ways of before. He had tenants, and workers, and dependants. As Earl, he had a duty to them all. Surprisingly, that duty no longer felt like a burden. Was that the rector’s influence? He did not know, but, for some reason, he was eager to return. He would try to look after his people as he had looked after his soldiers; he would seek to make their lives a little better, educate their children. Yes, even the gypsy children that Miss Beth defended so stoutly.
Beth Aubrey. Unlike the gang of simpering misses his mother had gathered here at Portbury, Beth was a woman of decided character, a clear-headed, practical woman who tried to do good in the world. She had not an ounce of the guile that had surrounded him, these past weeks at King’s Portbury. He could see that clearly now. But the fundamental question remained-could he really be sure she was not a fraud?
He took a deep breath of the clean air of the hilltop. He would be arriving back at Fratcombe just a few days before the evening party at the Manor. He would visit the rectory, he decided-he had the ready-made excuse of consulting Mrs Aubrey about the party arrangements-and he would use the time to judge Beth Aubrey’s character, once and for all. If his foundling was as upright as he suspected-and, he admitted, as he hoped-he would use his rank to establish her position in Fratcombe, and with it, his own. After that, no one would dare to accept a Fitzherbert’s judgement over the Earl of Portbury’s.
Mrs Aubrey’s little maid answered Jon’s knock, as usual. At the sight of him, her eyes grew as round as saucers. She stood rooted to the spot, making no move to admit him. Impudent wench! It was not for a mere servant to have opinions on how often Jon chose to call.
‘Is Mrs Aubrey at home?’ he asked sharply.
She nodded and showed him directly to the parlour, without first seeking leave from her mistress. Almost as if he were one of the family.
‘Why, Jonathan! Three visits in three days! We are honoured.’ Jon did not miss the hint of laughter in Mrs Aubrey’s voice as she rose from her work table and dropped him a tiny curtsy. It was only yesterday that he had finally persuaded the old lady to use his given name, as her husband always did. It felt right. He was truly glad of it.
Beth-Miss Aubrey-would do nothing so intimate. She too had risen from her place, laying aside her pen. Her curtsy was a model of decorum. It showed off her slim figure and upright carriage, too. Somewhere she had been well schooled. ‘Good afternoon, Lord Portbury.’ Her voice was low, almost husky. He persuaded himself it sounded a little strained. Could she be worrying about tomorrow’s party?
He smiled down at her. ‘You have been working too hard again, ma’am. You have ink on your fingers, I fear.’ He was hoping to make her laugh as readily as on the previous afternoons.
Instead, she looked horrified. She lifted her fingers to stare at the dark stain as if some monster had settled on her skin. ‘Oh, dear. I shall never get it clean in time. What shall I-?’
Mrs Aubrey stepped forward and clasped her wrinkled old hands over Beth’s smooth ones. ‘Stop worrying, my dear. I have a remedy for that, I promise. You shall be as white as snow when you don your new evening gown.’
Beth resumed her seat, but her eyes were still wide and apprehensive, Jon saw. It had not occurred to him before now that she might worry about appearing at his party. She seemed so confident in everything else she did, in the school, with the villagers, with servants, even with him… She was a lady, but she was still a nobody, and about to be foisted on to a group of haughty gentle-folk who most definitely did not wish to accept her as an equal. Of course it would be an ordeal. Why had he not seen that? In the long run, it would make her life easier, he was sure, but that was little consolation today. Even a true lady could be afraid of confrontation.
He hastened to reassure her. ‘In any case, you will be wearing evening gloves, and-’
‘Jonathan!’ Mrs Aubrey interrupted sharply, adding a warning shake of her head. ‘Will you take tea with us?’
Now, why…? Oh, yes, of course. The ladies would remove their gloves at the dinner table. Stupid of him. His wits had gone a-begging. He was not helping Beth at all. He smiled his agreement to the old lady and set about restoring poor Beth’s peace of mind.
He joined her on the sofa. ‘You seem incredibly busy, ma’am.’ He gestured towards the pieces of card spread across the table. ‘Is this for my party, too?’ He picked one up. The name ‘Sir Bertram Fitzherbert’ was written in a very elegant hand.
‘Place cards for your dinner table, my lord. We remembered them only this morning.’
‘Ah, yes. Yet another of the hostess’s duties. I had not realised quite how many burdens I was putting on Mrs Aubrey’s shoulders when I asked her to take this on.’ He glanced across at the old lady who was standing in the open doorway, giving instructions to her maid. ‘It must be much more difficult for a hostess who does not actually live in the house.’
Beth shook her head. ‘It could be, but your butler is extremely competent. And we had weeks to prepare while you were away…’ Her voice tailed off. She threw him an enigmatic sideways glance and then quickly looked away.
Was that an accusation? That he had decreed this grand party and then fled the field? If only she knew! Those three weeks at King’s Portbury had been more dangerous than any battlefield. If he had not been awake to the matchmakers’ scheming, he might have found himself forcibly leg-shackled to a chit he could not abide. Fratcombe was a peaceful refuge by comparison. Here he could relax and be himself. Here, no one was scheming.
Except himself, of course!
He laughed aloud at that subversive thought.
‘My lord?’ She sounded hurt. She still did not know him well enough to realise he would never laugh at her.
‘Forgive me, ma’am.’ On impulse, he reached out to cover her ink-stained fingers with his own and patted her hand reassuringly. She froze instantly. Good God, what was he doing? He drew in a quick, horrified breath, but forced himself to give her one last friendly pat before nonchalantly dropping his hand back into his lap, as if he had done nothing in the least improper. ‘I was laughing at the picture you painted…of myself.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Far too top-lofty to involve myself in anything as mundane as
‘Oh, no!’ She was blushing now. The tints of rose on her cheeks merely served to highlight her perfect complexion. There was colour on her neck, too, though it was partly hidden behind her high collar. Under her muslins, he had no doubt that even her bosom was delicately pink and-
She pulled another card towards her and busied herself with carefully writing the name. Just as well that she was not looking at Jon. She might be a single lady, but she was almost certainly old enough to recognise sensual awareness in a man’s face. He had no right to allow himself to stray into such thoughts. She was a nobody, a protegee at most. It was beneath his dignity to dally with her.
‘Oh, bl-!’ Her nib had broken and blotted the card. ‘Bother!’ she corrected herself quickly. When he did not react, she threw him a mischievous look. Unlike the simpering debutantes, she was sensible enough to realise that his touch had been a mistake. And to be forgotten at once. Yes, sensible, but delightful company, too, as he had learned since his return. Her eyes were now dancing with mischief. ‘You will permit me to observe, my lord, that your
Excellent. She was back to her normal quick-witted self. Easy with him, and more than ready to take him to task. He much preferred her that way.
He allowed himself a sheepish grin. ‘I will take myself further off at once, ma’am.’ He rose and crossed the room to Mrs Aubrey’s side. ‘It is clear that Miss Aubrey finds my presence a burden this afternoon. However, my intentions were of the best, I assure you. I knew there were bound to be last-minute chores and, since it is my party, I thought I should offer my services. Is there any way in which I can help?’
Mrs Aubrey smiled, shaking her head. ‘No. Apart from the place cards, everything is done. Unless you wish to help with those?’
He snorted with laughter. ‘If you had seen my hand writing, ma’am, you would not ask.’
She laughed, too. ‘I thought as much. It tends to be the way with gentlemen. No, you may sit and converse with me over the teacups, so that Beth is left in peace to finish her task. We are treating you as a friend of the family, you understand, rather than an exalted visitor who must become the centre of everyone’s attention.’ She paused. Jon thought he saw a fleeting shadow cross her face. ‘After all these daily visits, it could hardly be otherwise.’
Was that a warning? Had he overstepped the mark?
