Arthur led the way to the breakfast parlour. Servants parted, like the Red Sea before Moses and Aaron, when the brothers encountered them in the service corridors. ‘Stoic– as you would expect. Felicity has taken it hardest. Bad timing for her.’ Felicity was their youngest sister, on her third season in the search for a suitable husband. As well as the personal loss, demotion from daughter of a viscount to the sister of one would not improve her chances to bag a title, which she’d made her aim. ‘Evelina’s man had already come up to scratch, thankfully– wedding after our period of mourning, make a note in your calendar.’
‘Evelina’s engaged? To that canal man?’
‘That’s the fellow. Lord Driffield. Made a tidy fortune canalising the river from his coal mines to Birmingham. She’ll likely end up the richest of us.’
‘How long has this been going on?’ Jacob had been aware there was a partiality between the young people but not that it had progressed so far.
‘The engagement? Oh, a fortnight or so– it came at the end of the season.’
And yet no one had seen fit to inform him? True, he’d been caught up in the aftermath of the Elgin investigation, where the earl had employed them to look into threats against his family and collection of marbles, but still, he would have expected William at least to say something.
Arthur frowned at him. ‘Did you not see the announcement?’
‘You expected me to find out from the society columns? Arthur, what’s going on?’
Arthur opened the door to the parlour, revealing their entire family sitting around the table, breakfast laid out on the sideboard. They all looked up at him– he felt like an actor late for his cue.
‘Well, look who the cat dragged in!’ said William, bounding up from his place. He hugged Jacob with his usual enthusiasm, no odd back-patting from him.
His wife, Charlotte, smiled a greeting. ‘Jacob.’
‘How’re the children?’
‘All bonny. You’ll see them later.’
Still reeling from the things he was learning about his standing with his family, Jacob went around the table greeting each one. He saved his mother for last. He went down on one knee beside her and took her hands. Her wedding ring was loose on her finger. She’d lost weight and gained new lines.
‘I’m so sorry, Mama. You must miss him terribly.’
Hair now white and eyes faded, she had already bequeathed her golden colouring and bright blue eyes to William. There was little resemblance to Jacob and Arthur, unless it was in the aristocratic bearing that the new viscount had adopted.
‘Where were you, Jacob? Why weren’t you here?’ she asked in a querulous tone.
Jacob shot a look at Arthur.
‘Mother, don’t you remember, we didn’t want to upset Father,’ said Arthur, taking his place at the other end of the table. Rightly his wife should be in the dowager’s seat, but the new Lady Sandys had too much tact to oust her mother-in-law so soon. A handsome woman with a strong profile like a Roman matron, Diana, Viscountess Sandys, had chosen a seat beside her husband, biding her time before the inevitable palace coup.
‘He was upset that Jacob wasn’t here. He asked for him,’ said the widow.
That was a stab in the heart– his father had needed him, and Jacob had been oblivious, indulging himself in a holiday with Dora. Guilt filled him even though it hadn’t been a choice.
‘I would’ve come if I’d known,’ he said quietly. He would have this out with his brothers, but not in front of the ladies.
‘Well, you’re here now.’ His mother smiled at him, tears filling her eyes. ‘I’ve become such a watering pot– take no notice. Sit by me. Tell me what you’ve been doing. Ford, lay my son a place, would you?’
The butler overseeing the breakfast service hurried to obey as Evelina shuffled down to make way.
Jacob took his seat. ‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ he murmured to Evelina.
His sister, judged a belle of the season with her big brown eyes and honey-coloured ringlets, gave him a wry look. She had the vivacity and intelligence of a hunting dog, not a pampered aristocratic pet. ‘No thanks to you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Hellfire Club, Jacob? Do you know what any association with that does to a girl in society? Lord Driffield almost cried off.’
It was true that the reputation of the scandalous club for high-society scoundrels would sully the reputation of any debutante. They served a spicy punch of orgies mixed with a cache of state secrets that had an intoxicating effect on any who came within a mile of it.
‘Then he’d be no loss if he ran away for such a flimsy excuse. I was putting an end to the horrible business, not starting it.’
