‘To echo William, have you met my lady? No, you haven’t. She’s an independent lady of intelligence and wit, well able to earn her own living. She would scorn offers of protection and has no need to beg for your approbation.’
Arthur paled. ‘Good God, don’t tell me she’s a follower of Wollstonecraft, that harridan who harped on about the rights of women of all things?’
She probably was. ‘Do you despise women who dare to earn their own way? Mrs Siddons? Miss Edgeworth? Miss Herschel?’
‘They are exceptional– and have brothers or fathers respected by society to cast their mantle over them.’
‘Well, Dora’s brother was murdered, and her father is the pig who caused her illegitimacy by bedding some innocent in Jamaica when he already had a wife in Liverpool. Dora is no Ruth and has no Boaz. She stands alone.’ The Old Testament story of the outsider Ruth optimistically taught that families should look after the people on the edge of their society. Dora did not have even that.
‘I don’t like it.’
‘You don’t have to like it, Arthur. I demand the right to make my own decisions.’
‘Which are taking you away from us– from your blood– because we can’t follow you.’
‘Only because you are acting this way– leaving me out of family business that I have every right to be a part of. That was badly done, and you know it!’
William cleared his throat. ‘Arthur, she really isn’t as shocking as you are imagining.’
Actually, thought Jacob, she was probably more so. She’d been on her best behaviour with William and Charlotte.
‘If you meet her, you’d likely take to her as we have. And Kir,’ continued William.
‘Who the hell is Kir?’ snapped Arthur.
‘Jacob’s new ward.’
‘What! You’ve fathered a bastard on her already?’
‘Careful!’ warned William but Jacob had already seized the viscount by his lapels.
‘Don’t you dare speak of her like that!’
William tugged the back of Jacob’s jacket. ‘Jacob, stand down. Apologise, Arthur. Kir is a child they rescued from the explosion at Berwick. The orphaned son of an officer.’ That might be gilding the lily somewhat as likely Kir was the orphan of an ordinary soldier but who was to gainsay that story they’d spread? ‘He’s a great favourite in our nursery– and he walks the dogs for us.’
Arthur pulled Jacob’s hand away from his collar. Jacob let go. He couldn’t see a good outcome of planting a facer on the new viscount.
Arthur adjusted his cravat. ‘I apologise. Very laudable. Support the troops, very good of you. You’ve taken on a boy?’
Jacob felt some of the fight leave him as grief edged back in. He slumped against a wall that kept the sheep from the cliff. They should be talking about their shared memories of their father, not this nonsense. He suspected his father might’ve enjoyed Kir and found him a place in the household. He liked cultivating loyal retainers.
‘Yes. With a view of training him up for a useful profession. He’s no threat to the family honour.’
‘I see. However, it seems a little erratic. I have been worried that you are still suffering from your… er… malady.’ Arthur meant opium addiction.
‘That’s largely under control.’
‘But not completely? I did hear of some business at Bedlam?’
Jacob had a nightmarish flash of being secured in a straitjacket, locked in a cell with a madman beating his head against the wall. ‘I was wrongfully detained– by a murderer who wanted me out of the way.’
‘And another killer smuggled you out and shot someone in cold blood? I really do not like the company you’ve been keeping of late, Jacob.’
‘It goes with the territory of investigating crimes.’
‘Then the problem is your choice of profession and associates.’
Silence fell between them, William fidgeting, Arthur rocking magisterially on his heels, Jacob leaning against a stone wall, too tired for much of a battle a few hours after learning their father had died.
