Perhaps you would give my regards to Mr and Mrs Aubrey? I-’
‘Master Jonathan!’ Mrs Aubrey was standing in the doorway.
Jon spun round and sketched a quick bow. ‘As I was saying to Miss Aubrey, ma’am, I must see to my horses before the storm. Miss Aubrey, I fear, has sprained her ankle, but now that you are here, I know she will be well taken care of. I shall call again, as soon as may be.’ He strode to the door and smiled down at the old lady’s puzzled frown. ‘We shall be able to talk more comfortably then.’ He bowed again. ‘My compliments to the rector.’ Then he hurried back to the front door.
The timid little maid was nowhere to be seen, so Jon let himself out and ran down the path to his curricle. ‘Right, Sam. Let’s see what kind of speed we can make to the Manor. If this pair are going to bolt, I’d much rather they did so on my own land.’
‘You poor child, you are shivering. It must be the shock. Let me find you a shawl.’ Mrs Aubrey tugged hard at the bell. ‘Brandy. The rector always says it is the best remedy. Oh, if only he were here.’ She was talking as much to herself as to Beth. ‘Ah, Hetty. Go upstairs and fetch down Miss Beth’s heaviest shawl. And then bring me the decanter of brandy from the rector’s library. Quickly now. Miss Beth is injured.’
The little maid bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.
Beth neither moved nor spoke. She could not. Her teeth were chattering. Her body felt as if it had been doused in freezing water. She could not feel any of her limbs, not even her injured ankle. She was totally numb. Her shining champion was nothing of the kind. She had been looking for his return for months now, while he had completely forgotten that she existed. She had been conjuring up castles in the air, like one of the tiny children in her schoolroom. She was an utter fool!
Mrs Aubrey set a chair by Beth’s feet and pushed aside the grubby muslin skirts. ‘Oh, dear. That is very swollen.’ She began to ease off Beth’s shoes. She was trying to be gentle, but pain shot up Beth’s leg, pulling her sharply back to the real world. She was unable to suppress a little groan. ‘Aye, my dear. I know. It does look very painful.’ Mrs Aubrey ran her fingers very gently over Beth’s foot and lower leg.
Beth gritted her teeth. She would not allow herself to make another sound. She might have behaved like a silly schoolgirl over Jonathan, but she was not such a faint heart as to scream over a turned ankle.
‘I am almost certain that it is only a sprain, my dear, though once the storm has passed, I shall send the boy for the doctor. Just to check.’
‘Oh, ma’am-’ Beth could barely find her voice.
‘Hush, child. Ah, Hetty. Excellent. Here, give it to me.’ Mrs Aubrey helped Beth to sit up a little further and wrapped her warmly in the shawl. Then she slid extra cushions behind her, for support.
Before Beth could say a word of thanks, Hetty reappeared with the decanter and two glasses.
‘Put it down there.’ Mrs Aubrey pointed to the small piecrust table near Beth’s hand. The old lady was in her element, for she loved caring for invalids. ‘Now fetch me a basin of cold water, some cloths, and towels. We must put cold compresses on this ankle before it swells any more.’
The little maid nodded and disappeared again.
‘First, a little brandy.’ Mrs Aubrey poured out a small amount. She hesitated and then poured the merest film of liquid into the second glass. ‘I have had two shocks this afternoon. First, your sprained ankle, and then Master Jonathan’s unexpected return. He has put off his regimentals, too. I wonder…?’ She paused, staring at nothing. Then, recollecting herself, she pressed the fuller glass into Beth’s hand and raised her own. ‘To your speedy recovery, my dear. And poor Jonathan’s also.’
Jon dropped gratefully into the huge leather chair and stretched out his legs. What a day!
His valet, Vernon, pulled off Jon’s boots with gloved hands and exaggerated care. Then he padded off to the dressing room where he had already hung up Jon’s wet coat.
Jon sighed as the door closed between them. There was no noise inside the bedchamber now, apart from the hiss and sputter of the newly lit fire. He let his head fall back on to the leather. For a moment, he stared vacantly at the ceiling. Then he let his eyes drift closed and forced his shoulders to relax. Peace at last.
It was good to be back at Fratcombe. Here he would be spared his mother’s tart reminders of his duty, and his brother’s annoying company, too. Here he could visit his good friend, the rector. That last visit to Fratcombe seemed an age ago now. It had been so short-less that twenty-four hours, all told-that he had barely spoken to the Aubreys. Before he could even unpack, Jon had been summoned to London and sent back to Spain where-
He shook his head vigorously. He did not want to think about Spain.
A question began to nag at the edge of his brain. He had been so busy trying to escape the storm that he had pushed it aside till now. Who on earth was Miss Elizabeth Aubrey? The Aubreys had no children, Jon knew. Nor had there ever been any mention of brothers on the rector’s side. So, probably not a niece or great-niece either. She must be some very distant relation. But why had she never been mentioned before?
Intrigued, Jon decided that he would pay a call at the rectory first thing in the morning. A few polite questions would soon solve this little puzzle. Besides, the lady herself was quite attractive, as far as he could recall. He had been too concerned for his horses to pay much attention to her-until he carried her inside. Lifting her into his curricle was one thing, but carrying her the length of the rectory path and into the little parlour was quite another! He might be unsure of the colour of her eyes, but he certainly remembered the feel of her curves through her thin summer muslins. A tallish lady, and slim, but rounded in exactly the right places to fill a man’s hands.
It was interesting that she was unmarried, for she must be at least two- or three-and-twenty. Lack of dowry, probably. But at least she was old enough to have passed the simpering stage. He was surprised to find he was actually looking forward to becoming better acquainted with the mysterious Miss Aubrey. Perhaps he should invite all three of them to visit the Manor? Nothing at all improper in that, not when he and the Aubreys were such old friends. Yes, he would pay a call tomorrow, and if the lady proved to be amiable-as he fully expected any relation of the rector’s to be-he would issue the invitation. It was too long since he had been in company with real ladies, of the kind who could converse sensibly with a man. By comparison with the insipid schoolgirls that Jon’s mother favoured, Miss Aubrey might be a refreshing change. Just the kind of pleasant diversion he needed during this brief visit to Fratcombe Manor.
Thunder rattled the windows. The storm was now raging immediately overhead: blinding flashes of lightning, followed almost instantly by drum rolls of thunder. Between them, Mother Nature and Father Zeus were showing what they could do.
Behind the closed door of the dressing room, Jon’s valet was probably still tutting over his ruined hat and coat, or muttering about the mud on his boots. Jon did not give a fig for the man. An earl’s consequence required a tonnish manservant, and Vernon was certainly that, but he had little else to recommend him. Jon should have chosen with more care on his return to England, but he had been too world-weary to bother with such a chore.
He had of course ensured that Joseph, his army batman, was properly recompensed and given a comfortable annuity for his years of devoted service. Joseph planned to set himself up in a small public house, he said. He might even find himself a wife.
A wife?
Jon groaned and rose to put more logs on the fire. At this moment, he really longed to see cheerful flames. One of his good and abiding memories of his years in Spain was sitting round the camp fire, sharing the local brandy with his comrades, and laughing together at the very silly tales they told each other.
The valet might be new to Jon’s service, but he had at least thought to provide a decanter of brandy in the master’s chamber. Jon smiled wryly and poured himself a large measure. He was minded to toss it down in a single swallow, but he did not. Once or twice in Spain, he had allowed himself to get very drunk when the pain of loss was almost unbearable. Returning to England’s damp countryside did not justify seeking oblivion in drink. It would insult the friends who had been left behind in baked Spanish earth.
Jon took one large mouthful, savouring the flavours.
The dressing room door opened. ‘Is there anything else I can do for your lordship?’
Jon shook his head and waved the man away. He was too punctilious by half. Perhaps if Joseph had not yet spent his money…? No, that would not do. Joseph was a batman, not an earl’s valet. Besides, he wanted more than a business of his own. He wanted a wife, and perhaps a family. If he returned to serve Jon, what woman would have him? Let it be.
Jon sat down again and took another slow sip of his brandy.
A wife. Everything always came back to a wife. Particularly in his mother’s eyes. Jon had barely had time to kiss her cheek before she started on the subject. Since Jon’s first wife had been dead for well over a year, he should
