That suited her. She had no desire to rush back on the rattletraps they called stagecoaches. At least with Jacob they could hire a chaise and travel in more comfort. A few peaceful days in this lovely cottage sounded appealing.
‘If that’s what you prefer.’ She brushed crumbs off her fingers.
‘It’s what I want.’ Jacob seized her hand and carried it to his lips. ‘Most desperately.’
ChapterThree
Levens, Lancashire
Jacob rode down the long drive that led to his family home, unsure what he would be facing. The dawn journey from Loughrigg had given him time to consider the unspoken message that had been sent. He had until now assumed his family tolerated his unconventional life, but excluding him from his father’s final moments signalled that he had been tagged a black sheep.
Levens hove into view through the trees, not lifting his spirits as it usually did. Each time he returned, it seemed less and less his home, especially now it was Arthur’s. Childhood memories were gloriously happy ones of rambling in the grounds and down by the sea. Jacob loved the greystone mansion that, from the impressive facade facing the gardens, looked like a castle, but at the back was a higgledy-piggledy collection of wings and additions, all with their own chimney stacks, each one different, each one standing alone. He’d always thought it represented the Sandys line– facing society as the impeccable viscount with a long heritage while being backed up with a ramshackle collection of younger sons and daughters plus dependent relatives. The death of his father meant everyone would be pretending as hard as possible that the respectable frontage was the only story to tell.
Nero clattered into the stable yard, the noise summoning the head groom.
‘Yer a sight for sore eyes, maister,’ said Pickering, the groom who had taught him to ride and run the stables as a tight ship for decades. He stood straight and fit even though he must be close to the late viscount’s age, face wrinkled like a roast chestnut.
Jacob swung down. ‘And you, Pickering. Are you well? And Mrs Pickering?’
‘She’s as strong as a cuddy. I am too, praise be.’
Jacob smiled at the odd compliment of comparing one’s wife to a donkey but Pickering meant it sincerely. ‘Is the family all here?’
‘Now you’ve come, aye, sir.’
At least Pickering didn’t exclude him from the Sandys’ circle. Leaving Nero in the capable hands of the man who had raised the horse from a foal, Jacob strode towards one of the back entrances. The business side of Levens was to be found there– the steward’s room and the estate office. He hoped that he might find one of his brothers to check the lie of the land before facing his mother.
He paused outside the estate office, bracing himself. A maid bobbed a curtsey as she passed with a pile of laundry.
‘Sir. Welcome home.’
He nodded a greeting. ‘Thank you, Jane.’
Through the opaque glass window, he could just make out someone inside at the desk. No good putting this off. He knocked on the door.
‘Come!’ That was Arthur’s gruff voice.
He opened the door. ‘My lord.’
‘Jacob! That was quick. Bailey found you at home then?’ Arthur came out from behind the desk and the barricade of ledgers. The family resemblance was strong between Jacob and his oldest brother– same dark hair and grey-blue eyes, but Arthur had grown up stocky, a farmer’s stature, whereas Jacob had the more athletic build of a rider and runner. His brother didn’t carry his scars either. No sabre cut from chest to hip had marked his body.
‘He found me last night. I was at my cottage.’
Arthur hugged him and patted his back in a paternal gesture– that was new– and then stood back. ‘Yes, well, William said you were travelling in company, and he wasn’t sure when you were arriving.’
Then why hadn’t they sent a messenger just in case?
‘I’ve been there two days.’
Arthur was no fool. He caught the implied reproof. ‘There was a lot to do. I’m sure you’ll understand. We didn’t want to upset Father in his last hours.’
‘How would sending for me upset Father?’
Arthur went to the door. ‘Have you had breakfast? I was about to join the family, having made an early start on the finances.’ He gave Jacob a quick inspection. ‘You’ll do. Not too much mud on your coattails.’
It would not be politic to start his reunion with an argument with Arthur, so Jacob let the comment about disturbing his father go, nor did he challenge his brother’s assumption that he had the deciding vote on Jacob’s fitness to appear in company.
‘How is Mother?’
