Page 4 of The Wordsworth Key (Regency Secrets #3)

Chapter Three

Levens, Lancashire

J acob rode down the long drive that led to his family home, unsure what he would be facing.

The dawn journey from Loughrigg had given him time to consider the unspoken message that had been sent.

He had until now assumed his family tolerated his unconventional life, but excluding him from his father’s final moments signalled that he had been tagged a black sheep.

Levens hove into view through the trees, not lifting his spirits as it usually did.

Each time he returned, it seemed less and less his home, especially now it was Arthur’s.

Childhood memories were gloriously happy ones of rambling in the grounds and down by the sea.

Jacob loved the greystone mansion that, from the impressive facade facing the gardens, looked like a castle, but at the back was a higgledy-piggledy collection of wings and additions, all with their own chimney stacks, each one different, each one standing alone.

He’d always thought it represented the Sandys line– facing society as the impeccable viscount with a long heritage while being backed up with a ramshackle collection of younger sons and daughters plus dependent relatives.

The death of his father meant everyone would be pretending as hard as possible that the respectable frontage was the only story to tell.

Nero clattered into the stable yard, the noise summoning the head groom.

‘Yer a sight for sore eyes, maister,’ said Pickering, the groom who had taught him to ride and run the stables as a tight ship for decades. He stood straight and fit even though he must be close to the late viscount’s age, face wrinkled like a roast chestnut.

Jacob swung down. ‘And you, Pickering. Are you well? And Mrs Pickering?’

‘She’s as strong as a cuddy. I am too, praise be.’

Jacob smiled at the odd compliment of comparing one’s wife to a donkey but Pickering meant it sincerely. ‘Is the family all here?’

‘Now you’ve come, aye, sir.’

At least Pickering didn’t exclude him from the Sandys’ circle.

Leaving Nero in the capable hands of the man who had raised the horse from a foal, Jacob strode towards one of the back entrances.

The business side of Levens was to be found there– the steward’s room and the estate office.

He hoped that he might find one of his brothers to check the lie of the land before facing his mother.

He paused outside the estate office, bracing himself. A maid bobbed a curtsey as she passed with a pile of laundry.

‘Sir. Welcome home.’

He nodded a greeting. ‘Thank you, Jane.’

Through the opaque glass window, he could just make out someone inside at the desk. No good putting this off. He knocked on the door.

‘Come!’ That was Arthur’s gruff voice.

He opened the door. ‘My lord.’

‘Jacob! That was quick. Bailey found you at home then?’ Arthur came out from behind the desk and the barricade of ledgers.

The family resemblance was strong between Jacob and his oldest brother– same dark hair and grey-blue eyes, but Arthur had grown up stocky, a farmer’s stature, whereas Jacob had the more athletic build of a rider and runner.

His brother didn’t carry his scars either.

No sabre cut from chest to hip had marked his body.

‘He found me last night. I was at my cottage.’

Arthur hugged him and patted his back in a paternal gesture– that was new– and then stood back. ‘Yes, well, William said you were travelling in company, and he wasn’t sure when you were arriving.’

Then why hadn’t they sent a messenger just in case?

‘I’ve been there two days.’

Arthur was no fool. He caught the implied reproof. ‘There was a lot to do. I’m sure you’ll understand. We didn’t want to upset Father in his last hours.’

‘How would sending for me upset Father?’

Arthur went to the door. ‘Have you had breakfast? I was about to join the family, having made an early start on the finances.’ He gave Jacob a quick inspection. ‘You’ll do. Not too much mud on your coattails.’

It would not be politic to start his reunion with an argument with Arthur, so Jacob let the comment about disturbing his father go, nor did he challenge his brother’s assumption that he had the deciding vote on Jacob’s fitness to appear in company.

‘How is Mother?’

Arthur led the way to the breakfast parlour.

Servants parted, like the Red Sea before Moses and Aaron, when the brothers encountered them in the service corridors.

‘Stoic– as you would expect. Felicity has taken it hardest. Bad timing for her.’ Felicity was their youngest sister, on her third season in the search for a suitable husband.

As well as the personal loss, demotion from daughter of a viscount to the sister of one would not improve her chances to bag a title, which she’d made her aim.

‘Evelina’s man had already come up to scratch, thankfully– wedding after our period of mourning, make a note in your calendar. ’

‘Evelina’s engaged? To that canal man?’

‘That’s the fellow. Lord Driffield. Made a tidy fortune canalising the river from his coal mines to Birmingham. She’ll likely end up the richest of us.’

‘How long has this been going on?’ Jacob had been aware there was a partiality between the young people but not that it had progressed so far.

‘The engagement? Oh, a fortnight or so– it came at the end of the season.’

And yet no one had seen fit to inform him? True, he’d been caught up in the aftermath of the Elgin investigation, where the earl had employed them to look into threats against his family and collection of marbles, but still, he would have expected William at least to say something.

Arthur frowned at him. ‘Did you not see the announcement?’

‘You expected me to find out from the society columns? Arthur, what’s going on?’

Arthur opened the door to the parlour, revealing their entire family sitting around the table, breakfast laid out on the sideboard. They all looked up at him– he felt like an actor late for his cue.

‘Well, look who the cat dragged in!’ said William, bounding up from his place. He hugged Jacob with his usual enthusiasm, no odd back-patting from him.

His wife, Charlotte, smiled a greeting. ‘Jacob.’

‘How’re the children?’

‘All bonny. You’ll see them later.’

Still reeling from the things he was learning about his standing with his family, Jacob went around the table greeting each one. He saved his mother for last. He went down on one knee beside her and took her hands. Her wedding ring was loose on her finger. She’d lost weight and gained new lines.

‘I’m so sorry, Mama. You must miss him terribly.’

Hair now white and eyes faded, she had already bequeathed her golden colouring and bright blue eyes to William. There was little resemblance to Jacob and Arthur, unless it was in the aristocratic bearing that the new viscount had adopted.

‘Where were you, Jacob? Why weren’t you here?’ she asked in a querulous tone.

Jacob shot a look at Arthur.

‘Mother, don’t you remember, we didn’t want to upset Father,’ said Arthur, taking his place at the other end of the table.

Rightly his wife should be in the dowager’s seat, but the new Lady Sandys had too much tact to oust her mother-in-law so soon.

A handsome woman with a strong profile like a Roman matron, Diana, Viscountess Sandys, had chosen a seat beside her husband, biding her time before the inevitable palace coup.

‘He was upset that Jacob wasn’t here. He asked for him,’ said the widow.

That was a stab in the heart– his father had needed him, and Jacob had been oblivious, indulging himself in a holiday with Dora. Guilt filled him even though it hadn’t been a choice.

‘I would’ve come if I’d known,’ he said quietly. He would have this out with his brothers, but not in front of the ladies.

‘Well, you’re here now.’ His mother smiled at him, tears filling her eyes. ‘I’ve become such a watering pot– take no notice. Sit by me. Tell me what you’ve been doing. Ford, lay my son a place, would you?’

The butler overseeing the breakfast service hurried to obey as Evelina shuffled down to make way.

Jacob took his seat. ‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ he murmured to Evelina.

His sister, judged a belle of the season with her big brown eyes and honey-coloured ringlets, gave him a wry look. She had the vivacity and intelligence of a hunting dog, not a pampered aristocratic pet. ‘No thanks to you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The Hellfire Club, Jacob? Do you know what any association with that does to a girl in society? Lord Driffield almost cried off.’

It was true that the reputation of the scandalous club for high-society scoundrels would sully the reputation of any debutante. They served a spicy punch of orgies mixed with a cache of state secrets that had an intoxicating effect on any who came within a mile of it.

‘Then he’d be no loss if he ran away for such a flimsy excuse. I was putting an end to the horrible business, not starting it.’

‘I realise that.’ She poured him some coffee from the pot in front of her.

They were the two in the family who preferred something stronger at breakfast than tea.

Even though she was ten years younger, she was most like him in nature.

If she hadn’t been a girl, she would’ve cut her own path through life, likely following her passion for music.

She was a talented amateur composer and had a fine singing voice.

‘But Society is an idiot who cares only for appearances. We all play the game– apart from you, it would seem.’

Felicity, who was usually the picture of health with her milkmaid complexion and chestnut locks, scowled at him from across the table.

He was disturbed to see that she had blue shadows under her eyes and faint lines bracketed her mouth.

She was typically a bouncing ball of energy but now she was deflated by grief.

‘Then there was that Frenchman– everyone was talking about that.’