‘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.’
