be looking about him for another. The matter was urgent, the Dowager maintained. And this time, he
Her ideas of duty-an earl must make a dynastic marriage and produce at least an heir and a spare-were much the same as his late father’s. And just as blinkered. Jon’s wife, Alicia, had been a duke’s daughter, but their marriage had been a total disaster. Even his mother would admit that now. And yet, she wanted him to do it all over again, to select a bride of rank from among the simpering debutantes on the London marriage mart. It would not cross her mind that an age gap of well-nigh twenty years might be unbridgeable. How was he, a man of thirty- five, to take charge of a green girl just out of the schoolroom? He need not spend much time with her, of course- except for the inescapable duty of getting an heir-and he would certainly hold himself aloof, as his rank required, but still, the prospect of all that empty-headed gabbling was more than he could stomach. That was the kind of marriage his father had made, and his grandfather before him. But neither of them had been to war or watched friends die. War changed what a man valued in life…
Beth felt a bit of a fraud, leaning on a walking stick. It was not as if she had done any real damage. On the other hand, it was extremely painful to put her full weight on her injured ankle. So, for the moment, the walking stick would have to stay. The most difficult part of life was coping with the stairs without a strong man to help her. The rector was much too old to carry Beth. If he had offered, she would certainly have refused.
If Jonathan had offered to take her in his arms…
Beth’s insides were melting at the mere thought of his hands on her body. She shook her head, cross with herself for allowing his image to intrude, yet again. She had been trying so hard not to think about him. Sadly, the more she tried, the more he filled her mind and confused her rioting senses. And the more her guilt returned to haunt her.
She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down to the hall. It seemed a very long way, but she would conquer it. With her walking stick in one hand and her other hand on the baluster rail, she started carefully down.
Hetty appeared when Beth had reached about half way. ‘Oh, Miss Beth. Let me help you.’ She started up the stairs.
Beth paused, balanced carefully and shook her head. ‘Thank you, Hetty, but I am quite well enough to manage. I must learn to use my cane and, in any case, you have better things to do than to act as a crutch for me.’
‘Well, if you say so, miss. But you will not go out of the house, will you? I can bring you anything you need.’
Beth finally reached the hallway. She was a little out of breath, but she was proud of herself. ‘No, Hetty, I will not go out of the house. Though I must say that I am glad that it is not a school day. The children would have worried if I had failed to turn up for their lessons.’
‘Mrs Aubrey said she would take over while you were poorly. She’s looking forward to it, she says.’ Hetty grinned knowingly.
‘Does she now?’ Beth smiled back at the maid. It sounded as if Aunt Caro intended Beth to remain an invalid for several more days. Well, Beth would see about that. The rector’s wife had responsibilities enough. She could not be expected to become the schoolmistress as well.
Beth made her way slowly into the little parlour at the front of the house so that she would be able to see the comings and goings in the street. She might even be able to see Jonathan’s curricle. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’
‘Did I do something wrong, Miss Beth?’ Hetty sounded hurt.
Beth realised she had spoken aloud. ‘I am sorry, Hetty. I was berating myself, not you.’ She shook her head. ‘This leg of mine refuses to do what I tell it.’ That was not the cause of her outburst, but it would do.
‘Mrs Aubrey said as you was to sit on the sofa with your leg up. And I was to bring you anything you needed.’
Beth gave in and subsided gratefully on to the sofa by the window. Before she could even draw breath, Hetty was lifting her bandaged leg on to the cushions. ‘There, miss. Now, what may I fetch you?’
‘If I am to lie here, like a pampered cat basking in the sun, I had better do something useful. If you would fetch me the mending, Hetty, I will make a start on that.’
Hetty returned with the mending basket. Beth, mindful of her latest resolution, selected the most difficult piece of work she could find. That should keep her mind occupied until Aunt Caro returned from her visiting. Being alone, and having time to think, was too dangerous. The last thing she needed was one of her sick headaches on top of a sprained ankle.
She had barely completed her first neat darn when Mrs Aubrey bustled in, removing her bonnet. She handed it to the maid. ‘Would you fetch us some tea, Hetty? I am sure Miss Beth would enjoy a cup.’
‘You are very good, ma’am, though I fear I have not earned it. Look how little I have done.’
‘You are an invalid, child. You should be taking your ease, with nothing more than a romantic novel to amuse you. Invalids do not mend shirts.’
‘This one does!’ Beth replied pertly, but with an affectionate smile.
Mrs Aubrey chuckled and sat down opposite Beth. ‘I have visited Widow Jenkinson this morning. She sends her best wishes for your speedy recovery. She was sad to learn that you had not been brought to her house to escape the storm.’
‘It would have given her food for gossip for a month, especially if she had seen Jo-if she had seen his lordship carrying me up the path.’ Mrs Aubrey might have leave to use Jonathan’s given name, but Beth did not.
Mrs Aubrey chuckled again. ‘I made a quick visit to the lodge also, as I was passing, although Master Jonathan was not at home.’
Beth raised her eyebrows, feigning surprise. Mrs Jenkinson and the lodge were at opposite ends of the village. ‘Now
Beth raised her eyebrows even higher.
‘Oh, very well. No, I was not passing, as we both know. I went there deliberately, to find out about how long he means to remain at Fratcombe, that kind of thing. The least we can do is invite him to take dinner with us. Once you are well enough, of course.’
The thought of seeing Jonathan again, and of the difficult exchanges that might ensue, made Beth’s head pound dangerously. ‘I had best remain upstairs, ma’am. His lordship and the rector will have much to discuss. To have me hobbling about would be an unwelcome distraction.’
‘Now that is a whisker, if ever I heard one.’ Mrs Aubrey shook a mittened finger in mock reproof, but her eyes were twinkling. ‘I shall pretend that I did not hear it at all.’
Hetty appeared with the tea tray and placed it carefully on the table in front of Mrs Aubrey. Just at that moment, someone plied the knocker, with considerable force.
Mrs Aubrey started. ‘Goodness, who can that be, so early in the day? Hetty, go and open the door. Slowly.’ Mrs Aubrey grabbed the mending out of Beth’s fingers, bundled it into the basket and pushed the basket under a chair in the darkest corner of the room. Then she scurried back to resume her seat, clasping her hands demurely in her lap.
Beth was hard put to keep her face straight.
‘The Earl of Portbury,’ Hetty announced, bobbing a curtsy.
He seemed much too large for the small family parlour.
Mrs Aubrey rose and dropped a tiny curtsy in response to her visitor’s elegant bow. ‘Master Jonathan! How kind of you to call. Will you take tea with us?’ He nodded. ‘Hetty, fetch another cup, if you please.’
He took a couple of paces into the room and bowed, separately, to Beth. She was suddenly so weak she could not even start to rise. Her body was remembering the feel of his arms around her, and softening, as if in anticipation. ‘Forgive me, my lord, I cannot-’
‘Pray do not attempt to move, Miss Aubrey. I am sure it took quite enough exertion for you to make your way downstairs this morning.’ He paused, frowning suddenly. Then, turning back to Mrs Aubrey, ‘Would you permit me to send over one of my footmen to help while Miss Aubrey is recovering? He could carry her up and down the stairs. And you could use him for any other convenient chores.’
‘Master Jonathan, I should not dream-’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘You would be doing me a favour, ma’am. There are far too many servants at the Manor and, with only myself in residence, they do not have nearly enough to do. I cannot abide idleness.’
‘Well…’
‘Am I not to be consulted in this project of yours, my lord?’ Beth’s voice sounded sharp in her own ears, for she
