Read Online The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride by JOANNA MAITLAND - Free Book Online Page B

not know, but, for some reason, he was eager to return. He would try to look after his people as he had looked after his soldiers;he would seek to make their lives a little better, educate their children. Yes, even the gypsy children that Miss Beth defended so stoutly.
    Beth Aubrey. Unlike the gang of simpering misses his mother had gathered here at Portbury, Beth was a woman of decided character, a clear-headed, practical woman who tried to do good in the world. She had not an ounce of the guile that had surrounded him, these past weeks at King’s Portbury. He could see that clearly now. But the fundamental question remained—could he really be sure she was not a fraud?
    He took a deep breath of the clean air of the hilltop. He would be arriving back at Fratcombe just a few days before the evening party at the Manor. He would visit the rectory, he decided—he had the ready-made excuse of consulting Mrs Aubrey about the party arrangements—and he would use the time to judge Beth Aubrey’s character, once and for all. If his foundling was as upright as he suspected—and, he admitted, as he hoped—he would use his rank to establish her position in Fratcombe, and with it, his own. After that, no one would dare to accept a Fitzherbert’s judgement over the Earl of Portbury’s.
     
    Mrs Aubrey’s little maid answered Jon’s knock, as usual. At the sight of him, her eyes grew as round as saucers. She stood rooted to the spot, making no move to admit him. Impudent wench! It was not for a mere servant to have opinions on how often Jon chose to call.
    ‘Is Mrs Aubrey at home?’ he asked sharply.
    She nodded and showed him directly to the parlour, without first seeking leave from her mistress. Almost as if he were one of the family.
    ‘Why, Jonathan! Three visits in three days! We are honoured.’ Jon did not miss the hint of laughter in Mrs Aubrey’s voice as she rose from her work table and dropped him a tiny curtsy. It was only yesterday that he had finally persuaded the old lady to use his given name, as her husband always did. It felt right. He was truly glad of it.
    Beth—Miss Aubrey—would do nothing so intimate. She too had risen from her place, laying aside her pen. Her curtsy was a model of decorum. It showed off her slim figure and upright carriage, too. Somewhere she had been well schooled. ‘Good afternoon, Lord Portbury.’ Her voice was low, almost husky. He persuaded himself it sounded a little strained. Could she be worrying about tomorrow’s party?
    He smiled down at her. ‘You have been working too hard again, ma’am. You have ink on your fingers, I fear.’ He was hoping to make her laugh as readily as on the previous afternoons.
    Instead, she looked horrified. She lifted her fingers to stare at the dark stain as if some monster had settled on her skin. ‘Oh, dear. I shall never get it clean in time. What shall I—?’
    Mrs Aubrey stepped forward and clasped her wrinkled old hands over Beth’s smooth ones. ‘Stop worrying, my dear. I have a remedy for that, I promise. You shall be as white as snow when you don your new evening gown.’
    Beth resumed her seat, but her eyes were still wide and apprehensive, Jon saw. It had not occurred to him before now that she might worry about appearing at his party. She seemed so confident in everything else shedid, in the school, with the villagers, with servants, even with him… She was a lady, but she was still a nobody, and about to be foisted on to a group of haughty gentle-folk who most definitely did not wish to accept her as an equal. Of course it would be an ordeal. Why had he not seen that? In the long run, it would make her life easier, he was sure, but that was little consolation today. Even a true lady could be afraid of confrontation.
    He hastened to reassure her. ‘In any case, you will be wearing evening gloves, and—’
    ‘Jonathan!’ Mrs Aubrey interrupted sharply, adding a warning shake of her head. ‘Will you take tea with