Beth

by Andersen, Maggi

  Beth

  All-Hallows’ Brides

  Maggi Andersen

  © Copyright 2020 by Maggi Andersen

  Text by Maggi Andersen

  Cover by Wicked Smart Designs

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  ceo@dragonbladepublishing.com

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition April 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Maggi Andersen

  Dangerous Lords Series

  The Baron’s Betrothal

  Seducing the Earl

  The Viscount’s Widowed Lady

  Governess to the Duke’s Heir

  Eleanor Fitzherbert’s Christmas Miracle (A Novella)

  Once a Wallflower Series

  Presenting Miss Letitia

  The Lyon’s Den Connected World

  The Scandalous Lyon

  Also from Maggi Andersen

  The Marquess Meets His Match

  Beth

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Maggi Andersen

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Spring, Harrow Court, London, 1825

  Beth Harrismith entered the breakfast room her mind full of what awaited her that evening. She greeted her sister, Jenny, the Duchess of Harrow with a quick smile, eager to divert her thoughts. “That’s a divine lace cap,” she observed taking a seat beside her at the table. She reached for the teapot and poured herself a cup.

  Jenny patted her cap covering her dark brown hair. “I’m pleased you approve. I thought you might accuse me of dressing like a dowager.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Beth’s lips curled slightly as she observed her sister. “What does Andrew think?”

  Jenny looked down at the toast she was buttering. “Oh, he likes it well enough.”

  “That bow under your chin?”

  Jenny grinned as she reached for the jam. “Oh stop, Beth. Aunt Augusta is coming for a visit next week. This is how she will expect a married lady of my years to dress.” A reluctant smile teased her lips. “Andrew doesn’t approve either. He has already pulled it off once this morning.”

  Beth chuckled. No one would take her sister for a dowager. Now twenty-eight, she’d changed little since she’d married Andrew. And no dowager would look quite so happy. Beth loved living with Jenny and Andrew. Although the city did not hold the same delights for her as it did for them. But the long windows overlooked the pretty spring flowering borders, and the sky above was clear although not quite the azure blue one found in the countryside. It was going to be a fine, wonderful day.

  “I believe I shall have eggs.” Beth rose to inspect the heated dishes on the sideboard. On raising the lids the room filled with mouth-watering aromas. “Mm. Bacon.” She picked up a plate and spooned a pile of eggs onto it and added a rasher of bacon.

  “I don’t know why you never put on a pound,” Jenny said crossly a hand on her stomach over her apricot sarsnet morning gown. “I’ve struggled with my weight since George was born.”

  “Not there, my love. But most fetchingly placed I must say,” Andrew said from the door.

  The footman, Barker, coughed and busied himself with the duke’s coffee.

  A flush spread over Jenny’s cheekbones. “Andrew, you are incorrigible.”

  Beth discreetly looked down at her cup. Andrew, Duke of Harrow could be guaranteed to speak his mind. One was never sure what he might declare. But one thing was clear, he adored her sister and had done ever since Jenny had first come to Castlebridge, Andrew’s ancestral home in Oxfordshire, as governess to his children, William, and Barbara, five years ago.

  “Please forgive my riding clothes,” he said smiling at them both as he took his seat at the table. “The park was surprisingly busy this morning. I met Jackson Brenton…”

  Beth returned to think of the evening awaiting her as Andrew discussed a friend of his with Jenny.

  The footman placed his coffee before him. “Your usual breakfast, Your Grace?”

  “Thank you, Barker.” Andrew sipped some coffee. “Are you enjoying your Season, Beth?”

  “I am. My come-out ball was splendid.” It wasn’t entirely true. She strained to make the best of it, but being the center of attention to so many men kept her on edge. Was she pretty enough? Poised enough? She did love her new apparel, however. “I have a lovely gown to wear this evening. It is white satin embellished with pearls and has a pink satin border and roses embroidered above the hem.”

  Andrew picked up the newspaper. “Mm? Good, good.”

  “You can guarantee to lose his interest if you speak of women’s apparel,” Jenny said. “Hats especially.”

  Beth giggled.

  Andrew rattled the paper and when Barker placed his breakfast before him, requested more coffee.

  “I should imagine Countess Wallington’s cotillion ball this evening will be enjoyable,” Jenny said. “She always invites unusual guests. I believe she strives to shock.”

  Andrew raised his eyebrows. “And often succeeds.”

  “I confess to being a little nervous,” Beth admitted at last. “But you and Andrew are very supportive.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it! Nor would Andrew.”

  Andrew sliced into the bacon on his plate, his paper resting beside him. �
��I look forward to it.”

  “You don’t mean a word of it, Andrew,” Jenny said cheerfully. She sighed. “We both miss the baby, the children, and Castlebridge. It’s always hard to leave them in the care of nanny and their governess.”

  “They are both extremely capable, my love.” Andrew patted her hand.

  The butler entered the room carrying a silver tray on which lay a letter and opener. “This has just arrived for you, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you, Forrester.” Andrew slit it open. He held the single sheet in his hands and read it quickly, deep furrows gathering on his forehead. He looked up. “Jenny, my love, we must return to Oxfordshire. Apparently, William has taken a tumble from one of the horses.”

  Beth swallowed a mouthful of buttery egg in alarm. She put down her knife and fork.

  Jenny’s chair banged back, as she climbed to her feet. “Is he badly hurt?”

  “Hit his head and lost consciousness for a while. But the doctor says here that he’s confident it is merely a bump on the head and severe bruising. Don’t worry, sweetheart. It doesn’t sound at all serious. I’m sure he will be back to health and ready to return to Eton when the school term begins.”

  “Oh, I pray that is so. Bumps on the head should not be taken lightly.” Jenny stood with her hands gripping the back of her chair.

  “The doctor seems confident it’s not serious, Jenny.” Beth rose to comfort her. Her usually stalwart sister seemed to worry more since their son, George was born.

  Jenny clutched her hands together. “As soon as our backs are turned! William had to be watched around the stables when I first came to Castlebridge as his governess,” she explained to Beth, who having lived with them since they married, was already familiar with those fraught times. “He was only nine then and I must say at fourteen, he is still a worry when it comes to horses.”

  “William’s a good rider, Jenny,” Andrew said calmly.

  “Yes, your son and heir is a bit of a daredevil, like all the Harrow’s.” She glanced disapprovingly at him. “He has probably taken Lightning over a high jump. I’ll go and see to the packing.” She paused halfway to the door to look back at Beth. “You cannot cry off this evening. It will be a dreadful snub. I must find a suitable chaperone for you.” She tapped her cheek. “Now let me see.”

  “Surely I shan’t be missed.” Beth grasped at the opportunity to return to the country. “I’ll come home with you. There will be other balls.”

  “Nonsense. You must go,” her sister said.

  Beth sighed. “Very well.” When Jenny took that tone there was no arguing with her.

  “Mrs. Grayshott and her daughter, Phillida are to attend,” Jenny mused. “A kind woman, I’m sure she will be eager to oblige.”

  “Phillida won’t present well beside Beth,” Andrew observed.

  Beth’s cheeks grew hot at his praise. “Oh, surely not.”

  “Yes, that is true,” Jenny agreed. “And Mrs. Grayshott is a terrible chatter-box. But it is only for one evening.”

  “I’ll take my coffee in the study, Barker. I have some urgent matters to attend to before we leave.” Andrew paused at the door and glanced at Beth. “You’ll be all right?”

  “Of course. You mustn’t give a thought to me. As you say it is only for one evening,” she said, accepting that she must attend the ball. “I only pray that William recovers quickly.”

  “I’ll ensure that Mrs. Grayshott’s carriage will bring you back here after the ball. You shan’t be able to receive any morning calls from gentlemen, I’m afraid,” Jenny said. “It shall be a dreadful bore. But only for a day or two. I must send letters of apology and a note around to Mrs. Grayshott immediately.” She opened the door and was gone.

  Beth poured herself another cup of tea. She suddenly felt very alone, as the evening loomed ahead, never quite knowing what to say to these sophisticated people. They were so different to those she’d known while growing up in Yorkshire.

  Two hours later, she waited beside Forrester in the entrance hall to say farewell to Jenny and Andrew. On the gravel drive outside, the coach awaited, the heads of four restless grays held by the groom.

  Dressed in a pelisse of deep rose velvet trimmed with sable, a sable hat on her head, Jenny hurried down the stairs pulling on her gloves. “A note has come from Mrs. Grayshott confirming her carriage will call for you this evening at nine o’clock.” Reaching the marble floor, she kissed Beth’s cheek scenting the air with attar of roses. “I know you will behave with perfect decorum, dearest. You are one of the few members of this large family whom I can rely upon to do so.”

  “My nephew George certainly never does,” Beth said with a grin recalling how the little boy giggled and pointed at a visitor’s hat lavishly adorned with fruit and feathers. He’d been removed swiftly in disgrace but remained undaunted. He was unimpressed with the elegant manners of the haute ton, which made Beth laugh. Although his manners would improve, she suspected as the second son and the third child, he would forge his own path and always be a bit headstrong.

  “He is to be excused because he is so young,” Jenny said with a frown. She and Andrew’s rambunctious three-year-old son could do no wrong in her eyes.

  “I wonder if we will still excuse him when he is fourteen like William?” Andrew asked mildly.

  Jenny shook her head at him. “I doubt you will ever punish him severely, Andrew. You will be as tolerant as you are with William.”

  At her mention of William’s name, Jenny’s concerned glance met Andrew’s. “I do hope he is all right. We must hurry, my love.”

  Andrew came to kiss Beth’s cheek. “Avoid the rakes,” he said with a wink.

  “How shall I recognize one?”

  “Praise slips from their tongues like honey.”

  A moment later they were gone. Feeling slightly abandoned Beth climbed the stairs to her bedchamber with the intention to don her bonnet and go for a walk in the grounds. She would then spend the rest of the day reading, if she could settle her mind to it.

  That evening, by the time the grandfather clock chimed nine, Beth’s nerves had driven her to stalk the hall, causing the footman to offer her a chair.

  She had never wanted this. Their sister Bella was blissfully married to a farmer in Yorkshire with their two-year-old daughter, Clara. Beth also preferred the pace of country life, tending the odd assortment of injured animals she’d rescued in the woods at Castlebridge. But it would be ungrateful of her as the youngest sister, to refuse the wonderful opportunity Jenny considered this to be. Beth did want to fall in love and marry and admitted it was unlikely she’d find her future husband while wandering the woods at Castlebridge. While she didn’t wish to marry a duke or perhaps even a farmer, she did wish him to be a strong, compassionate man with broad shoulders she could lean on at times. Someone whom she could laugh with, and share her love of animals.

  A carriage pulled up outside, and a knock sounded on the door. Beth allowed the footman to settle her evening cape around her shoulders. With a deep breath, she gathered up her reticule and gloves, and, plastering on a smile, walked out to greet Mrs. Grayshott and her daughter.

  Countess Wallington’s ball was a sumptuous affair. The mansion gardens were alight with colored lanterns. A footman showed them into the grand hall where they joined the line of chatting guests waiting to be announced by the butler. The countess, resplendent in gold silk and diamonds, stood at the door to the state apartments where doors had been thrown open to form a large ballroom. She greeted Beth expressing her disappointment that the duke and duchess could not attend. Beth reiterated Andrew and Jenny’s apologies, aware that she was regarded as a poor substitute.

  The boards of the dance floor decorated with elaborate floral chalk drawings would soon disappear beneath the dancers’ feet. Mrs. Grayshott shepherded her daughter and Beth through the beautifully dressed crowd. They took chairs against the wall beside potted foliage. The smoky air was perfumed with citrus and floral scents. On the dais the mus
icians began tuning their instruments.

  They had barely settled, arranging shawls, reticules, and fans, when a tall, dark-haired gentleman dressed crisply in black and white, emerged from the crush and strode over to them. Phillida turned quickly from arranging her shawl and moved to the edge of her seat in anticipation. She cast a coquettish smile at the gentleman. Beth could quite understand Phillida’s reaction, for he was quite handsome.

  He bowed before them. “Marcus Nyeland, Mrs. Grayshott. The Duke of Harrow planned to introduce me to Miss Harrismith this evening, but as he is unable to attend, he’s confident that you will kindly act in his absence.”

  Mrs. Grayshott flushed at the mention of the duke. She had talked of little else than how impressive Andrew was on the way to the ball in the carriage and urged her daughter to set her cap no lower than an earl. Phillida had nodded in agreement and patted her light brown locks. “Brunettes are more popular this year,” she’d said, casting a disparaging glance at Beth’s pale blonde curls. It made Beth uncomfortable. Phillida had obviously taken her in strong dislike for she’d rebuffed any of Beth’s attempts to engage her in conversation.

  For a moment Mrs. Grayshott hesitated. Then her expression firmed as if recalling the important task assigned to her. “As we haven’t met before, Mr. Nyeland, might there be someone here tonight who could recommend you to me?”

  “Forgive me, ma’am for my oversight.” He turned to gaze at a group of men in conversation near a pillar. “If you will wait but a moment, I shall fetch the prime minister. I’m sure he will vouch for me.”

  Mrs. Grayshott’s eyes widened. She craned her neck to view the men gathered together several yards away.

  Phillida fluttered her fan. “Mama, please…”

  “I shouldn’t think it necessary,” Mrs. Grayshott said stiffly, and with a pained look at her daughter, she introduced the gentleman to Phillida and Beth.

  Mr. Nyeland complimented Phillida on the delicate beauty of her chicken-skin fan. He smiled at Beth. “Miss Harrismith. Would you grant me this dance?”