desire was to keep his distance from Beth Aubrey. If he avoided her for a while, the urge would subside. That was the answer. Perfectly logical.
He would spend a week or two alone, supervising improvements to his estate. Hard work would divert his mind and tire his body. Then he would invite the Aubreys, and Miss Beth, to spend the day at Fratcombe Manor. He would treat her as a guest and prove to himself, in the process, that his hard-earned lessons in detachment still held sway. His father had surely been right. A nobleman had to be cold and unemotional; his position required it. Feelings led to weakness that would always be exploited. Jon had buried them all, long ago.
Outside in the courtyard, a dog barked.
It sounded just like Caesar. Horrified, Jon screwed up his eyes against the memory. It was not buried after all. His father, the gun, the boy and his beloved dog. A gundog that was gun shy. There had to be a test, his father had said. If Caesar was gun shy, he must be shot so that he could not breed. The first barrel had proved it beyond doubt. Caesar had been shivering with fear. The second barrel had ended his life. Jon, at ten years old, had been forced to pull the trigger. And then to fetch a shovel and bury his best friend. He had never had another.
The Aubreys were friends, surely?
No. The Aubreys treated him almost like a son-and they called each other ‘friends’-but Jon had never granted them the intimacy of true friendship. They knew how much he had mourned for his dead brother, but they knew nothing else. Once Jon became his father’s heir, he had never confided in anyone. The burdens of his childhood and his marriage were his to bear. As were the horrors of war. He would bear them alone.
‘Forgive me, Miss Beth, but I am curious. You have no memory of your life before you came to Lower Fratcombe and yet you do remember how to sing. Quite beautifully, too. How does that come about?’
They were in company again for the first time since that dinner party in her honour. In the intervening two weeks, they had not exchanged a single word. She had thought about him, dreamt about him constantly, but since he seemed determined to maintain a certain distance, she had had to comply. At church, they had merely bowed. Now, walking across his park and with a chance to converse at last, the first thing he did was to question her about her singing?
Beth sensed increasing suspicion. Jonathan was wondering whether her lack of memory was a fraud. Deep hurt settled in her gut, where it began to eat away at the fragile self-esteem she had worked so hard to build. He had lauded her in public, at the dinner. Now, in private, he was set on cutting her down. She had been wrong to hope he trusted her. He was not her champion at all.
He was waiting for her answer. He looked implacable. Like an inquisitor.
‘I cannot explain it. I must have been taught, I suppose, at some time in my past life. Like…like learning to read. Or to write. I can still do both of those, but I have no memory of how or when I learned. You do not find it strange that I can read and write. Why should singing be different? It is simply one more basic skill.’ When he still looked doubtful, her pent-up feelings overcame her and she rounded on him. ‘I see that you do not believe me, sir. That being so, I shall relieve you of my presence.’
She turned on her heel and began to march back towards the Manor and the safety of the Aubreys’ company. She could see them in the distance, strolling contentedly around the flower garden by the house. She would join them. Unlike Jonathan, they did not doubt her honesty.
She had gone barely half a dozen steps when he caught her by the arm and forced her to stop. His fingers were almost biting into her flesh through her fine Norwich shawl. She froze, refusing to turn to look at him. ‘Please release me, sir.’ Her voice was a low, angry hiss. How could he do such a thing? This-their very first touch since the party-was neither friendly nor gentle. This was nothing like the touch she had longed for. She needed to get away from him. In a moment, her head would start to pound.
He relaxed his grip a little, but he did not let her go until he had moved to stand directly in front of her, blocking her path. Then he dropped his hand. ‘I apologise, ma’am, both for my words and for my actions just now. It was not my intention to insult you.’ He raised his hand and stood gazing down at his cupped fingers as if they belonged to someone else, as if they had chosen, of their own volition, to seize Beth so roughly. After a moment, he shrugged and dropped his arm. He seemed perplexed.
She could not begin to understand him. He had been so intent on using that party to restore her to her rightful place in society, but then he had spent two whole weeks practically ignoring her. The change dated, she realised with a start, from the moment he had heard her sing. Without a shred of evidence, he had apparently concluded, there and then, that she was a fraud. And to be shunned.
Had he invited Beth and the Aubreys to visit the Manor this afternoon so that he could question her in private? She had assumed, naively, that it was a kindness to the Aubreys, because the sun was shining for the first time in a fortnight. Was he so very devious?
‘Miss Aubrey.’ His voice was low, almost inaudible.
Beth was staring at the lush grass beneath her boots and refusing to look at him. She dared not think about him, either, lest her body betray her yet again. She focused instead on the salutary effect of two weeks of rain on the growth of grass.
‘I will escort you back to the house if that is your wish, ma’am. But may I not tempt you to walk with me as far as the lake? You must be feeling the want of exercise after so many days of rain. I admit I do myself.’ He paused. His voice softened even more. ‘May we not call a truce?’
It was a real apology this time, not just mere words, Beth decided. She raised her head and looked into his face. His eyes were troubled and he was frowning. Conscience, perhaps? Well, she would show him that she was not to be cowed, no matter what he might say of her. She was not such a poor creature. ‘If you continue to frown so blackly at me, sir, I shall not accept your escort at all.’ He blinked in surprise, but his frown disappeared on the instant. That made her smile. ‘Much better. I accept your offer of a truce. Let us talk of nothing in the past, neither mine nor yours. Shall we agree on that?’
A fleeting shadow crossed his face. Then he, too, smiled. ‘I am only now coming to understand how wise you are, ma’am. Will you allow me to say that I have missed our conversations these last weeks? You have such a refreshing way of seeing the world.’
Beth felt herself beginning to blush. This would not do at all. ‘Just at this moment, sir,’ she replied a little tartly, ‘I should like to be refreshed by walking up to your lake so that we may discuss the…the-’ she scanned the rolling parkland, desperate to light on an innocent topic of conversation ‘-the rearing of sheep,’ she finished triumphantly.
He threw back his head and laughed heartily.
Beth found herself laughing, too. Her absurd remark had served to break the increasing tension between them.
He offered Beth his arm. He was still grinning. ‘Let us walk then, ma’am, and I shall do my best to enlighten you on the subject of…er…sheep.’ When Beth hesitated a little, wary of his touch, he took her arm-gently this time-and tucked it into his. ‘There. That is much better.’
To her surprise, it was. For once, her insides were not churning simply because her fingers were on his arm. She refused to let herself dwell on the strength of the muscles beneath that elegant sleeve. She would concentrate solely on the scenery. Surely she had enough self-control for that?
They began to walk towards the distant lake. Beth noticed that he was matching his stride to hers. He was again the considerate companion.
He managed a couple of extremely general sentences about the size of his flock. ‘And of course, warm weather and rain make the grass grow strongly which is, in turn, good for the sheep. More wool and more meat.’
Beth waited politely for him to continue. He did not. They walked on for another twenty yards. Still nothing. Now it was Beth’s turn to burst out laughing. ‘Have you imparted the full extent of your knowledge of sheep, sir? That they do better when they have good grass to eat?’ She could not stop laughing. ‘I do believe that the five year olds in my schoolroom could have told me that. You, sir, are a fraud.’
He shook his head in mock contrition. ‘Yes, I fear I am. Sadly, I spent too much of my youth dreaming about the army. I was not the heir, you see, so there was no point in my learning to manage the estates. I-’
Beth stopped him by the simple expedient of laying her free hand on his arm. ‘Nothing of the past,’ she said softly. Then, after a short pause, she began brightly, ‘Tell me, sir, do you have many trout in your lake?’ She waved her free hand in the general direction of the water. It was much safer than leaving all her fingers in contact with his warm, tempting flesh.
She had lit on a subject he did understand. He spoke at some length about his love of fishing and of the fine
