That was surely the cause of her recurring guilt. Somewhere in her past, she had lost her virtue, perhaps even colluded in her own disgrace. No wonder her memory was blank. She deserved to be a nameless outcast. If she had done such a wicked thing, she was no fit wife for any man.
The dream had come so close, yet now it was floating away again like a soap bubble borne aloft on the tiniest breath of air. She could not do it. She must not. The Countess of Portbury must come to her husband untouched, and unsullied.
Beth could not swear to be that woman. And without that, she had no choice. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. It was no weakness to allow a single tear, or even two, for the man she loved and would have to refuse.
Beth could not sleep. It was not surprising, for her mind was full of tomorrow, what she would say, how much he would be hurt. She rolled over yet again and punched the pillow.
She was going to look a fright when he appeared to escort her to his curricle. Perhaps that would be some consolation to him. However estimable he thought her, he would not wish to marry a woman with black circles round her eyes and quivering limbs.
She pushed the coverlet down to her waist. It was remarkably hot considering that it was already autumn. Should she open the window? A little fresh air, even night air, would do her no harm. She could shut it again before Hetty appeared to berate her for doing something so foolish.
She crossed to the window to push the curtains back a little and then eased the sash up an inch or two, working slowly and carefully to avoid any squeaks that might disturb the rest of the household. There was a sliver of moon just behind the beech tree. Where earlier its leaves had been golden and glowing, they were now dark, cold shadows. There was no movement, no wind. The great tree was holding its breath, waiting for the embrace of winter, making ready to fall asleep. As Beth should sleep.
If only there were a way… If only…
From the fields beyond the glebe, the sheep were bleating. Strange, for the lambs were long gone. Was the ram back in the field to ensure next spring’s crop of lambs? The ewes would be ready, for they could certainly not remain untouched. That was the way of nature.
She shook her head. What a strange pattern of thought. She yawned. Good. At last she should be able to sleep.
Beth took one final breath and pulled the curtains closed, resolving she would rise early to shut the window again. She was sure she would sleep better with the sweet night air around her. She climbed back into bed, pulled the covers up over her shoulders and closed her eyes.
The last thing she heard was the bleat of the ewes beyond the glebe.
‘Miss Beth, you
It was Hetty with her hot water. So much for Beth’s good intentions. She sat up with a jerk and put her hands to her hair, sensing something was amiss. Her plaits had come undone in the night. Her hair was a mass of tangles and her nightrail was all bunched up above her waist. The bedclothes, too, seemed to have tied themselves in knots. She-
Heavens, she had been dreaming about Jonathan! Again! This time, she had been in his arms while he covered every inch of her skin with passionate kisses. Every last inch. Her whole body had been hot and alive. And willing. It had been blissful. It was a wonder she had not torn off her nightrail along with the fastenings of her hair. In her dreams, she had been so very sure, so-
Beth forced herself to ignore the warnings of her conscience. He would arrive soon. ‘Hetty, would you bring me a large jug of cool water please? I seem to have become very hot in the night. It would be best if I give myself a sponge bath before I dress.’
‘You’ve caught a fever, Miss Beth. On account of the open window.’
Beth shook her head. Her fever was not of the kind Hetty meant. Hetty’s fevers could be cured. ‘I am not ill. But I am going driving with his lordship this morning and I must be looking my best. Make haste with the water, if you please. It is going to take you an age to comb the tangles out of my hair.’
Hetty paused a moment, looking mutinous, but then she obeyed.
Beth breathed a sigh of relief and jumped out of bed, allowing the rumpled nightrail to fall back to her ankles. She was decent again. Outwardly. A quick glance in the mirror showed her that her skin was still flushed, especially where the ribbon ties had come undone to expose her throat and breasts. Yes, he had kissed her there, too. And she had gloried in it.
In her dreams, she was not untouched.
And in her dreams, she had discovered what she must do.
It was a beautiful morning, more like late August than early October. The sky was blue and cloudless, and the slight breeze was warm. Only the turning trees betrayed how late in the year it was. Soon their crisp leaves would be heaped in the gutters and under the hedgerows, offering winter hiding places to small animals and rich food for worms and beetles.
Beth refused to think about the dead leaves that had saved her from oblivion, long ago. Better to think about her rescuer, the man who now sat beside her in the curricle, his lean hands guiding his matched pair along the curving path through Fratcombe Manor park. She and Jonathan were easy enough together, even though he had spoken barely a word beyond the normal courtesies. She was starting to wonder if he felt as tongue-tied as she did.
He had promised to tell her what he would do if she refused him. And she-heaven help her!-had promised to respond to his proposal.
She could not bring herself to ask him to begin. Once he did, she would have to speak, too. This was one confrontation she could not run from, no matter what was said. She had to trust him. She did trust him.
He spoke at last. ‘I thought I would drive you to the far side of the park this morning. For once, the track is dry enough to take a carriage.’ His voice sounded remarkably normal. How did he do that? Could he feel none of the confusion that was threatening to overwhelm her?
‘Usually the ground is too marshy for wheeled vehicles. Pray do not upbraid me, Miss Beth,’ he added hastily, with a hint of humour in his tone. ‘I do intend to drain that land as soon as I can. I am fully aware of my duties there, I promise you.’ He turned slightly. Beth saw that he was smiling.
She found herself smiling back. She could not help it. He was in control of this encounter and, strangely, it made her feel…protected. He was deliberately teasing her into relaxing with him once more. ‘Have I been such a termagant, sir? It was not my intent to badger you.’
‘No?’ He chuckled. ‘No, I am sure your reproofs were kindly meant. Such as when you told me to look to the repairs of my tenants’ houses. And to ensure that travelling gypsy bands could camp unmolested.’
‘Oh!’ Yes, she had done both of those. ‘I apologise if I overstepped the mark, sir. My intentions were of the best. I was trying to-’
‘You were trying to take care of others, to do good, as you always do, Beth, which is one of the reasons why I admire you so much. And why I want you to be my wife.’
Beth’s heart clutched in her breast. She could not breathe.
‘But before I press you for your answer, I owe you mine. A promise is a promise, especially between friends. Do you not agree?’ He waited a beat. When she said nothing, he continued, airily, ‘I have decided that, if you refuse me, I shall keep repeating my proposal until you accept. In other words, you might as well accept me at once.’ His voice dropped a little, to a deeper, more serious tone. ‘Will you marry me, Beth? Please?’
Beth had been screwing up her courage for this since the moment she awoke from that beckoning dream. She lifted her chin, focused on the horses’ ears and launched into her prepared answer. ‘I will accept your proposal, sir-’
‘Beth, that is wonderful-’
‘-but on one condition.’
‘Ah. Name it.’
She took a deep breath. ‘On condition that you prove to my satisfaction, and to your own, that I am still a virgin
