Page 29 of Beth: A Regency Romance Novell

Several days after the dinner party at Harrow Court, Marcus was called into Whitehall to the Minister of Foreign Affair’s office. He found he wasn’t particularly eager to hear Canning’s discussion of his new posting. He knew England supported the Greek rebels against the Turks and Byron’s death a year ago roused tremendous enthusiasm for the Greeks. Cultured Englishmen were great admirers of the classics and saw the Greeks as descendants of the ancient heroes.

Marcus had no desire to leave England. A certain young lady held him here. Although there had been nothing said between them, he fostered a somewhat foolish hope that when he returned to England, she might not have married and would welcome his suit.

Beth! How lovely she was, so lighthearted and appealing the last time he saw her when she revealed more of her charms. Her delicious sense of humor and her gentleness warmed his heart. As she seemed to have fully recovered from her ordeal, he had expected to find her at the Johnston’s card party, but she had not attended. Should he draw the conclusion that she didn’t wish to see him again?

Canning gestured to a chair. “Nyeland.” He rubbed a hand across the bald dome of his head. “Concerning your trip to Greece. You won’t be needed. The situation has changed.”

Marcus fought to appear dispassionate while he felt like an eager young buck. He doubted Canning would understand such emotion. “I thought it was a fait accompli. What has occurred?”

“Britain is to join with France and Russia. We will send a fleet of ships to threaten the Turks. We consider it is the best means to stop their cruel treatment of the rebels. Sea-power, mainly British, will achieve far more than diplomacy.”

A half hour later, Marcus took his leave. His profound relief confirmed his decision to leave the service was timely.

He put on his hat and walked down Whitehall to hail a hackney. He would visit Andrew who was at the House of Lords where members were debating a bill.

When he tracked the duke down, Andrew informed him that Beth and Jenny had left London for his estate in Oxfordshire.

“I am to join them on Friday,” Andrew said, seated at his desk with a pile of correspondence, his secretary hovering.

“They are both well?” Marcus asked uneasily.

“Yes, in good health.”

“Do they intend to return for the rest of the Season?” Marcus pressed. Why had Beth left London? He searched for some confirmation that she would welcome his advances. But was there a flicker of doubt in her eyes when they parted?

Andrew dismissed his secretary. “Nothing’s been decided.” He gestured to Marcus to sit, then leaned back in his chair. “You are no longer called to Greece?”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you go down and speak to Beth?”

“You are encouraging me to declare myself?”

“But of course! Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t sure. You did suggest I might not be a suitable husband for her.” Marcus knew it was one of the reasons he’d held off. He needed to know why Andrew did not seem to encourage the match.

“Not so!” Andrew rose and came to rest his hip on the corner of the desk. “It’s true, I did have certain reservations. I was unsure whether the life of a diplomat’s wife would suit Beth. But that is no longer the case. I cannot speak for my sister-in-law. Go and see Beth, Marcus. Ask her.”

Marcus stood. “I shall.”

Andrew shook his hand. “I wish you luck.”

Marcus smiled ruefully. “I hope she didn’t leave London to escape me. If so, I might need it.”

Castlebridge, Oxfordshire

It was a lovely morning. The sounds and scents of the woodland always filled her with contentment, and a sense of belonging. But since she’d returned, Beth felt unsettled and lonely. She left the woodland path and stepped onto the drive, with Horace, her shaggy brown dog, gray around the muzzle following at her heels.

Ahead, Andrew and Jenny’s magnificent ancient mansion rose above the closely scythed lawns and the towering trees of the park. Beth carried the soft black and white feathered body of the great spotted woodpecker carefully in her hands. It was a young male, with red markings on its head and neck. The bird had an injured wing. She would place it in a cage with seed and water while she fashioned a brace for the wing. She wouldn’t release the bird until properly healed, or it would become a meal for a fox.

Beth hurried along, her anxious eyes on the bird cradled in her hands. She did not see the man approach until his boots entered her vision. She looked up. “Why, Marcus!” Her heart thumped with joy. She had missed him and telling herself it was foolish hadn’t helped at all.

His riding clothes became him, his long legs encased in brown breeches and glossy black boots, his hat and crop in his gloved hands.

Horace gave a bark and jumped up to place his muddy paws on Marcus’ immaculate clothes. “Get down, Horace!” Beth ordered.

“You’re a good fellow.” Marcus bent and gently pulled the dog’s ears.

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