Page 22 of The Wordsworth Key (Regency Secrets #3)

Chapter Twelve

Loughrigg

D ora lay with her head resting on Jacob’s stomach, basking in the sunlight and relishing the sensation of the breeze on her skin along with the pleasurable aftershocks of their lovemaking.

The straw-coloured grass danced in the breeze; at the verge of the little meadow, summer flowers, harebell, knapweed and milkwort, swayed like wallflowers at a ball.

A bee bumbled lazily from bloom to bloom, the beau with his pick of partners, filling their dance cards with his attentions.

‘I could write a poem about this,’ she murmured, smiling at her own silly image of ballrooms while lying out in the wilds. Weren’t they the antithesis of each other? ‘There is nothing more sublime in all of nature.’

‘And I wish I could draw you like this.’ He tickled her shoulder with a blade of grass. ‘Titania in her bower.’

‘That makes you Bottom, the ass-headed mechanical.’

‘It would be my privilege to play the part.’ He growled. ‘Let me be the lion too.’ He playfully nipped her fingertips.

After a pause, he added: ‘I’m sorry about my brothers landing on us without invitation.’

‘And I’m sorry they hurt you by not calling you home earlier.’

‘It was Arthur’s doing.’

‘I don’t think I like your oldest brother very much.’

‘He has some good qualities.’

‘Like…?’

Jacob gave a gruff laugh. ‘At the moment, I’m struggling to remember them. I suppose he does care because he wants what he thinks best for us all. His methods for achieving it, though, are brutal.’

‘And counter-productive. Does he not know you in the least?’

‘Sadly, he likely doesn’t. We’ve not spent much time together since… well, since we were boys. And who would want their fourteen-year-old self to be the standard by which they are judged for the rest of their life by their older brother?’

‘But he was cruel– I find it difficult to forgive him that.’

Jacob sighed. ‘So do I.’

A cloud passed over the sun. The time allotted to play was ended.

She reluctantly sat up and pulled her shift over her head.

Jacob had brought her to a little green space among the rocks, accessible by a narrow passage.

A fairy bower, he’d called it, discovered on one of his rambles on the hill behind his cottage.

They would hear anyone long before they reached them so there had been no fear of being disturbed.

However, they had guests awaiting their dinner in the vale below.

‘I wonder why the quintessential experience of being a poet in nature these days is to have these moments of sublimity alone?’ she asked as she laced her stays. ‘I feel most when I’m with you.’

Jacob drew on his shirt. ‘If I screw up my courage, I’ll ask Wordsworth. I imagine the answer will be because no one would publish accounts of making love al fresco to his beloved wife.’

‘Byron would do it– if anyone would dare.’

‘I’ve no doubt he’ll cross that line as he crosses so many others.

Perhaps it is because poets today think they must describe the individual?

’ He tucked his shirt into his breeches.

‘That’s in contrast to the more social poetry of the last century.

You can’t imagine Pope or Dryden volunteering to expose themselves to nature to discover more about their inner selves, can you? ’

‘No!’ Dora laughed and shook out her rumpled dress. ‘Your brother is going to know exactly what we’ve been up to when he sees the state of my skirt.’

‘We’ve been walking– a little dirt is natural. Honi soit qui mal y pense .’

She held out her garter. ‘If you are quoting that, then you can have the honour of fastening my stocking.’

‘Gladly.’ He went down on one knee to secure the tie just below the knee.

Dora held her skirts up to give him room. ‘I wonder why Mr Barton wasn’t there?’

‘Barton?’

‘All his friends were gathered. He made no mention of having to leave the area.’ She offered Jacob the second garter. ‘I wish we’d asked where they think he went.’

‘Why? Are you worried about him?’ He rubbed his nose on her inner thigh then kissed her knee, sending little shivers along her leg. Her lion was purring. They were playing with fire and the position was provocative. She pulled her skirts straight. No time for that now, sadly.

‘I should’ve done a better job if you are already thinking about other men,’ sighed Jacob.

Bending over, she kissed him. ‘You did very well, Sir Lion, as you know. However, I do think we should call in on our client.’

‘And delay going back to the cottage?’

‘That is a benefit, yes.’ She grinned. ‘I wouldn’t fret about our guests. They’ll eat without us. I can’t see Ruby delaying dinner to be polite.’

* * *

Barton’s cottage looked empty when they arrived. With the sun dropping below the hill, the shadows were gathering in the woods and the waters of Windermere had turned iron grey. Dora rapped on the door.

‘Mr Barton?’

No answer. She lifted the latch, but the door didn’t budge.

‘That’s strange. He said he never locked it.’

Jacob went to the window and peered into the bedroom. ‘The bed’s been slept in.’

Dora looked through the kitchen window. ‘There are dishes on the table. I can see his writing desk in the corner, so he’s not packed up and gone. Do you think that, after losing the manuscript, he changed his mind about locking up when he goes out? Let’s check the boat.’

The skiff was tied up waiting for its next adventure.

‘He’s put his fishing gear in it. Did that mean he was intending to join the party today and something changed his mind?’ she wondered aloud.

Jacob walked on along the shore, shading his eyes to see if he could spot the cottage’s occupant within sight. He called Barton’s name, but no one answered. Dora searched the other direction.

‘I don’t like this,’ said Dora when he joined her again by the boathouse. It might have been encouraged by the onset of night, but gloomy thoughts were gathering.

‘He may simply have been called away.’

‘But wouldn’t he have sent his excuses to his friends?’

‘Whatever has happened to him, we’d better get back before our people think we’ve gone missing.’ Jacob offered his arm to begin the long climb back up through the woods. ‘How desperate was he about the loss of the poem?’

‘He was upset but by no means despairing. He had hopes that I might find it. Yesterday, with the Coleridge boys, I’d say he was merry.’

‘Overly merry? Sometimes people have wild swings of emotion. You see them excited one day and despondent the next.’

‘I can hardly claim to know him, but his humour seemed entirely natural. I liked him, Jacob.’ She rubbed her arms, feeling chilly.

‘Then let us do what we can for him.’

‘He uses the laundresses at the hall. We should leave word with the servants there for someone to send us a message when he gets back.’

‘We’ll do that on the way home. He’s a poetical fellow. He could just be in the throes of composition– he could’ve followed his muse and set off on a long walk.’

‘Would he, knowing we’re investigating?’

‘Writers can be egotistical creatures. He might’ve decided he’d left the problem safely in your hands and he could return to his craft. I don’t think we can raise the alarm unless his absence stretches to a couple of days.’

‘A lot could happen in that time.’

* * *

The lantern was lit already over the front door as they walked into the little valley that Jacob called home.

It blazed like a beacon in the twilight as they cut across the field by the tarn rather than follow the loop of the farm track.

The carriage had gone– presumably to the inn in Ambleside– but horses had been left for Jacob’s brothers.

She could see them grazing in the little paddock beside his stable.

Walking into the dining room, they found, as Dora had predicted, that the guests had gone ahead with the meal.

A third of a meat pie sat in the middle, two plates ready.

A tureen of what was likely to be tepid vegetables also waited.

Ruby, the viscount and William were playing cards on a small table set by the window to make the most of the dying daylight.

Her friend was charming both brothers with her smiles and amusing conversation as she dealt the next hand.

Dora could see the viscount in particular had warmed to Ruby’s willingness to please.

‘The wanderers return,’ said the viscount, placing a card on the discard pile. ‘How long does it take to pay a call on a grieving family in these parts?’

‘I had other business to conduct,’ said Jacob. ‘Dora, I see we have been left some dinner. Shall we?’

‘I’ll just go upstairs and change,’ she said, conscious that she was in no fit state to be in polite company after a day of walking and other activities under the open skies.

Ruby had already itemised every aspect of her appearance and was smiling saucily at her.

Darting to the stairs, Dora hurried up and out of sight– but not out of earshot.

‘What kind of business?’ asked the viscount.

‘How kind of you to take an interest in our investigation, my lord,’ Jacob said sourly.

‘We made progress with the missing manuscript; though, when we called on our client to report, he appears also to be missing. There’s not much more we can do in the dark, but we will have to go looking for him tomorrow.

’ There was a scraping as Jacob pulled out a chair.

‘As you can see, we are busy which means it really isn’t a convenient time for an extended visit. ’

Smiling to herself, Dora continued up the steps. Maybe with hints like that they could get rid of their unwanted guests?

Her appearance repaired, Dora returned to the dining room. Her dinner was under a cover and Jacob was also waiting, letting his get colder as he swirled red wine in a glass.

‘You needn’t have waited,’ she said softly as she took her place. It felt so unnatural having others spectate on their domestic life. If she could wish them away like Aladdin’s genie, she would.

‘I had no desire to start without you,’ he replied.

‘Tell me,’ called the viscount from his seat by the window, ‘how did you come to lose your client so soon?’

Ruby was shuffling the cards with a professional’s skill, bright eyes darting from character to character as if waiting for her cue. Dora wondered what she was thinking.

‘Lose is overstating it,’ said Jacob. ‘He is simply not where he was expected to be, rather like some viscounts I could mention.’

‘Surely, sir,’ said Ruby as she began dealing, ‘a viscount can be wherever he likes?’

Ah: her game was ingratiation.

‘Arthur might have that luxury,’ said William, ‘but I need to get back to my wife. I promised I would only be away a day.’ He picked up his hand and grimaced.

‘My staff are fully able to look after your wife and family.’ The viscount scanned his cards.

‘Not in all ways. My wife takes the view that the husband should do more than look in occasionally upon his family.’

‘Is that a criticism of me?’ asked Arthur pointedly.

William looked shocked by the accusation. ‘No! I’ve never heard that you neglected Diana and the children.’

‘Good, because I don’t. They want for nothing. However, neither am I at my wife’s beck and call. I stay away as long as I wish if I believe I have important business elsewhere. We agreed this was important.’

‘Are you now criticising my relationship with my wife?’ Sunny-tempered William suddenly became very stormy, his brother having touched on a sensitive spot. Being cooped up in the house all day waiting for Jacob to return must have tried their tempers.

‘I think we can agree,’ said Jacob, taking the unusual role of peacemaker, ‘that Diana and Charlotte are excellent but very different ladies and leave it at that. I am fortunate in both my sisters-in-law.’

Arthur and William could hardly disagree with that sentiment, so the cloud passed. Dora shot Jacob an amused look, able to do so as she had chosen a chair that meant her back was to the card party.

They had just finished eating when the back door opened and two youths, last seen camping at Rydal Water, tumbled into the kitchen.

‘Miss, miss!’ Hartley exclaimed.

Dora rose to her feet. ‘What is it, boys?’

‘Nice place you keep here, Jacob, with any local considering they have access to your cottage without so much as knocking,’ muttered Arthur.

‘Yes, it is strange how many people feel they can come without an invitation,’ Jacob replied acerbically as he went to join Dora in the kitchen.

Derwent startled her by grabbing her around the waist and sobbing into her dress front. Dora clasped the boy to her, sensing his deep distress even without knowing the cause.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘Hartley?’

‘Buck up, Derwent,’ said Hartley, embarrassed by his brother. ‘We were doing as you asked, Miss Fitz-Pennington, keeping an eye on things.’ He gulped. ‘That’s when we found them.’

‘Found what?’

‘Clothes and boots by Esthwaite Water. We think they’re Mr Barton’s.’

‘And Mr Barton?’ she asked, but she thought she knew.

‘No sign, miss. Do you think he drowned?’

Yes, she did. Her heart thumped hollowly in her chest. ‘I don’t know. Accidents are possible but let’s not jump to conclusions. Jacob, is that enough to mount a search tonight?’

Jacob nodded. ‘It is. Boys, I’m Dr Sandys, a friend of Miss Fitz-Pennington and Mr Barton. Where are the clothes? Did you leave them where you found them?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Hartley. ‘They’re on Elter Holme. Do you know it?’

‘Certainly. It’s a good place to swim. If you’re up to it, I’d like you to go to Hawkshead and tell the innkeeper that I sent you. William, can you take the boy on your horse? It’s a fair walk but you can cut that to about twenty minutes if you ride hard.’

William nodded, all business. ‘Of course.’

‘We need a search party– the innkeeper will know who to send. They’ve got equipment for such things.

While you do that, we’ll go to Near Sawrey and alert the people there– that’s nearest. We’ll meet the searchers on the lakeshore.

’ Jacob met Dora’s eyes and glanced significantly down at the younger boy.

Dora kneeled. ‘Derwent, we need you to stay here and take any message that arrives here for us. Can you do that? Miss Plum will keep you company. And the viscount.’

Derwent looked alarmed to have a nobleman overseeing him, but Arthur wasn’t having anything of it in any case.

‘I’m coming with you,’ he said, buttoning his jacket. ‘I would advise that you remain behind, Miss Fitz-Pennington. Such a search is not for delicate ladies.’

‘Just as well there’s not one of those here, isn’t it?’ Dora said with a hint of steel. ‘Jacob, saddle the horses. I’ll just put on my breeches.’