Dark Before the Rising Sun (46 page)

Kirby looked baffled. “Reckon he's become a mite forgetful of late, m'lady. Got a lot on his mind. Reckon we all do,” the little steward said with a deepening frown. There they were, just settling in, and there were people who wanted them gone as soon as possible.

* * *

Westlea Abbot was a larger and busier town than its nearest neighbor, Merleigh. It was located along a gentle slope of sheltered hillside, and its cobbled streets, lined with whitewashed stone shops and cottages, followed a gradual descent to the floor of the valley which was covered by forest and meadowland. Westlea Abbot was located along the center of a wide, sweeping bay with a curving sandy shore, but there were no foaming breakers rolling in from a rough sea. This was a safe harbor, one that had a fishing fleet moored along several stone piers.

The small group of riders attracted much less attention than they had in Merleigh. Their horses' iron-shod hooves striking noisily against the cobblestones, they passed quickly through the village streets, their destination an estate on the far side of Westlea Abbot.

Sevenoaks House sat at the end of a short drive lined with three oaks on both sides. A noble oak of magnificent proportions stretched its ancient limbs into the sky at the end of the lane, forcing the drive to encircle it and partly hiding the house from view.

It was a dignified brick house with a hipped roof and massive chimney stacks, which perfectly balanced the octagonal cupola perched in the center. Two neat rows of tall, stately mullioned windows marched along the front of the modest house. A short flight of wide steps with a curving stone balustrade led to the entrance.

At the arrival of the riders, several young grooms hurried over from the stable block, which was hidden in a grove of trees off to the right. After the grooms took their horses, Dante took Rhea's arm and escorted her up the steps. Francis and Alastair followed. A footman in plain livery opened the door as they reached it, and allowed them entrance to Sevenoaks House.

“Good afternoon, Lord Jacqobi,” the stiff-backed, stern-visaged butler greeted Dante.

“Oliver. It has been a long time. But you haven't changed at all,” Dante said with a smile as he handed over his gloves and hat to the footman by the butler's side.

“Thank you, m'lord,” Oliver responded, and Rhea could have sworn there was a look of genuine pleasure in the old man's eyes. “And if I may be so bold, m'lord, 'tis good to see that you have returned to your rightful place at Merdraco.”

“Thank you, Oliver. That is very kind of you.” After a warm silence, Dante asked, “Is your master at home?”

“Yes, m'lord. Shall I tell him you wish to see him?” Oliver asked with a polite look of inquiry at the strangers accompanying the Marquis of Jacqobi.

“My pardon, Oliver. This is my wife, Lady Jacqobi, her brother Francis Dominick, Lord Chardinall, and Mr. Alastair Marlowe. The gentlemen are our guests at the lodge,” Dante made the introductions.

“Your wife, m'lord?” Oliver repeated, and for the first time he seemed disconcerted. But he quickly regained his composure and bowed. “I shall announce you,” he said. He had started to turn away when he stopped. Looking back he said gruffly, “I heard a rumor about Merdraco, which it would sadden me too much even to repeat. I suppose, if you're living in the lodge, the rumor might be true?” he asked. Seeing Dante's expression, he shook his head, mumbling as he made his way to the double doors opening off the hall.

They had a brief glance beyond of a comfortable-looking salon as footmen opened the doors. The old butler reappeared a moment later and nodded to them to proceed while he announced them in a surprisingly loud, authoritative voice. Alastair and Francis exchanged humorous glances as he roared their names.

Rhea glanced around the colorful room, which was handsomely furnished with several plump, upholstered winged chairs in dark burgundy velvet and sapphire blue. The silk hangings were a rich golden hue. A Turkey rug was a splash of color against the floor, and flowers of every shade and type abounded in delicate vases. The room was resplendent with sunshine.

“Dante! My boy, how very good to see you again!” a frail voice cried out as they entered.

“Sir Jacob!” Dante called just as enthusiastically, and then, to Rhea's further surprise, Dante hurried to the old gentleman's side and clasped his arms around that bent figure. “It has been too long, Sir Jacob,” Dante said, staring down into those twinkling but sharp blue eyes. They peered at the world from beneath bristling white eyebrows that looked as if they had taken to flight.

“My boy, you are looking splendid. And I don't care if you disagree with me or not, but the best thing that ever happened to you was in having to leave Merdraco. Going to sea made a man out of you, Dante. I'm proud of you, boy,” the old man said with a gleeful chuckle. “Oh, yes, sir, wish I were twenty years younger. I'd be at your side, boy, when you get them hornets all stirred up,” he said, laughing, then wheezing, much to the consternation of Oliver, standing in watchful silence by the door.

“Shall I order tea, sir?” he intoned.

“What? Oh, yes, yes, do that, Oliver,” Sir Jacob said, waving him away. “Now, who are these people? Don't see as well as I used to, but I know a pretty lady when I see one,” he said with an audacious wink.

Dante threw back his head and laughed. “Some things never change, do they, Sir Jacob? Always had an eye for the ladies, you old devil. Well, I give you fair warning now to keep your distance, for this is my wife, Lady Rhea Claire. Rhea, meet Sir Jacob Weare, the best friend a scoundrel like me could have. He has been my eyes and ears in Devonshire for the past, what, century?” Dante asked with a grin.

“My old bones feel like it has, but not as long as it would have been if I'd been on my toes instead of listening to gossip. I didn't realize you weren't quite the scoundrel I thought you to be until you had already left Merdraco. More the fool me, eh?” he said, slapping his forehead.

“Whatever the amount of time, I could not have succeeded without you, Sir Jacob. You have my undying gratitude,” Dante said seriously.

“Ah, boy, forget it. 'Twas the least I could do for going against you like I did. Anyway, let's not talk of dying. I'm too close to it to like the sound of it,” Sir Jacob said as he came closer to where Rhea stood. Taking her hand in his, he stared down into her face. Although bent with time and arthritis, he was still a tall man. “So this is the little lady who finally managed to get your ring on her finger, eh?” he chuckled, and Rhea worried that he might start to wheeze again.

“I am afraid that I gave her little choice, Sir Jacob. Once I gazed into those violet eyes, I could not rest until I had made her mine,” Dante said, much to Rhea's embarrassment.

“A real beauty, lad. Love him, girl?” Sir Jacob demanded, his beetling brows lowering over those bright blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

“With all my heart, Sir Jacob,” Rhea answered without being at all coy, much to Sir Jacob's delight.

“Ah, a fine woman you've got, Dante,” he said. His bony fingers held Rhea's chin tilted up to the light so he could examine her face. “Too pretty, boy. You'll have to keep her with child if you intend to keep her by your side,” he said with a sly glance at Dante.

“I already have,” Dante admitted. Rhea would have sworn that even he was slightly embarrassed by the old man's blunt talk, especially when Dante glanced over toward an old woman sitting in one of the winged chairs close to the window, where the light shone on her embroidery.

Sir Jacob caught Dante's meaningful glance and waved his hands dismissingly. “Don't be mindin' Essie, she's half deaf, won't hear a word we say. Don't suppose she even knows we're here. She's always falling asleep this time of the day. Comes in here to do a bit of sewing and ends up snoring,” he said with a loud guffaw which seemed to prove his point, for the little lady sitting so demurely in the chair didn't move. Then, her nodding head, its white curls covered by a finely starched mobcap, dropped lower as she dozed.

“Who is Essie?” Dante asked quietly.

“My cousin. Or is she my niece?” Sir Jacob asked himself, a puzzled frown on his finely wrinkled brow. “Gettin' so old I can't remember anymore. Well, whatever, she's a harmless old biddy. Now, who are these young gentlemen here?” he demanded, leveling that hawkish gaze on Francis and Alastair.

“Sir Jacob, this is Alastair Marlowe, my good friend and a former member of my crew aboard the
Sea Dragon
. And this young gentleman is Francis Dominick, Lord Chardinall, my brother-in-law,” Dante made the introductions.

“A pleasure, Sir Jacob,” Francis and Alastair said simultaneously.

“And a pleasure it is to be meeting you both,” Sir Jacob said, pumping their hands. “Dominick? Know the name. Any relation to Lucien Dominick? Used to see him in London when I went calling on the duchess. Thought there for a while that me and Merton were going to have to call each other out, both of us courting Her Grace like we were, and both being hot-blooded. Then she called us both fools, and that was the end of it.” He laughed. “You've got the look of her, girl. Any kin to you?”

“She was my great-grandmother,” Rhea responded quietly. She could hardly wait to write her father about this old reprobate.

“Well, imagine that,” he said, shaking his head. “Great?” he added with another shake of his head as he realized just how young Dante's wife was. “Lord, but I'm gettin' old. Ah, here's Oliver with tea. There'd better be a bit of brandy for Lord Jacqobi, Oliver,” Sir Jacob questioned, but the butler wasn't fooled.

“Indeed, Sir Jacob, and I brought along your medicine too,” the officious Oliver added with a stern glance. “You know what the doctor said about taking it every day.”

“Bah, he's a fool if there ever was one. Why, I was considered old even before he was born. Reckon those extra years have added to my intelligence, and I oughta damn well know by now what's best for me,” Sir Jacob snorted, winking at Francis. “A glass of brandy a day, that's what did it. 'Tis good advice, young fella, and if you follow it, why, you might live to be as old and smart as I am,” he said with a laugh, which was a horrifying thought for a lad who had yet to reach his twentieth birthday.

“Come, come. Sit down, now. Over here, we'll leave Essie to her napping. Doesn't have much to say anyway. Not so far away from me, girl. My eyesight is one thing that's let me down. But then, it never was very good,” he said with a grin, then frowned when he saw the amount of brandy in his glass. “I'm going to get rid of you one of these days, Oliver,” Sir Jacob warned the butler, who looked almost as old as his employer.

“Indeed, sir, whatever you think best,” was Oliver's unruffled response. Dante could remember hearing that very same threat when he'd come to see Sir Jacob years before. He shook his head. Some things never changed.

Rhea sat down between Francis and Alastair on the sofa, facing the room, while Dante settled into a winged chair positioned at an angle next to the one Sir Jacob was lowering his thin body into, the tray with the brandy close to his elbow.

“Now, I want to hear about everything. I do not want you to leave one single thing out about what has happened to you during all the time you were away. You told me precious little in those brief, businesslike letters of yours through the years,” Sir Jacob complained. “Want to hear about pirates and some of your exploits at sea, boy. The bloodier the better, eh?” he said, picking up his now empty brandy glass and casting an accusatory eye on an innocent Francis before generously refilling it. “Now, what was I saying?” Sir Jacob questioned, tapping his fingers impatiently on his knee.

“You were complaining about Dante's correspondence with you throughout the years,” Rhea reminded him gently and sent Francis a warning glance.

“Oh? Ah, yes. Fine piece of business, that. Eh, Dante? Reckon Miles will be fit to be tied when he discovers you bought back all the Leighton lands he stole from you,” Sir Jacob said with a wicked grin. “Enjoyed helping you, boy. Yes, sir, a real pleasure, that,” he said, rubbing his hands together just like some smug villain eyeing his stolen booty.

Rhea's questioning eyes met Dante's smiling gaze. “Sir Jacob was my surrogate. He made all the arrangements for the purchase of my lands. Did Miles ever become suspicious?” Dante wanted to know.

“No. Too smart for him. Sometimes I dealt with him directly; other times, when I thought he might wonder why I wanted so much land, I got some of my friends to purchase it, then bought it from them. Miles was too busy worrying about trying to keep Wolfingwold to be worrying about any plots I might be hatching right under his nose. Heard that Miles lost quite a bit of money, nearly went bankrupt, he did. Don't suppose he would have sold the land otherwise. Just like him to hold on to it for spite.”

“That was certainly a stroke of luck,” Francis commented, missing the exchange of glances between Dante and Sir Jacob. Both of them knew that Miles had lost his money in several schemes of Dante's which had been falsely represented to Miles, and which established the need for Miles to sell the Leighton land he had held on to for so long.

Dante coughed, clearing his throat as he said, “I understand that there were several other people who became involved in Sir Miles's business ventures and suffered staggering losses themselves. I want you to know that I feel a responsibility to make good those losses,” Dante startled Sir Jacob by declaring.

But Sir Jacob snorted. “No need, boy. No need. Warned them, I did. Quietly, of course, so as not to raise Sir Miles's suspicions. Thought I should, especially seeing how you had warned me against investing in that West Indies plantation, and in the bank, but some of them wouldn't listen. Thought me a foolish old man. Well, by God, I proved them wrong,” he said with a satisfied grin. “Was it Harry Seacombe you were thinking about?” Sir Jacob demanded. “Harry was always a fool. Thought he knew best. Reckon he deserved what he got,” was the old gentleman's unsympathetic comment. “I warned him personally not to invest, but he went right ahead and gambled his savings. Listened to Sir Miles's advice and not mine. You don't need to be feeling guilty about Harry or his family,” Sir Jacob told Dante.