Summary:
Rory & Jack #2
A springtime love story.
It’s time to meet the family. . .
Rory Kincaid’s in a spin. He’s leaving his London life to spend Easter deep in the countryside with boyfriend Jack De Lacy – and Jack’s wealthy, aristocratic family. Rory’s under pressure to make a good impression, but with no class, connections, or money, he’s not so sure he’ll be welcomed with open arms – especially when they find out how he and Jack met.
. . .but will the family want to meet Rory?
Jack’s convinced his family will love Rory as much as he does, but it’s not the plain he thought it would be. With their age-old traditions, it’s not long before Rory’s presence is sending ripples through the calm waters of the De Lacy’s settled, rural life.
It’s a testing time for Rory and Jack. Can they convince Jack’s family that two men from opposite sides of the class barrier can be not only who the other wants, but needs?
***Warning: this book contains a village fete bake-off for the coveted Golden Ribbon, a cuddliest pet competition, and the undying devotion of a dog called Badger***
***Note: this book was previously published under the name of A E Ryecart. The cover and description may (or may not) have changed, but the book title and contents remain the same as before.***
1
Jack stole a glance at Rory, next to him in the passenger seat, before he indicated to turn left.
“There's nothing to worry about, honestly. You'll love them, and they'll love you. And it's only five days.” Five days of the De Lacy family and everything that came with them. “If it all gets too much, we can come home early,” Jack added.
“No.”
They'd stopped at traffic lights, and Rory turned to Jack.
“This trip isn't just about me; it's about you too. You haven't seen your family for ages. Of course I'm nervous about meeting them, but I'm not going to run away.”
Rory's chin tilted up in defiance, his chestnut brown eyes glittering with determination. Jack's heart soared. He was so proud of Rory and of how far he'd come since he'd found him huddled, freezing cold and homeless, on his doorstep just days before Christmas. In a rash act of charity, he'd taken the grubby, hungry boy in, offering no more than a brief respite from London's snow-bound streets. A hot drink had turned into a meal, then a place to sleep safe from the streets for the night. It had turned into two, three nights, and more, and Rory had never left.
It had been four months since Rory had stumbled into Jack’s life and changed out of recognition. It felt like a breath away and eons at the same time. Jack couldn't remember a past before Rory or imagine a future without him.
“I mean it. If my family are too overwhelming, we leave. No argument.”
“I know you mean it, and I mean to prove you wrong.”
The blast of a horn directly behind them and the gesticulation from the baseball-capped driver in the rusty white van made them jump. The lights had changed without them noticing, and Jack slammed the car into first gear, overrevved, and stalled. Rory sniggered, and Jack gave him a mock glare, before they moved forward, away from the city and toward the house nestled deep in the Devonshire hills.
The nearer they got, the more Rory's stomach knotted. He was determined not to screw up this first visit to Jack's parents. The problem was, Jack's parents weren't plain old Mr and Mrs De Lacy, but Sir Roger and Lady Diana. They're good people and ordinary despite everything, Jack had told him time and time again in an attempt, Rory knew, to quell his nerves.
Yes, they were ordinary if ordinary meant living in a grand manor house, holding hereditary titles, and owning most of the village they lived in, plus a dozen others scattered across wild, windswept Dartmoor. Whatever Jack said, no matter how much he played them down, the De Lacys were not ordinary, everyday country folk – especially to somebody who'd grown up with unloving adoptive parents in an ex-council house on the edge of a drab commuter town. And they were especially not ordinary to somebody who'd lived on the streets. Ordinary to Jack, they were just Mum and Dad, but how could they ever be ordinary to him?
Rory had carried out his research, and his stomach had fallen as his anxiety had climbed. The De Lacys were influential. Philanthropists and benefactors, they were friends with the great and the good of the land. Or at least the rich and powerful, but Rory wasn't sure if that made them either great or good. Jack had seen his nerves, had read his rampaging thoughts, and had calmed and reassured him. The calming and reassuring had more often than not taken the form of them getting naked, hot and sweaty, and it had certainly taken Rory's nerves away. Just as it had that morning, before they'd loaded up the car, locked up the flat, and headed west. But that had been earlier and a million years ago.
They'd long since left the motorway and the larger main roads behind them. The four-wheeled drive twisted and turned down small winding country lanes. They passed the occasional car, but they were few and far between as they climbed higher and higher into the Devonshire hills. Spring was late this year, but a sudden burst of warmth and sunshine had woken up the earth, dousing everywhere with brilliant colour as flowers and shrubs blossomed, bright and vibrant against the deep rusty, red soil and the emerald-green grass.
“It's beautiful.” Rory stared out of the window, entranced by the rich landscape. The lush green hills gave way to the rough heathland of the Dartmoor National Park. Huge outcrops of grey, ragged rocks reached up into the clear blue sky. Rory narrowed his eyes, watching what looked like ants crawling over one.
“Rock climbers and abseilers,” Jack said, following Rory's gaze. “This area’s a mecca for it. Never quite understood the appeal, but my sister Caroline’s keen. Shit!” He slammed on the breaks, sending both of them lurching forward.
Filling the windscreen was a tan, hairy face, rubbery lips moving over huge tombstone teeth, as a ragged mane lifted and fell in the breeze. The stocky Dartmoor pony gave them a look of disdain before ambling away to take up a place next to a roadside boulder and applied itself to chomping on the sparse, rough gorse.
“They're everywhere.” Rory looked out at the famous wild moorland ponies, which he'd only ever seen on TV, tough and rugged like the land they lived on. As well as ponies, sheep with ragged, matted wool dotted the moor, every one of them munching on the sparse offering of grass. Rory opened the window and was blasted by the smell of – shit. “Aw.” He wrinkled his nose and brought the window up. “Is that the famous country smell?”
Jack laughed. “Sure is. If you've been brought up breathing in car fumes, country aromas are a bit of a shock to the system. You'll get used to it.”
“Are they really wild, or do they go somewhere at night, for shelter?”
“Yes, they are wild, and no, they don't get herded up at night. And if you're wondering whether you can pet them, the answer's no – and especially at this time of year when there will be young roaming around. The adults are protective and so are liable to become aggressive if anybody gets too close. Come on, not long now.” Jack put the car into gear, and they moved off.
The adults are protective and so are liable to become aggressive if anybody gets too close. . . With his first encounter with Jack's parents looming, Rory hoped those words didn't apply to the human population as he hunkered down in his seat and watched the bleak and beautiful countryside unroll before him.
Bloody hell.
Rory swallowed down the dry, hard lump that lodged in his throat as Jack steered the car through the open wrought-iron gates. They crunched their way along the gravel drive, towards the distant house through an avenue of tall, stately trees. Rory had no idea what trees they were, but they were old and established.
Just like the De Lacy family.
Seeing photos of the house and online was one thing, but looming up ahead of him, solid, grand, and imposing was something else altogether. The soft grey stone house – if it could even be called that – was like somewhere you’d visit on a Sunday afternoon, finishing up in the tea rooms after poking around the souvenir shop and coming away with a De Lacy-themed tea towel. Rory clenched his lower lip between his teeth, willing himself not to explode with hysterical, nervous laughter.
The car drew up at the bottom of a wide set of steps, bracketed on each side with a stone pillar featuring a mythical creature clutching the family coat of arms. A woman emerged through the open wooden double doors and made her steady way down, a Golden Labrador bouncing at her heels. Rory hadn’t even got out of the car, and he wanted to run away. He stole a glance at Jack, who was smiling at the woman who stood waiting on the bottom step.
Too late to turn back. . .
“Here we are. The Manor House. Come and meet my mum.”
I love all kinds of MM romance and gay fiction, but I especially like contemporary stories. Born and raised in London, the city is part of my DNA so I like to set many of my stories in and around present-day London, providing the perfect, metropolitan backdrop to the main action. I write at home, in the gym, in cafés —in fact I write any place I can find a good coffee!
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