Then Comes Murder

Within the Orchard (part three)

All things considered, his father's toast could have been worse. If anything, most of it had been insinuation.

It was the insinuation, however, that troubled Jacob. He rubbed his jaw as phantom memories threatened to break free from years of stubborn callousness. The Duke of Ashurst was not the type of man to pull his punches. Jacob, and likely everyone else at the party knew it: the man was exactly the sort of hunter that set a trap. He was patient. And that was why, from the dread vibrating in his bones, Jacob knew that the worst was yet to come.

Jacob had considered leaving Whitehill after the ceremony. He'd come to support Charlie, and he'd done his duty, hadn't he? His younger brother had snored through the Book of Common Prayer as quickly and easily as he'd done when they were children. If carrying his comatose body back to Leverett Hall did not fulfill his duties as a supportive older brother, Jacob did not know what would.

To be truthful, he'd been rather impressed Charlie had managed to drag himself to the chapel. After their father's toast, his brother had appeared with two bottles of brandy and enough determination to see them empty. To cowards and criminals, he'd toasted with viscous humor. The ever loyal brother, in an effort to spare Charlie the worst of the inevitable vomiting, Jacob had taken more than his fair share. For his generosity, he won an incredible headache that robbed any spread of patience he had left for his little brother.

So as George and Caroline smiled—rather idiotically in his opinion—in the rain, Jacob calculated the cost of throwing Charlie into a hired coach, retreating to Portsmouth, and replacing all the clothes and trinkets he'd leave behind. It sounded quite reasonable, that plan for escape. That was, until he caught a glimpse of Nora standing outside the chapel doors.

Bathed in mist, she watched the wedded couple. Unlike the rest of the party who complained about the weather or whispered about who might truly be a criminal, she seemed happy for them. Where the rest of the world saw fit to find fault, she leaned against the old brick wall and smiled. It almost made him smile, too.

Sparring with her at the table had appealed to him in ways that made him feel like was the same sixteen year old fool who'd demanded a place on the HMS Artemis without a cent of commission or a whisper recommendation. Filled with a brazen confidence he hadn't earned, heedless of any consequence, Jacob had demanded a spot aboard. Reed-thin and soft-handed, Jacob had hardly been the type of recruit His Majesty's Royal Naval sought out. Certainly there were other second sons who served, but they'd come with fat purses and glowing recommendation. Jacob had arrived in Portsmouth with a stubborn chin and reckless pride. He'd been lucky the captain was soft-hearted. Or at least as soft-hearted as any commanding naval officer might be. 

And he'd be even luckier if Nora was a fraction as persuadable as the old captain.

She made him feel that way again: bold, hungry for adventure, reckless.

It had been that recklessness that had spurred him into making that wager. Even though he'd noticed her discomfort with his proximity, Jacob had pushed on. That nervous flush at her neck, no matter how bright and alive it made her eyes, suggested that perhaps she was not as experienced as he'd suspected. And then she'd somehow managed to make eating a vegetable—a green bean of all things!—seductive. Her mouth had lingered on her fork, and she erased that flicker of doubt with a teasing smile.

And what fantasies they'd been.

He'd almost had half a mind to re-construct the terms of the wager so that she might win it. The other half of him was moments away from suggesting they discuss exactly the sort of fantasies he dreamed of.

Trust his father to spoil the evening. After his father's rather ugly summary of the family, Jacob watched Nora frown with each poisonous word. He watched her lips part with shocked, angry breaths. He watched her glance towards him with a look that dried his desire to dust.