Page 7 of The Wordsworth Key (Regency Secrets #3)

Chapter Four

Loughrigg Tarn

L eft to her own devices, Dora enjoyed playing house in Jacob’s cottage, imagining what it would be like to have a home like this.

‘Cottage’ was something of a misnomer. To her it looked like a substantial farmhouse, double fronted with four windows either side of the entrance and one over the door.

She’d counted four bedrooms and four rooms downstairs.

There was also an artist’s studio in the attic, and he’d made the room on the ground floor to the right of the entrance his library.

It was where he displayed his collection of antiquities.

The cottage had said goodbye to its rural origins and become a gentleman’s residence.

She’d sat in the library the night before, gazing at the stuffed shelves and glass cabinets, but she’d delayed examining them any closer as she feared she would find her work among the manuscripts he’d gathered.

It felt like a bomb with the fuse lit in their relationship as she knew how opposed he was to her supplementary profession of forger of literary hands.

She saw it as a harmless way of making ends meet, far preferable to offering herself as a courtesan as others in her position did.

His protestations that she was damaging the historical record seemed overblown to her, though she dared not tell him.

Who really cared if a few letters from Donne, Herbert and Pope turned up?

He did, but few others shared his scruples.

Perhaps now, with him away, would be the best time to winkle any forgeries out and defuse the bomb?

Or would he think she was intruding if she went poking about? Would that cause equal offence?

Uncertain, she took a basin of peas out to the little bench by the front step and began shelling, bunching her skirts above her knees so her legs could enjoy the sun.

She slipped off her shoes and wriggled her toes in the grass.

Relationships, particularly those in their early stages, were tricky things to negotiate, she mused.

Rather than fret, it was wiser to turn to doing something practical.

Jacob’s garden had gone wild in his absence, but she had found these pods growing among the weeds.

Perhaps she would tend the garden instead.

That was a task she could do that would cheer him up.

Of course, she could still weed his collection, but she couldn’t make them vanish because he catalogued everything very carefully.

Telling him some of his prizes had no more veracity than Ossian’s verse would not lift his spirits. Better to delay the reckoning.

Leaning back in the sun, she enjoyed a moment of peace, doubly joyful after persuading herself out of a disagreeable task.

This really was a blessed spot– a little cup of a valley with a perfect tarn in the bottom, today glinting blue-grey under the clear sky.

The hue reminded her of Jacob’s eyes. Born and bred in the area, it seemed fitting he should appear to have been made from it too.

She ran a nail down a pod and liberated six perfect peas nestled inside.

How was he getting on with his family? She had not met his elder brother and mother, but she disliked them already for cutting him out of his father’s last moments.

If she’d gone with him, she probably would have said something blunt that would confirm all their fears about women of her class.

Not that there had been any question she could go with the man she loved to be with him at this difficult moment. The world was perverse that way.

To distract herself from her annoyance, she popped a fresh pea in her mouth and savoured the flavour– a burst of summer.

She should regard it as a relief to have a little time to herself.

She should use it for planning her future.

She had peas to pod, weeds to pull and books to read– not a bad holiday.

When she next looked up, she noticed a woman walking along the track on the far side of the tarn. It wasn’t unusual to see locals using this route to pick up their letters from Ambleside, but there was something familiar about her. Dora got up and shaded her eyes. The walker spotted her and waved.

‘Ruby?’ called Dora.

‘Dora!’ came the reply.

What on earth was Ruby Plum doing in Loughrigg? It was like finding a blue macaw landing among the local crows. Ruby was supposed to be on stage with the theatrical touring company Dora had left in April. Had Mr Thomas sent her to make a plea for Dora to return?

Dora put aside the basin, slipped on her shoes and went to meet her friend.

Ruby was wearing a turquoise bonnet that framed her ink-black hair and pert face with her Wedgwood-blue eyes, a combination that emphasised her beauty.

By contrast, her sprigged muslin gown was in a pitiable state, mud-stained at the hem, evidence of a long journey.

Ruby had the prettiness of a porcelain doll, but an earthy sense of humour that prevented her from ever being insipid.

She carried a bag strapped across her body, and was she… ?

Ruby was expecting.

Dora swore under her breath and hurried to take the bag.

‘Ruby, darling, however did you find me?’

‘The innkeeper at the Salutation.’ Ruby relinquished her burden with a sigh. ‘Thank you. That has been weighing a ton for the last two miles.’

‘You’ve walked from Ambleside?’

‘They said it was as close as I was going to get by carriage, and I couldn’t afford to hire a cart.’

‘They told you correctly.’ Deciding the whys and wherefores could wait until Ruby was seated with refreshments, Dora led her into the cottage kitchen.

‘Your man here?’ asked Ruby, looking around with trepidation.

‘No. He was called away. His father died.’

‘Sorry to hear that. But, phew, that makes things easier.’ Ruby’s smile lacked its usual amusement at life. She sank into the chair with a groan.

Dora rummaged through the pantry. ‘He’s not the sort to run off a friend of mine.’

‘Even a pregnant one?’

True, she hadn’t tested him in that way, but Jacob had adapted surprisingly well to their three most recent recruits, all out-of-work actors, who provided them with extra eyes and ears to the agency in London. Jacob wasn’t a stuffed shirt like other nobles.

‘Even so.’

‘That’s one fecking bright spot in a whole rash of bad ones.’

‘Let me make you breakfast, and you can tell me all about it.’

Ruby played with the salt cellars, shifting them around like chess pieces. ‘You haven’t asked about the father.’

‘Do you want me to?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t be sure. Must have been back in York.

There was the son of the local MP and, ooh, that delicious ostler.

I think it must be his. I hope it is. The things he could do…

!’ Ruby gave a happy sigh. She enjoyed sex and wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

This was the first time to Dora’s knowledge that birth control methods had failed her.

It was bound to happen eventually to a woman who had lovers, because nothing– French letters, sponges, purgative pills– offered complete protection.

A shiver ran down Dora’s spine. She really should consider that for her own case. Jacob and she were enjoying that side of their relationship frequently and not always with the best preventatives in place. How would she react if she found herself in the same predicament?

Taking the milk jug from the shelf, she poured a cup for Ruby.

‘You’re six months along? You’re barely showing.’

‘Well, I’ve been doing my best to ignore it, haven’t I?’

‘You must’ve known before I separated from the troupe.’

‘Suspected only– I wasn’t sure. I was getting ready to tell you when you upped and left.’

Dora put a loaf and butter dish next to Ruby. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.’

‘I understand. You saw your chance and you left. Good for you, duckie. Though you should get him to provide a better life than this.’ Ruby waved a knife around at the rustic kitchen.

‘At least get you some servants for heaven’s sake.

There I was, considering you my hero, and you’ve settled for this? ’

‘That’s not quite the whole story.’ How to explain to her friend?

Ruby would not understand her scruples about supporting herself.

‘Forget about me. Tell me why you came. I would’ve thought Mr Thomas could keep you on until the last moment, let you lie in for a few weeks, then bring you back when you were recovered.

That’s what he did for Lilly Banbury, wasn’t it? ’

Ruby stopped buttering her bread. ‘But then I would have to give up the child.’

‘Oh. Oh,’ Dora added in a tone of understanding. She pressed Ruby’s hand. ‘I thought you’d perhaps give it to your parents to raise? That’s what Lilly did.’

Ruby snorted. ‘I ran away from home– I’d hardly send my child, especially not a daughter, back to that.’ Ruby had never said but Dora remembered now that she had hinted that someone in her family had shown unnatural interest in her.

‘I see.’

‘Besides, I want this child.’ Ruby put an arm defensively across her belly.

‘I thought that there was a chance you would be tired of your man, and you would go back with me, take my place for a year, until I’ve weaned the baby, then we could travel together like we used to.

The troupe can manage a child with a few adjustments. ’

The suggestion came in a half-baked rush. It was a dream– impractical and overly optimistic, like Ruby herself often was. There was just enough narcissism in Ruby for her to entertain the idea that the world would organise itself around her.

‘Ruby—’