‘For all practical purposes it is yours as I can only see one other cottage and that looks empty.’ She’d checked for signs of life before stripping off. Free-spirited she might be, but she wasn’t comfortable with being caught in her birthday suit by a disapproving shepherd. Imagine the embarrassment of that! She began wading to the shore, her body feeling twice as heavy as when she got in. Jacob pushed off and headed out into the middle of the little lake, his arms making neat crawl strokes. His head was soon but a dark blob on the silvered surface.
Avoiding the little bay of water lilies with their pale flowers closed for the night, she got out by the tree that bent arthritically over the water. Brushing aside the evidence of recent visits by sheep, she lay down on the grass and let the breeze dry her. Jacob was right, damn him. Swimming was invigorating. Her heart was thumping, skin alive to sensation, she felt more at one with the world than she ever did in London. Those poetical fellows were on to something: there was a sublimity to be discovered if you let nature surround you.
Then she heard it– the quick clatter of hooves approaching. Someone was riding hard and in a reckless fashion considering the darkness and the state of the track.
‘Jacob!’ She scrambled to her feet.
‘Yes?’ His voice travelled over the water so that he sounded much closer than he was.
‘Visitor.’ She guessed that it wouldn’t be the first time a medical emergency had interrupted Jacob’s retirement.
He swore and immediately swam for shore. Dora grabbed her shift and dragged it over her head, but the damn thing was damp and recalcitrant. She’s only got it over her breasts when the horseman arrived at the cottage door. Abandoning thoughts of petticoats, she wrapped the limp dressing gown around her, holding her petticoat in front. The rider jumped to the ground and hammered on the door.
‘Dr Sandys!’ He peered inside, hoping to see the doctor within.
Cursing the thistle that stuck her bare foot, Dora hurried up the slope.
‘He’s here– he’ll arrive momentarily.’
The messenger gaped at her dishevelled state. ‘Miss?’
‘We were bathing,’ she said stiffly. ‘If you don’t mind?’
‘Oh. Of course, milady.’ He stepped back. Dora mustered her most regal glide and sailed past him.
‘You’ll find a place to tether the horse in the barn– as well as water and hay,’ she added. The creature looked as though it had been ridden hard, foam flecking the corners of its mouth.
‘No time, miss. I need the doctor.’
‘He’s coming as quick as he can.’
Dashing upstairs and into their bedroom, she dumped her wet clothes, towelled off, then pulled on a fresh shift, petticoat and round necked gown. There was no pausing for stockings. As she came back to the front door, she was just in time to see the stranger pass Jacob a letter. He was answering a question Jacob had posed.
‘Around noon, sir. It was very sudden.’
‘Was he alone?’
‘No, the viscountess was with him, and your sisters and brothers.’
Dora knew that look. Death had come calling. ‘Who is it, Jacob?’
He turned to her, dripping bare-chested on the flagstones, grey-blue eyes stunned. He looked years younger and very lost. ‘My father.’ His voice cracked. ‘My fa-father.’
Oh, Jacob!Feeling helpless, she passed him a towel and took the letter so he wouldn’t spoil it with water. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling. I’ll make tea– for the messenger– and for us.’ It was a foolish thought, but they all needed warming up, didn’t they?
‘Thank you, miss, but I have to go,’ said the messenger, shaking water off the brim of his hat. ‘I’ve other people to reach tonight.’
‘But your horse?—’
‘I’ve a fresh mount waiting for me in Ambleside.’ He bowed curtly and remounted. She hoped she only imagined the disapproving look he shot her.
‘Be careful how you go, Bailey,’ said Jacob, rallying to control his emotions, though she thought he patted the horse’s neck mainly to avoid their eyes. ‘The track is full of potholes.’
‘As I found, sir, but she’s surefooted, this one.’ Bailey dug his heels in and urged the mare onward.
Dora and Jacob both listened as the hoof beats died away. The outside world had burst in upon them and their brief holiday was over. She sighed, went into the kitchen and moved the kettle onto the hotplate of the stove. The death of her own father would bring her mixed feelings, none of them sad, so she wasn’t sure what Jacob was experiencing at the passing of a decent parent. What comfort could she offer?
‘I don’t know about you, but I still want a cup of tea. Why don’t you get changed?’
