acknowledgement, Jon made for the stairs. Dealing with his agent was important, but there was something else that had to be done first.
When Jon entered the sitting room that he shared with Beth, he was surprised to find it empty. There was no sound at all, not even the crackle of a fire, but the door into Beth’s room stood partly open. He paused, wondering. He knew Beth was quite sharp enough to have understood the meaning underlying her mother-in-law’s words. Would he find her weeping in her bedchamber?
He stole forward and peeped round the half-open door. Beth was lying on top of the bed, fully clad, but with her eyes closed. The maid, Martin, was sitting alongside, stroking Beth’s face and- No, the girl was bathing Beth’s forehead with lavender water. The subtle scent was unmistakable. And it meant Beth had the headache again. No wonder, perhaps, after that nasty confrontation downstairs. Jon took a silent step into the bedchamber.
The little maid must have sensed his arrival. She looked over her shoulder and frowned at him. Then, pert little madam, she dared to put a finger to her lips and motioned to Jon to leave!
Jon’s first impulse was to reprimand her for her impudence, but one more look at Beth’s peaceful face choked the words in his throat. If she was now sleeping, he should let her rest. He could deal with the maid without waking his wife. He would simply retreat to the sitting room and wait.
After a few moments, Martin emerged, closing the door very quietly behind her. Only then did she remember to curtsy. ‘Her ladyship is asleep, my lord.’
‘So I saw. Is she…?’
‘She had the headache, and a little nausea, my lord, but she was quite determined that no one should be aware of it. She…she made me promise not to tell you.’
‘And if I had not seen, you would have said nothing?’
‘No, my lord. I…I could not betray my lady’s trust. I…I am sorry.’ She looked up at him, unafraid, in spite of the implicit challenge in her words. Hetty Martin might be still very young, but there was no doubt of her devotion to Beth. Love was shining in her eyes. Love for Beth.
Jon’s few remaining doubts evaporated on the spot. That sort of devotion more than made up for any lack of dressing skill, or French genius with ointments and potions. He doubted that any of the top-lofty dressers arriving with his mother’s guests would show even a fraction of Hetty’s loyalty and commitment.
‘I would not wish you to do so, Hetty,’ Jon said quietly, noting how the maid’s eyes widened at his use of her given name. ‘You are her ladyship’s dresser and personal maid. Your loyalty must be to her. And only to her.’
Hetty curtsied again.
‘I am truly sorry that my wife is unwell, Hetty. I think I know the cause, on this occasion, and I will deal with it. However, if…if she should be upset in the future, or…or afraid, I should like you to come and tell me. Will you do that?’
Hetty stared at the floor, shaking her head.
‘What do you mean, no?’ Jon snapped. ‘If my wife needs help, who should provide it but I?’
The maid was still shaking her head. ‘I could not betray my lady’s confidence,’ she whispered. ‘Not even to your lordship. Not to anyone.’ She continued to stare at the floor, like a prisoner waiting for sentence.
No wonder Beth had braved the Dowager’s disapproval to keep her own maid by her. This girl was a pearl beyond price. ‘I am not asking you to betray your mistress, Hetty,’ Jon said, more gently. ‘I only ask you to use your common sense. If my wife should need help, should need a friend, please encourage her to come to me. Or come to me yourself.’
She glanced up, surprised. For a moment, she seemed to be considering his words. Then, at last, she nodded.
‘And whatever should happen, I thank you for your devotion to my wife.’ With that, he nodded her dismissal and strode into his own bedchamber.
‘Is there anything I can do for your lordship?’ Vernon, the valet, slipped into the room, soft-footed as ever. Did he feel a fraction of the loyalty that little Hetty was showing to her mistress?
‘No. I shan’t need you until it is time to dress for dinner.’ Jon glared balefully at Vernon until the man bowed himself back into the dressing room. Then Jon sat down at the small desk under the window to make the most of the remaining light. He would not know for a few days whether his plan was going to work. All would depend on the response to this letter.
He pulled out a sheet of his embossed writing paper and dipped his pen in the standish. It took only a few minutes to complete the short letter and seal it. Devotion was worth more than rubies. And this would prove whether he had earned it, as Beth had.
With a shrug of his shoulders, he rose and made his way downstairs, dropping the letter on the silver salver in the entrance hall. He would have to be patient until a response could come. And in the meantime…
Jon smiled to himself and strode down the corridor to his library. By now, his agent should be waiting for his new instructions.
Beth woke early and lay staring up towards the silken canopy. She could see nothing in the gloom. And she was alone again.
Jon had been a little hesitant about coming to her bed this last time. He had enquired, obliquely, if she wished to sleep alone. Of course, she did not! She wanted to sleep in his arms all night, but she could not tell him so. The most she could do was to encourage him to come to her, even if only for an hour or so.
Instead of ignoring the Dowager’s hurtful remarks, Beth had stupidly let them prey on her mind. So the headache had been her own fault. She must simply accept that her mother-in-law did not like her, or trust her. But the Dowager’s power in the household would diminish, as Beth became more secure. She must do what she could to hasten the process. She had managed to respond with spirit, on occasion. She would cling to that. The Countess of Portbury must not cower, or flee.
She strained her eyes towards the shuttered windows. Soon it would be dawn. She thought she could already hear the servants stirring. This late in the year, they could not wait for daylight to begin their chores, especially as the first guests were to arrive soon. To her own surprise, Beth found she was not at all anxious about dealing with Jon’s friends, or even the Dowager’s. Beth had learned during her time with the Aubreys to handle all sorts of people, from the highest to the lowest. And in the weeks since her marriage, she had even begun to learn how to deal with her husband.
She smiled up into the darkness. She was beginning to understand him. A little. In public, he was the essence of the aristocrat-distant, austere, mindful of his duty, and polite to a fault. Some of it was assumed, though not his concern for his duty. He had inherited that from the old earl, who had valued duty and rank above all else. Beth fancied he had not been a loving father to Jon. There was no doubt, however, that even though the Dowager did not approve of her son’s choice of second wife, she did love Jon very much. For that alone, Beth would endure any insult that her mother-in-law might voice.
Beth shrugged against the pillows. There was precious little she could do to remedy the Dowager’s poor opinion. Jon had married Beth out of hand, without introducing her to anyone first. Had he been determined to have his ring on Beth’s finger before his mother could object to a penniless woman of no family? Had he-?
‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ she said aloud. She was the Countess of Portbury now, and Jon was her husband. It was up to her to make this marriage work. And that included the task of running this vast mansion. Beth was sure she would have the measure of it soon. Somewhere in her past life, she imagined, she must have been taught the way of managing servants, for it came naturally enough. Beth fully intended to demonstrate just how much she had learned from the Dowager, too. If she could make Jon’s mother proud of her, it might ease the tension between them. She would make Jon proud of her, too, if she could.
If only he would stay with her at night. If only he would spend more time with her in the day. Sometimes, she was sure he was deliberately avoiding her company. But why? He did not come to her bed merely for the getting of an heir. Beth might have been an innocent before that astonishing night in the Fratcombe folly, but she could tell that the passion they shared was very special. Jon could not make love to a woman he did not esteem. His first wife had repelled him. With Beth, there was desire, and passion, and rapture for them both.
She laughed softly, remembering. Each time was different, and yet the same. He still explored her body with a sense of wonder, as if he were uncovering something magical. That reverence almost made up for being left to sleep alone.
Almost, but not quite. There must be a way to persuade him to stay, if only she could find it. If she continued to tease him, in private ways that only the two of them understood, he might eventually unbend.
