The rector slowly raised his head. His eyes had lost their usual brightness. They were rheumy, as if he had suddenly aged ten years. ‘I am sorry, Jonathan. It is impossible. You must see that, surely?’

Jon drew himself up. ‘No, sir. I do not.’

The rector sighed. ‘I have to know that the couple are free to marry. You are a widower, but Beth… Jonathan, she could be anything, even some other man’s wife.’

Jon took a deep breath. He was going to have to be extremely frank and trust to the old man’s discretion. ‘I can assure you that Beth has not been any man’s wife, sir.’ He held the rector’s gaze, waiting for a sign that the full import of his words had been understood. It came sooner than Jon had expected. The rector’s eyes widened a fraction, and his sharp intake of breath echoed in the silence. ‘I see that you take my meaning, sir. To put the matter beyond doubt, I should perhaps add that there is now every reason to carry out the marriage ceremony as soon as it may be arranged.’ It was a little underhand to lead Mr Aubrey to believe that Beth might be with child, but Jon found he was prepared to go to almost any lengths to achieve his purpose. Nothing else mattered.

The rector downed the rest of his wine in a single swallow, got to his feet and began to pace. There was precious little room in the tiny library. He had to turn after every three or four steps.

Jon remained perfectly still, watching. There was nothing more he could do until the old man had finished struggling with his conscience.

‘You leave me with no choice,’ the rector said at last, in a weary voice. ‘You assure me that Beth has been no man’s wife, and I must accept your word. Though I must tell you, my lord, that I deplore what you must have done to establish your proofs of that. I would not have trusted you alone with Beth if I had suspected you might fail to behave as a gentleman should.’ He glowered at Jon. ‘It seems my judgement of you was wrong.’

Jon had risen when the rector began to speak. Now he clamped his lips tightly together. He could say nothing at all in defence of his own honour without impugning Beth’s. That he would not do.

‘If there is a risk that you have got her with child…?’

Jon looked the rector in the eye but made no other response. He had done enough to hurt the old man. He would not tell him a direct lie.

The rector shook his head sadly. ‘If she was a virgin when you took her, there is at least no risk of bigamy.’

Jon allowed himself a tiny nod.

‘And as there must now be a risk that she is with child, I have no choice but to ensure that this…er…irregular union of yours is sanctified in church. You have forced my hand, Jonathan, as I have no doubt you intended.’ He frowned up at Jon. ‘Go to London. If you return with a special licence, I will marry you both.’

Jon let out a long breath. ‘Thank you, sir. I…I ask your pardon for the-’ His voice trailed off. He could not think of an appropriate word.

‘Deception?’

Jon flushed like a guilty schoolboy caught in some childish mischief. ‘You have every right to be angry, sir, and I admit that my behaviour has been…er…less honourable than you had the right to expect. For that, and that alone, I apologise unreservedly. I hope that I may, one day, regain your trust.’ He raised his chin. ‘However, I cannot apologise for what has been done, since there was no other route that could have led to marriage between myself and Beth. That I could never regret, even if it were to lead to a rift with you. Needless to say, I fervently hope that it will not.’

The rector’s eyes had lost their rheumy cast. They had become thoughtful instead. He nodded slowly, twice. ‘I doubt there will be any rift, provided… Jonathan, I have one question for you. Tell me the truth of it, on your honour. Was Beth a willing partner in this?’

The question twisted in Jon’s gut. The rector was asking if he had taken Beth by force, to ensure she could not refuse him. How could a Christian gentleman think such a thing?

Because he does not know what to think of you now, Jon. The voice of Jon’s conscience was strong. He had given the rector every reason to doubt his honour. He must reassure the old man now. But he must not betray Beth. After a pause, he said only, ‘Beth was a willing partner. Yes.’

The rector sighed. With relief, Jon supposed. ‘Since I have every intention of forgetting what has passed between us this morning, you may be easy now, Jonathan.’ The harshness of tone was gone. ‘I shall say nothing to my wife. Or to Beth. Other than to offer my congratulations, of course.’ His warm smile lit up his eyes. He might disapprove of what they had done, but he was glad for them both, or for Beth, at least.

‘You are very generous, sir.’

‘Thank you, my boy. Shall you live here at Fratcombe, do you think?’ It sounded like the most natural enquiry possible. The inquisition was done, and forgotten.

‘For some of the time, I am sure,’ Jon replied, relaxing at last. ‘Beth will want to keep an eye on her school and on the progress of her little ones. I shall endow it on her behalf, of course, so that you may employ a replacement teacher. But I imagine we shall spend much of the year at King’s Portbury, my principal seat. May I hope, sir, that you and Mrs Aubrey will visit us? I am sure that Beth will join me in issuing the invitation, the moment we are settled at Portbury Abbey.’

The rector cocked his head on one side and narrowed his eyes, though his smile did not falter. After a moment, he said, ‘That is very generous of you, Jonathan. Mrs Aubrey will be most gratified, I am sure. And speaking of Mrs Aubrey-’ he crossed to the fire to pull the bell ‘-I think it is high time we gave her this momentous news. She will wish to congratulate you both.’

He turned to smile wickedly at Jon. ‘I have not seen Beth yet today. I wonder how she will look? I imagine-don’t you?-that she will be blooming like a rose, now that she is…er…betrothed.’

Chapter Twelve

Jon gazed at the dying fire as he savoured the last of his port. Supper had been something of a trial, even though he had dismissed the servants. Beth had seemed subdued, even anxious. Jon could not understand it. Now that they were married, her position was secure. No mere Lady Fitzherbert could harm her. Surely she could not be fearing her wedding night? They both knew that their lovemaking could be glorious.

She would be in her bedchamber now, their private realm. Jon felt his body stirring in anticipation and swore at the flames. He could not endure the thought of backstairs gossip about the master’s feelings for his wife. If he was to avoid that, he would have to pay particular attention to keeping a proper distance from Beth. Cool formality was required between an earl and his countess. He had seen it between his parents, even without servants present. It was a lesson Jon had learned very young. It should not be difficult to put it into practice now.

He glanced at the clock. Too soon yet to join her. He would drink another glass of port. Slowly.

He began to make plans for the journey from Fratcombe to London, hoping that it would divert his thoughts from the night’s pleasures to come. Gentle, prolonged lovemaking was what they needed, for the early days of their marriage. Unfortunately, travelling so late in the year would not make that easy.

Tomorrow, he would tell his steward to organise Portbury horses at all the staging posts. That would make the journey more comfortable for Beth, and quicker, too. The sooner Jon had her installed at King’s Portbury, the sooner their comfortable union could truly begin. And then his mother could take over the task of instructing Beth in her duties.

His mother would welcome Beth with open arms, he was sure. He could not promise her an heir yet, but he fully intended to do his best to get one. With Beth, he would enjoy the intimate side of their life. Perhaps, one day, he might even be able to tell her about-

No! There were some things that a gently bred lady should never hear, even from her husband. In that dark moment, Jon realised that he would not be able to sleep in Beth’s bed, however much he wanted to hold her in his arms. He could not take the risk. He must always leave her to sleep alone.

This was not a bedchamber, Beth decided. It was paradise.

‘Happy, my dear?’

Beth forced her heavy eyelids open. Jon was leaning over her, gazing down into her face. ‘Mmm.’ The tiny lines around his eyes relaxed but otherwise he did not move a fraction. He was waiting for her to say something a little more…er…meaningful. ‘When we were…um…together at the folly,’ she began shyly, ‘it was wonderful. I did not think that anything could be- But here, in our marriage bed, it was utterly blissful.’

‘Ah.’ He sank back on to the bed beside her and pulled her into his embrace. After a second or two, his fingers began idly playing with a lock of her hair, pulling it straight and watching it spring back into a tight curl. ‘You have beautiful hair, Beth. I cannot tell you how often I have longed to do that.’ He repeated the gesture and laughed at the simple pleasure of it.

She was, without doubt, the happiest woman in the world. She had married the man she loved and, while he did not love her in return, he must care for her a little. How could their physical union be so glorious if he did not? He was very formal and reserved in public-too much so for Beth’s taste-but that might change. And, even if it did not, she would have moments like these, when he held her in his arms and they could talk about anything, and nothing. They had all the rest of the night in front of them.

‘Will you teach me about the stars, Jon?’

‘If you wish it. But that cannot be until we return to Fratcombe, next year.’

‘Oh.’ Beth had dreamt of being carried up to the folly roof again, safe in Jon’s arms. But perhaps it was for the best. It was truly winter now. They could wait until the summer, when the weather would be warm enough to dispense with clothes altogether. Goodness, what an outrageous thought! It must be the effects of all the wanton things that she and Jon had been doing together. She snuggled a little closer and tried to stifle a yawn. It had been a long, tiring day but she was not yet ready for sleep. Not when Jon’s naked body was so tantalisingly close.

He dropped a kiss on her hair and rested his cheek against it. ‘After London-where our visit must be very brief-we shall be at King’s Portbury until after Christmas. In January, I shall have to be in London when Parliament reassembles, but there is no reason for you to leave the Abbey until just before the Season starts. We probably shan’t be able to return to Fratcombe until the summer. Can you wait until then for your lessons?’

‘I…’ He had her life all mapped out. And large parts of it seemed to involve leaving her alone in a house where she knew no one, except Hetty Martin. Thank goodness Beth had had the strength to insist that Hetty should serve as her lady’s maid.

Jon stroked a finger down her neck and over her breast. His touch was magical. Her body took fire instantly. She reached up to pull his mouth down to hers. ‘The lessons I need, husband,’ she said huskily, ‘are here and now.’

Jon lay motionless until he was sure that Beth was sound asleep. She was a wonderful bedmate, so generous, so passionate. He would never have believed that a virgin could turn into a seductress in such a short space of time. But she had. If he were younger, and less conscious of his position, he would remain in her bed for a week, at least. But that would shame them both before the servants. He could not do that to Beth. Their intimacy must be reserved for the hours of darkness.

He allowed himself to drop one last kiss on her curls and slipped out from under the covers. His heavy silk dressing gown was as he had left it, draped across the chair by the bed where he could easily lay his hand on it in the dark. He let it slide over his body. The silk felt cold and stiff compared with Beth’s soft, caressing touch, but he fought down the urge to return to her.

He padded barefoot to the connecting door. The way was clear, for he had been careful to ensure there was nothing he might trip over. He had even counted the steps.

He left Beth’s bedchamber without looking back.

Beth was finding London something of a trial. Since Parliament was not sitting, most of the great families were on their country estates, slaughtering birds. Jon had taken rooms at Grillon’s Hotel, in order-he said-to avoid opening up Portbury House. He was also avoiding any formal announcement that the Earl and Countess of Portbury were in residence in town, and ensuring that Beth could go about the business of acquiring a new wardrobe without having to receive calls from sharp-eyed town tabbies, eager to find new material for tittle-tattle.