The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

enough for him. Guilt pricked Jon’s conscience. He was responsible for this. He was the one who had rescued Beth; and the one who had foisted her on the Aubreys, even though he had not expected her to remain with them for long. If she was genuine, it was now Jon’s duty to ensure she was restored to her rightful place, however lowly that might be. And if she was a fraud, it was his duty to expose her. She was not to be a welcome diversion after all. She was just one more irksome duty to be discharged.

Mrs Aubrey laid a hand on his sleeve. ‘If you were seen to accept Beth, the other families would follow your lead, I am sure. As Earl of Portbury, you outrank them all.’

That was true, but was he prepared to do what she asked? Was it not his duty to satisfy himself, first of all, that Beth Aubrey was worthy of his support? He was still trying to decide how to reply when the sitting room door opened.

‘Lady Fitzherbert has called, ma’am, and asks if-’

The little maid was not allowed to finish. Lady Fitzherbert, resplendent in rustling purple silk and feather- trimmed bonnet, pushed the girl aside and marched into the room. She paused barely long enough to drop a disdainful curtsy to Mrs Aubrey before launching into an angry complaint. ‘I have come to consult the rector on a matter of urgent business, but your servant here tells me that he is not at home to callers. I must protest, ma’am. Why, I am-’

Jon had risen at the same time as Mrs Aubrey but did nothing else to draw attention to himself. He waited to see what would happen next.

‘There has been some misunderstanding, I fear,’ Mrs Aubrey said simply. ‘The rector cannot see you because he is not at home. However, I expect him to return within the hour. Perhaps you would like to-?’

‘Why, Lord Portbury! How delightful to see you safely returned!’ Lady Fitzherbert abruptly turned aside from her hostess and sank into a very elegant curtsy.

Jon prepared himself for the worst kind of toadeating. Sir Bertram Fitzherbert and his detestable wife were relative newcomers to the district, but held themselves to be above everyone but the nobility. The Fitzherberts were bound to be among those who had slighted Beth Aubrey, for she was a nobody, with no social standing at all in their eyes.

In that instant, Jon decided their behaviour was an insult to him, as well as to the lady herself. Miss Aubrey was his foundling, after all. The rector’s word should be good enough for such upstarts as the Fitzherberts. This harpy needed to be taken down a peg or two.

‘Sir Bertram will be so pleased to learn that you are back in residence at the Manor,’ Lady Fitzherbert gushed. ‘There is so little truly genteel society hereabouts.’

‘Country society can be a little restricted, to be sure,’ Jon said, as soon as she paused to draw breath. ‘But you have several families within easy driving distance. And during my absence from Fratcombe, you have had the rector and Mrs Aubrey. And Miss Aubrey, also.’ He stepped aside so that Lady Fitzherbert would see Beth lying on the sofa behind him. ‘You are already acquainted, I collect?’

‘I…er…’ Lady Fitzherbert’s nostrils flared and her lips clamped together. For several seconds, she stared down her long nose at Beth Aubrey. Then she half-turned back to Mrs Aubrey and drew herself up very straight. ‘Excuse me, I may not stay longer. Pray tell the rector, when he returns, that Sir Bertram is evicting that band of dirty gypsies who are trespassing on our land. Sir Bertram wished it to be understood that they should not be given shelter in the district. Not by anyone.’

Mrs Aubrey’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but her voice was soft. ‘I am surprised that your husband did not come himself to deliver so important an instruction.’

Lady Fitzherbert tittered. ‘Oh, Sir Bertram would never think to instruct the rector. Certainly not. Just…just a word to the wise.’

Jon had heard quite enough. ‘I am sure the rector will be properly grateful, ma’am. But as it happens, Sir Bertram’s warning is a little late. The gypsy band has leave to camp on my land at Fratcombe Manor.’

Lady Fitzherbert gasped and turned bright red. Then she swallowed hard. ‘Since the rector is not here, I shall not trouble you further, ma’am. Lord Portbury.’ She dipped another elegant curtsy to Jon, inclined her head a fraction to Mrs Aubrey and hurried out, without waiting for a servant to be summoned.

‘Well, I declare!’ Mrs Aubrey let out a long breath. Then she frowned up at Jon. ‘Since when has Fratcombe Manor offered hospitality to gypsies?’

‘It has never yet done so. I-’

‘My lord, I pray you will not allow Sir Bertram Fitzherbert to run them out of Fratcombe. He will not care what damage is done to their caravans and their horses. And there are so many helpless children-’

Jon stopped Miss Aubrey with a raised hand. His foundling was bringing him yet another problem. Now, she was prepared to plead for people who were truly outcasts from society. ‘I have said they may use my land. For a week or two, at least. I will not go back on that.’

Nor would he, unless they broke his trust. He would instruct his workers to keep a sharp eye out for thieving or damage. At the first sign of either, the gypsies would be turned off. He was cynical enough to expect it within days.

‘Thank you, my lord. I will impress on them that there must be no mischief.’

‘You? You have dealings with the gypsies?’

She coloured a little but raised her chin defiantly. ‘I am the Fratcombe schoolmistress. I teach all the children in the district. Whoever they are.’

‘Master Jonathan, Beth goes to the gypsy camp when she can and gives lessons to the children. Just simple lettering and stories from the Bible. Even gypsies are God’s creatures.’

‘Yes,’ Jon admitted grudgingly. The rector had often preached about the Good Samaritan. Now was Jon’s chance to show that he had listened. ‘Yes, you are right, ma’am. As long as they respect the law, they will not suffer at my hands. I do not persecute waifs and strays.’

Mrs Aubrey smiled at Jon and then very warmly across at Beth. ‘No, you do not. Indeed, you rescue them. You brought us the daughter we never had.’

It was worse than he had imagined. If Beth Aubrey was a fraud, he could not expose her without hurting Mrs Aubrey. He knew he could never do that. The old lady had been like a mother to Jon when he and his brother had been at Fratcombe as boys. She had comforted Jon when his brother died. Her support had helped him to face the grief-stricken father who thought Jon a worthless replacement for his dead heir. How much had she understood of a young boy’s desperate striving to win his father’s esteem? It had never been spoken of. But she and the rector understood human failings. They would have seen how hard Jon tried, and how little he succeeded.

According to Jon’s father, an earl’s heir had to be brought up to understand his duty from the cradle, or he would never be more than a poor second best. Not that it stopped the old man from trying to thrash Jon into the mould he sought-duty, and distance, and distrust of everyone. He had almost succeeded, but he could never undermine Jon’s trust in the Aubreys. They were truly good people, probably the only ones Jon knew. And if they loved Beth…

He turned back to the sofa. ‘Has Lady Fitzherbert ever acknowledged you, ma’am?’ he asked sharply.

She coloured and looked down at her clasped hands, shaking her head.

So that insufferable woman really was trying to usurp Jon’s place in society. A set-down over the gypsies was not enough. There must be public retribution. It would be fitting to make Beth Aubrey his instrument.

‘I have a mind to hold a splendid party at the Manor, to which I shall invite all the gentry families. If you, Mrs Aubrey, would do me the honour of acting as my hostess, with your adopted daughter by your side, we shall teach all our stiff-rumped neighbours to treat Miss Aubrey with proper respect.’

‘Oh, but you cannot,’ Beth breathed.

‘I can. And I will, if Mrs Aubrey agrees. Do you approve, ma’am?’

Mrs Aubrey twinkled at him. ‘I do, Master Jonathan. It will succeed, I am sure, for there is not one great house that would turn down an invitation from the Earl of Portbury. Even if the price is to acknowledge Miss Elizabeth Aubrey.’

He took the old lady’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘We have a bargain, then.’

The conspiracy was sealed between her benefactress and her rescuer. Beth had had no say at all. It seemed she was still to be treated like a parcel. ‘I may develop a most inconvenient headache on the day of this party, my lord,’ she said tightly.

‘I pray you will do no such thing, ma’am.’ He rose to fetch a hard chair from the wall by the door, and set it