‘Wordsworth?’ suggested Jacob, glancing at Dora.
‘That’s the one,’ agreed Ruby. ‘She came tromping in here yesterday, hems inch deep in mud, and with this Beau Brummell type in tow.’ Brummell had dictated what was fashionable dress for men for over a decade. ‘That gentleman said he’d lost her brother’s masterwork. Turns out it was swiped from his house! You’d think you would be safe from such things in the country, but no: it’s worse than the city! It makes a lady tremble.’ She rounded her China blue eyes at the viscount in a mute appeal for his protection.
‘And what does this have to do with Miss Fitz-Pennington?’ asked Arthur. He was doing a reasonable job of turning aside Ruby’s more flagrant plays for his attention.
‘She’s promised to track it down– and she’s made a grand start already. She searched the man’s house, interviewed a couple of harum-scarum boys and has made such an impressive list.’ Ruby plucked the top sheet from the blotter and waved it around under the misguided impression she was aiding Dora. ‘I really think she’ll run the villain to ground if anyone can.’
‘What manuscript?’ asked Jacob, addressing Dora alone.
Dora drew him aside to the kitchen doorway. ‘It doesn’t have a title, but they say it is a poem about his early life– a long one, in many parts.’
‘Tell me you’re mistaken?’ Jacob had gone ashen.
‘I really am not. Whatever is the matter?’
‘I’ve read the poem myself and it is truly the greatest verse autobiography I’ve ever had the good fortune to encounter. There’s nothing in Cowper or Gray that rivals it.’ He rescued her list of suspects from Ruby and scanned it quickly. ‘We are all begging Wordsworth to publish but he says the world isn’t ready for it. He wants to finish another long poem first.’
‘The Recluse?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Miss Wordsworth mentioned it to me. It sounds terribly boring.’
Jacob’s eyes twinkled. ‘Perhaps it won’t be to your taste.’
‘Also, he’s just lost his daughter. According to Miss Wordsworth, she thinks losing his life’s work might be the final straw. The world might never see either poem.’
All humour vanished. ‘Mary and William have lost a daughter? Which one?’
‘Catherine. I’m sorry, Jacob. Did you know the child?’ She would’ve broken the news with more tact if she hadn’t been thrown by the presence of his brothers.
‘A sweet girl who suffered from poor health. That’s terrible news, but perhaps not unexpected. I must go at once and offer my condolences– see if there’s anything I can do.’
Dora glanced significantly at their three guests. ‘Miss Wordsworth invited me to call in, so I’ll come with you. Remember not to mention the lost manuscript. The poet hasn’t asked for it yet.’
‘He won’t be thinking of poems at such a time– or maybe he will? I can see him finding an outlet for his grief in verse.’ Jacob approached the table. ‘Arthur, I’m going to have to cut your visit short. I have a neighbour I need to visit.’
‘Really, Jacob?’ drawled the viscount.
‘It’s a death in the family– a child.’
‘Ah.’ For all his faults, Arthur had always been fond of small children and was godfather to a battalion of them. Jacob suspected he liked the fact they obeyed him unquestioningly.
William had taken over toast duties at the kitchen stove. He edged past Dora and returned to the dining room to place his singed offering in front of the viscount and Ruby. ‘Understood. Of course, you must go to them. Arthur, shall we be getting back?’
‘We’ve only just arrived.’ The viscount reached for a slice and buttered it. ‘There’s no hurry. I said we’d stay overnight in Ambleside. We’ll be here when you get back.’
‘How… delightful,’ said Jacob flatly.
Ruby beamed. ‘Oh, excellent. May I take your place as hostess, Dora, if you have business to conduct? I’ve never entertained a viscount before.’
Lord help them all. ‘Thank you, Ruby. That’s very thoughtful of you.’ Dora went to the closet to change her shoes. She wasn’t going to think about what her friend might do when she had the chance to escape the viscount’s company and spend time alone with Jacob. ‘We’ll be away for a few hours. Would you see to dinner?’
Ruby looked less pleased at the idea of doing some actual work.
‘I’ll send a groom to collect something for us all from the inn in Ambleside, Miss Plum,’ said the viscount. ‘Hurry now, Jacob. We’ll be waiting for your return. There’s much to discuss.’
Why did that sound so ominous?
