before. Was that because Beth was an easy target, while Jon himself was not? In the early part of the meal, Lady Fitzherbert had been watching Beth like a cat eying a captive mouse, but Beth’s behaviour had been impeccable. Jon suspected that perfect manners had been bred in her from a very early age. Everything was done correctly and without a moment’s hesitation. There was nothing in the least ill-bred about the delicious Miss Aubrey, however much the sight of her might stir a man’s blood.
Beth was a lady. He had absolutely no doubt of that now. Her ravishing appearance this evening, coupled with her faultless and unselfish behaviour, was serving to prove that. No one should have cause to snub Miss Aubrey after this. And once Jon had carried out the final part of his plan, even the Fitzherberts would have to toe the line he had drawn.
The servants were waiting to remove the cloth. Soon the ladies would leave for the drawing room.
The moment was now. He nodded to the butler to refill the wine glasses. Then he rose in his place.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to welcome you to the first dinner party that I have given here for many years. When I was here as a boy, I found Fratcombe to be one of the friendliest and most generous parts of England. I have always remembered it with fondness. It is to return some of that generosity that I have invited you here, for you are the first families of the district.’
There was a great deal of preening around the table. Most of the guests were smiling rather smugly. Two feather head-dresses were nodding vigorously.
‘My other reason for this dinner party, as you will know, is to welcome Miss Aubrey into Fratcombe society.’ Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that she was beginning to blush and was staring down at her tightly clasped hands. No matter. This had to be done. Honour demanded it. ‘Miss Aubrey is a distant relative of our good rector.’ Jon smiled at the old man sitting half-way down one side of the long table. ‘Since she came to stay at the rectory, she has done immense good for all of us, by volunteering to be school mistress to all the children of the district. She shows the same selfless nature as Mr and Mrs Aubrey, and I am sure you will all agree that the whole district is beholden to her.’
He paused, letting his gaze travel slowly round the table, resting on each guest in turn until they nodded in agreement. Good.
‘Miss Aubrey will be remaining at the rectory since, sadly, she no longer has any other family of her own. However, that is Fratcombe’s gain, and we are fortunate indeed to have her here among us. I therefore propose a toast. To Miss Aubrey, a most welcome, and valued, member of Fratcombe society.’
Jon raised his glass. There was a scraping of chairs as all the gentlemen rose, some more willingly than others, but with Jon’s eye on them, they had no choice. The toast was repeated and drunk.
Glad that his stratagem had worked, Jon tossed the contents of his wine glass down his throat in a single swallow. Then he let out a long breath and smiled round at his guests, before resuming his seat. On his right hand, Beth had not moved a fraction. Her colour had risen, but she was still staring at her clasped hands. He knew she was embarrassed and would not wish to speak to him now. She probably would not even wish to look at him. Understandable enough, in the circumstances, for he had given her no hint of what he intended. But he would miss those glowing eyes.
He glanced at Mrs Aubrey and gave her a tiny nod. It was now up to her how this little melodrama would play out.
Barely ten minutes after the cloth had been removed and the dessert and decanters set upon the polished mahogany, Mrs Aubrey took a last sip of her wine and rose. ‘Ladies?’ Though it was earlier than normal, her tone was commanding. She gazed round, as if daring the ladies to object.
Lady Fitzherbert whispered something, quick and low, to the dinner partner on her left. Jon did not catch it all, but he was sure he heard the word ‘impostor’. For a second, his hands clenched under the table. He clamped his jaws together. He must not give any hint that he had heard. He must trust Mrs Aubrey to deal with Lady Fitzherbert’s venom.
Jon and all the other gentlemen rose to help their partners from their chairs. But Beth seemed quite unaware that the ladies were about to leave. Jon moved quickly behind her, put his hands on the back of her chair and bent forward until his lips were only an inch or so above her curls. He could smell lavender-and hot, wild hillsides. ‘Miss Beth,’ he whispered, forcing himself to ignore the subtle scent of her and the tempting pictures it conjured up in his mind. ‘The ladies. Courage!’
She started in her place, but recovered almost instantly. She rose gracefully and turned to smile a little shakily at Jon. ‘Thank you, sir. And for your kind words. I shall treasure them.’ As she spoke, she looked directly into his face. Her eyes were wide and glistening. Not tears, surely? She had shown such self-control since the moment she arrived.
‘Courage,’ he said again, in a lower but more meaningful voice. He took her hand and placed it firmly on his sleeve. There would be no hovering this time. He led her to the door and opened it himself, for, as guest of honour, she must leave first. ‘We will join you soon, Miss Beth,’ he murmured and reluctantly let her go.
He watched as she made her way to the stairs. She had drawn herself up very tall; her spine was ramrod straight. Even from the back she looked like a soldier preparing for battle. In the drawing room upstairs, she would face the claws of the harpies.
Beth was halfway up the stairs, still stunned by Jonathan’s immensely flattering words, when she was dragged back with considerable force. She cried out in shock, grabbing for the baluster rail. Someone had trodden, hard, on the hem of her gown.
‘Oh, I am so sorry.’ It was, of course, Lady Fitzherbert. ‘Have I torn your gown, child? What a pity. It is such a pretty, girlish confection, too.’
Beth did nothing to betray the fact that she knew the damage was intentional. That would be a victory for the woman which she did not deserve. Instead, keeping a firm grip on the wooden rail, Beth turned her shoulder enough to smile sweetly into the older woman’s face. ‘If you would be so kind as to remove your foot, ma’am, I shall see what may be done to repair the damage.’
Lady Fitzherbert whipped her foot away as swiftly as if she had stepped barefoot on to burning coals. ‘I do apologise. Such a silly accident. I am not usually so clumsy.’
‘I am sure you are not, ma’am,’ came Mrs Aubrey’s tart voice from the hallway below. There was a tightness about her pursed lips, too. She clearly knew, just as Beth did, that the incident had been deliberate. If Beth had not had the presence of mind to grab the rail, she could well have tumbled all the way to the foot of the stairs.
The other ladies were twittering helplessly. Mrs Aubrey frowned up at them. ‘Come, ladies. Let us settle ourselves in the drawing room for coffee. Then Beth and I will see to the repairs.’ Mrs Aubrey ushered the stragglers on.
‘Thank you, Aunt Caro,’ Beth said quietly. She lifted the fragile white gauze so that the ripped portion would not trail on the stairs. She doubted that Lady Fitzherbert would try the same trick again, but it was safer to give her no opportunity for further mischief. Beth hurried up the remaining stairs and waited for Mrs Aubrey to join her. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, ‘but I am sure that there is no need for both of us to leave the guests. With a maid’s help, the damage can be quickly repaired.’
Mrs Aubrey nodded. They both knew it would be best not to leave the other ladies to their own devices in the drawing room, where they could pick over Beth’s reputation like vultures. Lady Fitzherbert was quite capable of acting as the malicious ringleader, given half a chance. Under Mrs Aubrey’s gimlet eye, she would not dare. Probably.
The gentlemen would join them very soon, Beth was sure. Jonathan had almost said as much. He was being so very attentive, doing so much for Beth’s comfort, that this dinner party was proving rather less of a trial than she had feared. Where the other guests were concerned, at least… With Jonathan himself, it was much more difficult- conversation, and compliments, and touching… There had been too much dangerous touching.
It had taken Jon longer than he expected to lure the gentlemen away from the decanters. Predictably, Sir Bertram Fitzherbert had been the worst. He insisted on proposing toast after toast, on ever more ridiculous subjects, culminating with the hunter he had recently bought. That had been the final straw and too much for even the rector’s good nature.
As host, Jon brought up the rear when they mounted the stairs. Sir Bertram, in the lead, was definitely swaying. With luck, he would drop into a comfortable chair and fall asleep. That was certainly better than leering at the ladies and repeating the kind of suggestive remarks he had made over his port. It was also the best that Jon dared to hope for. The Fitzherberts were truly a disgrace to their class. Jon’s firm intention was never to permit
