Head high and standing tall, she yearned to look back, to catch Jacob’s eyes and whisper a farewell to him, but she daren’t with Norman there. Instead, with each step, she prayed for two things: first, that she wouldn’t slip again—at least, not while the Davies brothers were still watching—and second, that Norman would not try to interfere in her and Jacob’s relationship.
With each step, she grew less and less sure of avoiding either.
CHAPTER TWO
Jacob reluctantly watched Miriam’s figure recede down the grassy hill.
“Come on, then!” Norman said, annoyed. He bumped Jacob’s shoulder as a way to get him moving.
He took half a step forward, in the direction of Miriam, which only made sense, as gravity pulled him that direction, but Norman’s intent had been to fetch him home to Stonecroft Hall, formerly known as Stonecroft Cottage.
Only when Miriam had disappeared from view, which did not take long, did Jacob fetch his fallen hat from the ground, put it on his head, and turn on his brother. “Happy now?”
Norman’s gaze looked down the hill, then back at Jacob, and his lips thinned and curled. “We shall see.” Without waiting for Jacob to respond, he turned about and headed back in the direction he’d come from. Ten paces away, he paused and looked back. “Come on, then,” he said again, as if calling a dog.
Jacob ground his teeth but came along, keeping a gap between himself and his brother ahead. He had absolutely no interest in exchanging niceties about the weather, or worse, carrying on a conversation, until absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, their father’s death last month had made a lot of things absolutely necessary. It had also given Jacob a singular regret: that he hadn’t proposed to and married Miriam before his father’s passing. Joseph William Davies would never know his grandchildren, nor they him.
Not that Jacob could have given his father grandchildren quickly; he and Miriam had first exchanged words of love only a few months before. While he knew in his heart that he wanted to spend his life with her, he wasn’t confident about her having reached a similar conclusion—at least, not yet. And now the brothers were in mourning. Holding a big wedding wouldn’t be proper anytime soon.
They reached Stonecroft Hall all too quickly, a ten-minute walk that felt both never-ending because it took him farther from his beloved Miriam and much too fast because he dreaded any “urgent” conversation his brother would insist upon having.
Their house was one of the larger ones near Audbury, though that didn’t exactly mean they lived as kings. Father had done well for himself as a merchant, having abandoned the sheep and wool trade years before many sheep farmers lost everything. Father had guessed correctly that future success lay in selling imported goods like tea and silk, which he arranged to be transported from the shipyards of London and sold at towns along the way. He and his men had stopped at towns with residents who eagerly awaited his shipments.
Their father had been away much of their adolescence. Their mother had succumbed to pneumonia shortly after giving birth to a stillborn child that would have been their little sister. So in their youth, the boys spent weeks at a time alone while their father was away on business.
Norman had always assumed the role of the one in charge, with authority to order Jacob about whenever Father was away. Jacob had reluctantly gone along with Norman’s orders for years. Then they had left boyhood behind, and Jacob grew both taller than his elder brother and fully capable of caring for himself with or without his brother’s supervision. That was when he had stopped obeying his brother altogether.
For his part, Norman had been trying to regain control over Jacob ever since, to no avail. Though Jacob wouldn’t have thought it possible, Norman’s efforts to regain his role as patriarch had redoubled in the last month. The result was less that Norman had any control over Jacob and more that Jacob sought every opportunity to flee Norman’s presence and to flout any expectations his brother might have for his own life and actions.
In the house, Jacob followed his brother up past the parlor and into their father’s study. Norman’s study now, he remembered with an ache, and he found a set of shiny new leather chairs. “Where are Father’s chairs?” he demanded.
“Oh, those old things?” Norman sat on one of his new chairs, making the fresh, shiny leather squeak. “They were dry and cracked, and the style was so old-fashioned. I sent them away when these ones arrived this morning!” He leaned back in his chair, rested one leg on the other knee, and steepled his hands. “The leather is exactly the color of my favorite port.”
“Lovely,” Jacob said, and hoped sarcasm didn’t come through his voice. He’d loved his father’s old chairs, and he would have happily taken them into his room. Those chairs held a lifetime of memories for the family. The only clear memory Jacob had of his mother was of sitting in her lap on one of those old chairs, listening to her read a fairy tale. He had countless memories of Father in them. From those chairs Father had given, and they’d received, advice and guidance—never with coercion, the likes of which Norman tried to burden Jacob with nearly every day. When Jacob was but four years old and horribly ill, Father had held him in one of those chairs and sung to him beside the fire all night long.
How could Norman have tossed them away like so much rubbish?
“Now, let’s discuss what I’ve brought you here for.” Norman uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, and clasped his hands, resting them on the desk blotter. Jacob struggled to pay attention; every object, every sound, even every smell in the room flooded his mind with memories and emotions, making it hard to focus on his brother’s words. The red wallpaper Father had chosen for this room five years ago refused to be ignored; Jacob could not block it out. The new chairs clashed abominably with the wallpaper. Father wouldn’t have selected a bright red if the chairs in the room were to be dark red.
Jacob cleared his throat, trying to draw his attention back to his brother. “Yes, do tell me, what is so important, then?”
“Naturally, as the elder son, I am taking over Father’s business operations. It’s my duty.”
“Naturally,” Jacob repeated, again hoping his voice sounded neutral. They both knew that Father had long worried over Norman’s ability to spend and gamble away money. Father had wished the property were not entailed, and Jacob suspected that he would have preferred to bequeath the house and his possessions to him, the more responsible son by leagues.
“I have spent the time since the funeral reviewing Father’s records,” Norman went on. “I have come to the determination that several significant changes are needed. First and foremost, I will be moving operations closer to London.”
Jacob’s brows drew together. “Whatever for? We have so many customers between here and the city; selling along the way as Father did makes perfect sense.”
“Perhaps,” Norman said, his voice taking on an oily feel. “But only if one has low ambitions.”
One of Jacob’s eyebrows shot up at that, and he resisted the urge to call his brother out for defaming their father’s name. “What do you mean?” he asked instead, through his teeth.
“The greatest profits are not to be found in lowly country villages,” Norman said with a patronizing tone. “I suppose Father knew as much, but he never acted upon that knowledge.” He waved both hands about the room. “Just think, we could have lived in a house five times the size of Stonecroft Hall, with dozens of servants.”
Again, Jacob’s loyalty for his father reared its head. He swallowed against the angry knot in his throat. “I suppose our father wanted to ensure that his sons had a consistent life, seeing as they’d already suffered the loss of their mother and sister.”
“Perhaps,” Norman said with a dismissive nod. “God rest their souls.” Blasphemy if Jacob had ever heard it. Norman meant no such thing.
Jacob’s first instinct was to argue, to insist that Norman not move the business to London, but then he caught himself. If Norman lived in London and coordinated the family business from
there, he would no longer be pulling the puppet strings of Stonecroft in Audbury. Perhaps . . .
An idea sparked in Jacob’s mind. “Could I continue to live here after you’ve settled in London? You’ll be letting a flat, a far grander place than this, and I can continue to maintain the property so that the house and land don’t fall into disrepair. You’ll be able to return whenever you wish.”
Norman tilted his head and smirked. “My dear brother, why would I ever want to return to this old place? I’ll take my new chairs, but as far as the rest of the place, I’ll be quite happy to leave it all behind.”
Back on the hilltop when Norman had called Jacob home, if he’d given a hint of this wonderful news, Jacob would have run. But Norman wouldn’t view the situation as having the potential to give Jacob everything he’d ever wanted. In fact, Jacob knew he’d better not let on just how much he wanted to live in the house with Miriam, or Norman might deliberately find a way to sabotage their happiness.
“So I could have the house—and a family—here?” Jacob asked. Had he sounded too excited about the prospect?
“Not exactly.” Norman pushed his lower lip out slightly as he thought, then added, “Not at all, in fact.”
Jacob braced himself, gripping the armrests of the infernal chair, whose dyed leather was so new it still reeked. “Go on.”
“You’ll be coming with me. I’ll have servants maintain the house here. We’ll need to keep it so that we are still considered residents of the county.”
What, in the name of all that was holy, was Norman talking about?
“Now, I know you’re not the ambitious type, but I do know you have a soft little heart in that chest of yours for the less fortunate, though most of their situations are due to their own deficiencies. You see, when the business increases its profile and reputation, I’ll be able to position you so that you’ll be able to become a member of Parliament, representing our own little county.” He sat back and crossed his legs again, clearly pleased with his cleverness. “Think of the good we could do together, with my brains for business and your heart for politics.”
His brother intended to put Jacob into Parliament and control him from there? Jacob shook his head, “Norman, no. I—”
“No, no,” Norman said, stopping Jacob from saying a word. “You and I will rise above our sad family legacy and create a new one. To be a Davies will mean something.”
The whole thing sounded wrong to Jacob. Could his brother intend genuine good to come from this scheme? If he succeeded in getting Jacob elected as an MP, could he find a way to control Jacob’s votes and actions there? Or could Jacob realistically influence the law according to his conscience? He didn’t have the slightest idea how Parliament functioned, so for all he knew, Norman might be able to vote in Jacob’s place as a surrogate—and vote exactly opposite of how Jacob would wish.
None of that mattered, because Jacob didn’t want any of it. He wanted to live here in Audbury, with Miriam as his wife and, in time, with their children. Barring that, as the town’s population kept growing ever scarcer as the wool industry floundered, they could move elsewhere. He could find work in carpentry, or as a farmer, or perhaps in a factory somewhere. He hadn’t anything inside him pushing him to become rich or famous or influential. He wanted a simple life with the woman he loved.
“May I think on all of this for a spell?” Jacob knew better than to tell Norman no outright.
“Very well, but there is an additional matter to discuss.”
Jacob had moved to stand, but he settled back in the new leather chair. As before, it squeaked under his movement. “Yes?”
“The matter of your future wife.”
“Well, that’s settled, or it will be soon.” Jacob hoped it would be, anyway. He nearly blabbered on about Miriam, proposals, and plans, but he stopped himself just in time. Norman tended to worm his way into one’s mind and settle in, making one feel a bit mad—and sound it.
“To become a politician of any sort, and to have any influence at all as one, you must possess certain characteristics.”
“Yes,” Jacob said, drawing out the word.
“You must be able to read and write, to speak well.”
“Father paid for our schooling at Harrow. I’m well acquainted with reading, writing, and elocution.”
“You must dress well and have impeccable manners,” Norman continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “And . . .” His pause seemed oddly meaningful. Jacob’s stomach tightened as he waited, refusing to show his nerves to his brother. At last, Norman went on. “You must have a wife at your side who exhibits all of those things and more. She should be of at least a respectable lineage and most certainly not of low birth.”
Jacob stood in one quick motion, a flame of rage erupting in his middle. “How dare you insult my future wife in such a manner?”
His outburst served only to make Norman smile; Jacob immediately cursed himself for losing control.
“The truth is, dear brother,” Norman said, “Miriam Brown is not a suitable choice for the wife of a future MP.” Norman was fortunate to have the desk between them, for without it, Jacob might have done something he would have later regretted.
“I will marry Miriam Brown,” Jacob said evenly. “You cannot stop me. I will not be your puppet, having you pull my strings for the rest of my earthly life. I will never be an MP.”
“As the head of this family, I do not and will not approve of a marriage between you and anyone of such low stock.” Norman held out his hands helplessly, as if the matter were entirely out of his control. “Even if she wore the finest Paris fashions to a ball in London, imagine the moment she opened her mouth and said two words. Everyone would know she was lowborn. They’d be able to say with remarkable accuracy how much her father earns a year, entirely based on the way she speaks, not to mention how she eats and otherwise comports herself.”
“You and I grew up here, poor. There is no shame in that.”
“We were not precisely what I would call poor, but that’s beside the point. Father saw to it that we were properly educated, and that meant sending us away from this”—his lip lifted in what might have been an expression of disgust—“sad little village.”
Being sent to a boarding school for four years hadn’t felt like a gift to Jacob at the time; it had felt like a way for Father to unload the very real burden of two rambunctious adolescent boys. Norman had returned with a much more polished manner of speaking than Jacob had. They’d both learned the “proper” way of speaking, and Jacob could not deny that when traveling or otherwise around people he didn’t know, he spoke as his professors had insisted upon. Speaking like a boy from the countryside did not open doors or win favors; Norman was right about that much.
He was also right about Miriam in that she hadn’t had the benefit of that kind of education. Half a dozen words from her mouth were enough to reveal where she was from and give a very good sense of how much money her family had. Yet Jacob bristled at the unfair, harsh realities of the world he lived in: England was a place where one’s background did matter, and a person had just one opportunity to make a proper impression after opening one’s mouth. If that impression placed you firmly in the lower classes, that was where you forever would belong.
Jacob could picture what Norman had painted: if Miriam were to attend a ball in London, she would be laughed at, ridiculed. Likely behind fans and in whispers and hushed laughter—but that fact wouldn’t lessen the humiliation one whit. Norman was right on that count, a fact Jacob loathed.
I’ll never put my sweet Miriam into such a situation.
“You move to London and do whatever you feel you must with Father’s money and business,” Jacob told his brother. He snatched his hat from the floor, where it had fallen moments before. “But I want nothing to do with any of it. I am a grown man. You are not my father, and I don’t need your permission or approval to marry the woman I love.” He turned and strode toward the door, but before he crossed the thre
shold, Norman called after him.
“I’m warning you—”
Jacob’s step halted at the door, but he didn’t turn around.
“Abandon your foolish designs on Miss Brown,” Norman said. “She is not part of your future.”
The words felt like arrows hitting their mark on Jacob’s back. He didn’t turn to confront his brother again. Ample experience had taught him that no amount of debate would do any good. Instead, he straightened his posture, cleared his throat, and left the room entirely. He continued down the hallway, then headed for the front door, needing to breathe free air and escape the suffocation that Norman left in his wake. Jacob walked and kept walking, expecting his anger to subside quickly, but it did not.
By the time he returned home, the sun had set and night lingered in the corners, waiting to descend upon the land. Jacob was no less angry at his brother, but the time outdoors was not wasted exercise; he returned home with a firm decision made. It was time to contact his solicitor about drawing up a marriage contract so that he could properly propose to Miriam.
He paused before entering the house, his glove on the handle. An urgency flooded through him. Norman would interfere, somehow prevent the marriage if he could. Jacob spun on his heel and went right back to the road, turning toward the humble house where the Brown family lived.
He’d propose to Miriam right away. Norman be damned.
CHAPTER THREE
Miriam stirred the stew again, checking for the tenderness of the meat and vegetables. “Dinner is almost ready,” she called to her father in the next room.
She wiped her hands and crossed to a different, much larger pot, where her and her father’s clothing was being laundered. She stirred that pot too, eying the clothing inside—aprons, petticoats, men’s shirts, and other white fabrics—and wondered whether to add more bluing. No matter how much she worked, there always seemed to be more to do about the house or the garden, or there were sheep to be cared for—more so now that her father’s health wasn’t what it once was. The wintry cold of December had sunk deep into his bones and joints as it did every year, and he’d taken to his bed, scarcely able to walk from the swelling in his knees and pain in his hips.
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