed town tabbies, eager to find new material for tittle-tattle.

Unfortunately, Beth’s shopping expeditions had been lonely ones, for Jon would not accompany her. A man was worse than useless on such occasions, he maintained; besides, he had business affairs to attend to. Beth was prepared to accept that his business might be more important than his new wife’s wardrobe, but did it really have to occupy every waking hour? Did he have to be so distant?

After three days with only Hetty for company, Beth concluded her husband was avoiding her. There was no other possible explanation. Why, they had dined together only once, and he had left again immediately, without a word of excuse.

On the fourth day, she woke with a pounding headache and the old familiar nausea. Her nightmares had returned to point accusing fingers at her guilty past. Had she been wrong to let Jon persuade her into marriage? He had been adamant that her past did not matter, that his great position would place his wife beyond criticism. Yet he himself was now avoiding her. Was he having second thoughts about his hasty proposal and their even hastier wedding?

She tried to push the drumming guilt away. She had not deceived him. She had refused him. But he had ignored her objections and then used wicked-wonderful-persuasion to change her mind. He was still doing so every night.

He could not make love to her with such tenderness if he regretted their marriage. She would not believe that. He was distant because…because he was always so, with everyone. She refused to believe that he might be ashamed of her. But he certainly wanted to establish her at King’s Portbury, and with his family, before they entered London society as a newly-wed couple. Was that also why he planned to return to London alone, in the New Year? He must know that she was haunted by guilt about her mysterious past. He had thrown the protective cloak of his rank around her, but that would not stop the whispering, malicious gossip. Was it to save Beth from wicked tongues that he was leaving her behind?

But no, that could not be the way of it. He had announced his intentions on the very day of their wedding. It was not out of concern for Beth’s sensitivities that he planned to go to London without her. He had not considered Beth’s preferences at all.

She was being unfair, and she knew it. Jon was not callous in that way. He simply stood aloof. He was sure of his own judgement and consulted no one before making decisions. He was convinced that Beth would soon find herself very much at home at King’s Portbury. Why should his wife wish to exchange such a comfortable situation for the cold and clamour of London in early January? The weather would no doubt be foul, and the roads quite appalling. It would never occur to him that his wife would gladly endure hours of freezing travel, and damp posting-house beds, in return for just a few hours a day with the husband she loved.

He did not know, he would not ask, and she could never tell him.

The private parlour was heaped with packages. Poor Hetty was trying to unwrap and arrange the contents in piles suitable for packing, but even so, there was barely space to sit down.

‘Good Gad, ma’am! More purchases?’

Beth spun round. Jon was leaning against the door jamb, surveying the chaos through narrowed eyes. A thread of anxiety began to uncoil in her stomach but, this time, she refused to let it grow. She was awake, and in control of her doubts. This was Jonathan, her husband, the man who came to her bed and took her to paradise. He was not hostile to her, and he did not seek her humiliation. His public manner was only a mask he wore, to protect them both from the barbs of the gossips, inside or outside their household.

She had learned one way of cracking his mask during these last few days in London. ‘I have a confession to make, my lord.’ She bowed her head meekly. ‘I think I may have bankrupted you.’

He roared with laughter and started towards her. Hetty, eyes demurely downcast, sidled out behind him and closed the parlour door.

Beth raised her head again, and gazed at Jon. When he had first appeared in the doorway, she had thought he looked worn, but now he seemed alive again, almost carefree. ‘This is the last of them.’ She gestured towards the piles of expensive clothing he had urged her to buy. ‘We may leave London as soon as you wish.’

‘Excellent.’ He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, but pulled it away hurriedly before it could touch her skin. He flushed very slightly, as if embarrassed by what he had almost done.

Beth held his gaze unwaveringly. She had finally come to accept, reluctantly, that he never made gestures of affection, even when they were alone. It was as if he expected an interruption at any moment. In her bedchamber, it was different, but only there. And he never, ever, stayed with her till morning.

‘Everything is ready for our journey,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, I think. I have arranged for Portbury horses at all the staging posts, so we should not be delayed.’

Beth tried to keep her expression neutral. She disliked travelling in such pomp, with servants bowing and scraping at every turn. She had been surprised that Jon chose to do so. At Fratcombe, he unbent a little, at least with the Aubreys. The moment he left it, he donned this starched-up, aristocratic manner with everyone. Sometimes, she was not sure what kind of man she had married.

He was spelling out the route they would take. ‘We will travel light. Any extra baggage may follow on behind.’

‘Hetty will take care of it.’

‘No. Your maid will travel with you, ma’am, in your carriage. The Countess of Portbury does not travel alone.’

‘You…you do not accompany me, sir?’ Beth did not quite manage to control the tremor in her voice.

‘But of course. However, I plan to ride. I have taken far too little exercise while we have been here in London.’

He was avoiding her company, even more than on their journey from Fratcombe. It must all be part of that confounded mask he would not discard. But why? What could he possibly be hiding from?

‘We shall reach King’s Portbury in a few days, if the weather holds. Then, at last, we will be able to settle down to that comfortable, companionable life I promised you, Beth. You will learn to run my household-my mother will instruct you in your role there-while I deal with the business of my estates, and my duties to Parliament. I have neglected both, I fear, since my return from Spain. In the evenings, we will be able to sup together, as a family, and sit by the fire. It is a delightful picture, is it not?’

It was not delightful at all. It appeared that the Dowager would be living with them, as well as instructing Beth. That sounded daunting enough. Worse was that Jon clearly wished to avoid being alone with Beth, except in her bed, which was simple necessity, for the getting of an heir. She had thought he valued her, as a trusted friend. She was beginning to wonder if she had been wrong.

‘Ah, Jon. Punctual as ever.’ His mother was beaming at him without a trace of artifice. ‘Do come over to the fire. I know how chilly you find it, here in England.’

Jon took his stance in front of the roaring fire and let it warm his back. He glanced round at his mother’s cosy sitting room. Soon, she would return to the Dower House and Beth would take over this room. In the spring, he decided, he would offer to have it redecorated for her, in any colour she wanted. She might like new furniture, too. There was no reason why she should have to keep what Alicia had chosen. The memory of his dead wife sent the usual shudder down his spine.

‘There, it is just as I said. You are still frozen to the marrow. I cannot imagine why you chose to ride when you could have travelled in your comfortable carriage, with hot bricks for your feet.’

‘I needed the exercise, Mama.’ A half-truth. After London, he had known it was wisest to avoid Beth’s company. ‘Spain can be cold in winter, too, you know,’ he quipped.

‘I’m sure it can, my dear.’ She glanced towards the door. ‘Is your wife not planning to join us? I thought we might have tea, just the three of us. We have had no time for real conversation since you arrived.’

‘Beth is tired after travelling all day, Mama. I told her to rest before dinner. I knew you would understand.’

His mother gave him a very quizzical look. ‘If she is fatigued, then she must certainly rest. Pull the bell, Jon, if you please.’

The butler arrived almost instantly with the tea tray. As was her wont, Jon’s mother sat silent and immobile until Goodrite had bowed himself out. It was partly from her that Jon had learned the importance of protecting his privacy. Gossip, whether from servants or gentry, could be the very devil.

The Dowager calmly poured tea and handed Jon his cup. She had remembered exactly how he liked it. She had always been a consummate hostess. Beth would be learning from the best possible teacher.

‘If you are warmer now, perhaps you would sit down? I find that looking up so far creates a pain in the neck.’

Jon gave a snort of laughter, but he did as he was bid.

‘Your wife seems a delightful girl, Jon. You met her at Fratcombe, I collect?’ When he nodded, she continued without a pause. ‘I see now why you were so eager to return there. You said, if I recall correctly, that you were returning to meet a challenge you relished. If Miss Aubrey was the challenge in question, I can quite understand your haste. She has a…a certain quality that would draw a man.’

Jon started back, took a deep breath through his nose and let it out very, very slowly. He did not dare open his lips, lest he insult his mother by telling her precisely what he thought of her tasteless remark. Was she actually daring to suggest that Beth had led him on in some vulgar fashion? That she was a practised seductress?

His silent fury must have been obvious, for she quickly became contrite. ‘Forgive me, I did not mean to say anything in her dispraise. She is, as I said at the outset, a delightful young lady. I would not, for the world, pry into the details of your courtship, Jon. It is enough for me that you are married, and content.’

‘Thank you, Mama.’ He must have mistaken her meaning, he decided. She would never malign the wife he had chosen. And she would help Beth to find her feet at Portbury, too. ‘I hope that you and Beth will soon become like mother and daughter. After all, you never had a daughter of your own, did you?’ Alicia did not count. She had been a failure as a wife, and also as a daughter-in-law.

‘No, I did not,’ she said, with a slightly tight smile. ‘If your wife becomes like a daughter to me, I should be more than glad.’

It irked him suddenly that his mother would not call Beth by name, even though she knew it perfectly well. ‘Her name, Mama, is Beth.’

‘Elizabeth?’

‘She prefers Beth.’

‘Then so it shall be.’ She leant towards him a little, smiling broadly. ‘By the way, I sent out all the Christmas invitations in the normal way. I knew your wife-I knew Beth would not arrive here in time to do them.’ She preened a little. ‘The first guests will arrive in about a week.’

Jon swore inwardly. The Portbury tradition of holding a grand Christmas house party was the last thing he wanted to continue. He should have told his mother to cancel it this year, but he had totally forgotten about it. So he could not blame her for what she had done. Indeed, she had been trying to be helpful. He managed to exclaim as if he were delighted. ‘I had no right to expect such exertions from you, Mama, especially now that I have a wife at my side to act as hostess.’

‘As I said, there would not have been time. If the invitations had been late, there would have been gossip.’ She sniffed. She detested gossip about her family. ‘I was happy to do it. And Miss Mountjoy helped. In fact, she has made some remarkably useful suggestions.’

Miss Mountjoy. He should have guessed. No doubt, her suggestions had served to increase the guest list and lengthen their stay. The Mountjoy woman was both clever and dangerous, with a slyly malicious tongue, but as long as she was his mother’s confidante, there was nothing Jon could say, not even to Beth.

Hetty slipped into Beth’s bedchamber and crept across to the bed.

‘I am not asleep, Hetty. I feel much refreshed and my headache has gone.’ That was a blessing, since she had misled Jon, saying only that she was weary.

‘Miss Mountjoy is here, m’lady. With a message from her ladyship.’

‘Miss Mountjoy? Here? How very strange. I will come at once.’ Miss Mountjoy had been introduced by the Dowager as a neighbour from the village, yet here she was, running errands as if she were a menial. Moreover, although she did not live at Portbury Abbey, she clearly knew the house intimately. Beth was at a loss to understand what was going on, but good manners prevailed; she slipped her arms into the wrapper Hetty was holding and followed her maid into the sitting room that divided her bedchamber from Jon’s.

Miss Mountjoy’s eyes widened as Beth came into the room. She stared for several seconds too long, before dropping a brief curtsy. For some reason, it made Beth uncomfortable to be meeting this odd woman when so informally clad. ‘I am a little cold, Hetty. Fetch my shawl, please.’

‘Hetty?’ Miss Mountjoy said as the maid disappeared. ‘What a curious name for a lady’s maid.’ She clapped a hand to her mouth to cover a high-pitched titter. ‘Oh, pray forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to sound impertinent. But I thought- That is, her ladyship said you would be bound to engage a high-class dresser while you were in London. Seeing someone so…er…young and small was something of a shock.’

Miss Mountjoy might be the Dowager’s bosom bow, but she was certainly not going to be Beth’s! Insufferable woman! How dare she?

Beth waited for Hetty to wrap the heavy Norwich shawl around her shoulders and return to the bedchamber before she spoke. She was the Countess of Portbury now. She would not be outfaced by a woman like this. ‘My maid said you had a message from her ladyship. It was not, I collect, about my choice of dresser?’

Miss Mountjoy’s nostrils quivered for a second. Then she smiled too broadly. ‘No, indeed, my lady, I- His lordship’s lady mother was concerned to learn that you were so fatigued after your journey, especially after travelling in such extravagant comfort. We thought you might perhaps be…er…ailing. She knows I have some knowledge of attending to ladies when their health is…er…delicate.’ She raised her chin proudly. ‘That was before I came to King’s Portbury, of course. If there is anything I might do to assist your ladyship…?’

Good grief! Jon’s mother was sending this…this toady to enquire if Beth was breeding. It was beyond insult. It was utter humiliation. Was this how her life was to be at King’s Portbury?

‘Hetty!’ The maid appeared instantly. She must have been just behind the door.

‘Thank you for your concern, Miss Mountjoy, but I shall not be needing your assistance.’ Let her make what she would of that! ‘Hetty, show Miss Mountjoy out.’ Without so much as a nod to her unwelcome visitor, Beth turned on her heel and marched back into her bedchamber.

‘How much of that did you hear?’ Beth demanded when Hetty returned.

‘I…I beg your pardon, m’lady. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I knew I should be on hand in case-’

Beth cut off the excuse with a wave of her hand. ‘We will not discuss Miss Mountjoy’s insinuations about my…er…state of health.’ She swallowed hard, determined to master her emotions, even though only Hetty was there to see. ‘But her comments about you are another matter.’

Hetty reddened and stared at the floor.

‘Hetty?’ When the maid did not reply, Beth began to suspect there was something more at work than Miss Mountjoy’s vitriolic tongue. ‘We have been here less than a day. What has happened to upset you?’

Hetty did not move or look up. At last, she whispered, ‘Countess Alicia had a very superior French dresser, according to the housekeeper.’

‘I see. And she implies that you are not equal to the task?’

‘Not in so many words, m’lady. No one does. There are just…er…looks and whispers. And I might have imagined those.’

Beth was fairly sure that Hetty had not been mistaken. And if the servants were gossiping behind Hetty’s back about the new mistress’s choice of maid, what were they saying about the mistress herself? For Hetty’s sake, Beth would find out the truth of all this. And then she would nip such rebellious behaviour in the bud.

‘Ignore them, Hetty. Remember that you are maid to the mistress of the house, if you please. For now, it’s probably best for you to remain rather aloof. Just as a superior French maid would do.’ Beth smiled encouragingly down at her maid.

‘I’ll do just as you say, m’lady. Your ladyship chose me to serve you and I am proud of the fact, no matter what Miss Mountjoy may say.’

‘Miss Mountjoy? Has she been sowing mischief below stairs? But how? She is not a servant.’

‘She used to be, after a fashion. She were Countess Alicia’s paid companion for more than ten years, so I were told, m’lady. Now she lives in a fine cottage in the village. His lordship gave it to her, they say.’

‘Whatever they say about his lordship, Hetty, you will not repeat.’

Hetty blushed an even fierier red than before. ‘No, m’lady. Begging yer pardon, m’lady.’ At Beth’s nod of dismissal, she fled back into the bedchamber.

Beth began to pace up and down the sitting room. Jon had bought a cottage for his late wife’s companion? Why on earth would he do that? She was clearly a mischief-maker of the first order. Sly, too. No doubt the mean backstairs gossip about Hetty had started with her. Beth would have to find a way of countering that.

But in the meantime, she had to understand about Miss Mountjoy and Jon. Years ago, before he went to Spain, the woman might have been an attractive armful for a man with a roving eye. Had she and Jon been lovers, perhaps? Jon was a passionate man. If he could not bed the wife he hated, would he bed her companion instead? Was the cottage given by way of compensation?

It was a hateful thought. Had Jon thought to resume his liaison with her on his return from the wars? Even if that had been his intention, surely he would not pursue it now that he had remarried?

But Miss Mountjoy had a proprietorial air that disturbed Beth a great deal. As if she had power in this house. As if she knew secrets.