Lord Somerton's Heir (8 page)

‘They’ll be wondering where I am,’ he said. ‘I must go. We will…we must…you must…’ He struggled to find some words to say that he wanted them to come to the Hall, to visit, to live, to be with him. They were his real family. Not outsiders like Fanny and Freddy.

Cissy put a hand on his sleeve. ‘All in good time, my lord. We’re content, more so for knowing you are here. You will bring Matthew and Constance to see us, when they arrive?’

‘Of course, and I will visit again.’

‘Where’s Sebastian this morning?’ Fanny enquired as Isabel sat down at the table for breakfast.

Isabel raised an eyebrow at Fanny’s peremptory tone and the familiar use of Lord Somerton’s forename. ‘While it is no business of yours,
Lord
Somerton is probably feeling the effect of the long journey and, if he has any sense, he will spend a few days resting and recuperating.’

The door burst open and Sebastian strode in. His appearance caused even Freddy to lay down the broadsheet he had been reading.

Isabel took a breath. Far from resembling the languishing invalid whose portrait she had just painted, Sebastian had a good colour in his unshaven face. It didn’t look as if a comb had seen his hair and he wore his shirt open at the neck with no neckcloth, under a long, green coat. In this dishevelled state he exuded energy. In their short acquaintance, she hadn’t seen him looking so — she struggled for a word — alive.

‘Breakfast?’ Fanny enquired, staring at this apparition.

Sebastian glanced at the groaning board. ‘Er, no. I’ve already eaten. I was looking for the London broadsheets. Parker said they had arrived. Ah…you have them, Lynch.’

Freddy folded the papers and, as he handed them over, he remarked, ‘My dear fellow, you haven’t been out looking like that?’

Sebastian looked down at his ensemble. ‘Looking like what?’

‘My dear Somerton. Unshaven…no neck cloth.’ Freddy’s mouth formed a moue of disapproval.

‘I’ve been for a walk. I didn’t intend on social calling but, as it happened, I had a long talk to Wilkins the publican, and I met my aunt and grandmother.’ He glanced at Isabel. ‘A delightful surprise. And as every woman in the village seemed intent on fattening me up, I have no room for anything more to eat. No thank you, Johnson,’ Sebastian waved aside the footman with a proffered dish of kidneys.

Freddy’s knife clattered on the plate and he glanced at Isabel. Isabel read the horror in his eyes. One
never
acknowledged a servant by name. She picked up her napkin and dabbed at her lips to hide the smile.

As Sebastian turned to leave the room, Freddy straightened in his chair. ‘You’re probably unaware, Somerton, that now you have arrived at Brantstone there will be a veritable parade of the county notables all leaving their card for you. The local mamas will be simply dying to introduce you to their darling daughters.’

Sebastian looked back at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He means you are the most eligible male in the county,’ Fanny said, turning her blue eyes on him. ‘That is why this ball is so important. We have to launch you properly into society and find you a suitable bride.’ She smiled.

‘As you said you didn’t dance, I have arranged for Monsieur Fromard to attend on you tomorrow morning,’ Freddy said.

Sebastian’s mouth tightened but he responded pleasantly enough. ‘And what does Monsieur Fromard do?’

Freddy shot him a frosty look. ‘Dancing and deportment, dear fellow.’

Sebastian drew himself up to his full, formidable height. ‘I am an officer of the Duke of Wellington and quite well schooled in all the usual dances one would expect at such an occasion, but let’s get one thing quite clear, Lynch: I don’t dance.’ His tone dripped ice.

‘Oh, were you at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball on the eve of Waterloo?’ Fanny clapped her hands together.

‘A mere captain of the line?’ Sebastian gave her a withering glance.

‘But you’re Lord Somerton. How rude of the Duchess.’

Isabel looked at Fanny with amazement. ‘Fanny, neither Sebastian nor the Duchess were acquainted with his antecedents.’

Sebastian cast Fanny a look of sheer exasperation. ‘Miss Lynch,’ he said, employing a tone of polite patience and resorting to the ‘bad leg’ excuse. ‘Have you not noticed that I walk with a limp? A French musket ball ended my dancing career. Trust me, whatever my inclination towards a cotillion, I make a most difficult dance partner. I therefore choose not to dance on these occasions.’

‘Cousin Sebastian,’ Fanny adopted a wheedling tone, ‘how do you hope to find an eligible young lady if you cannot dance? There are expectations…’

Sebastian stalked towards the door. With one hand on the doorknob, he turned and said. ‘There may well be expectations from every mother with an eligible daughter in the county, but I’m not some prize steed and I am not, I repeat,
not
in the marriage market!’ On the last he opened the door. ‘Now please excuse me, Lady Somerton, Miss Lynch, Mr Lynch.’

Fanny stared at the door as it shut behind him with a firm bang. ‘Well, really!’ she said in a huffy tone.

‘No breeding,’ Freddy said, primping the corners of his mouth with his napkin. ‘What can you expect? Can you imagine Anthony strolling around the village looking like a veritable ruffian, hobnobbing with the tenants? Oh, my dear Lady Somerton, what have you brought home?’

Freddy rose to his feet and huffed out of the room.

‘Am I disturbing you?’

Sebastian looked over the top of the broadsheet as Freddy slid into the chair across from him, a slim leather volume held in his hand.

His jaw tightened with annoyance. He had sought out the library in the hope of finding a quiet corner. For a house this size, it seemed remarkably busy. The walls of this fine room, with a magnificently painted ceiling sporting nymphs and cupids, were lined with high, heavy bookcases, filled with an impressive array of leather-bound books, and seemed to provide a sanctuary of male solidity.

‘Are you a reader of the poets, sir?’ Freddy enquired, with a slight curl of his lip as if he anticipated the answer.

‘I rather enjoy Lord Byron, but I find Shelley a bit flowery for my taste. I prefer the older poets such as Donne,’ Sebastian said, retreating back behind his paper.

Freddy cleared his throat. ‘Well, cousin, it is encouraging to know we share something in common.’

The possessive use of the familiar ‘cousin’ had begun to grate on Sebastian’s nerves. His fingers tightened on the edges of the broadsheet.

‘I understand from Lady Somerton that we are not blood relatives,’ he said, without lowering his paper.

‘Well not
blood
relatives, dear chap, but surely cousins by marriage?’

Sebastian folded his paper and set it down on the table beside him. ‘I wouldn’t presume upon a relationship that does not exist in law.’

‘Presume? Oh, my dear chap, I presume nothing. Fan and I are just your humble servants.’ Freddy looked down at the quizzing glass that hung from his neck, produced a kerchief and began polishing it. ‘Fact is, we have nowhere else to go. If it were not for dear Anthony’s kindness, we would be on the street. My late father left me with debts, dear chap. Debts! With poor Anthony now gone, we will, of course, make other arrangements, but I do crave a little leniency to allow us time to find suitable alternate accommodation.’

Sebastian considered the man. He could not, in good conscience or Christian charity, throw them both out if they had nowhere else to go, and maybe some sort of settlement would be required.

‘Of course. You are welcome to stay for as long as it takes,’ he said without much warmth.

‘Oh, you are too kind. You have my assurance that we will be gone as soon as is possible.’ Freddy folded his hands across the front of his waistcoat and smiled expectantly.

When Sebastian resumed his reading of the broadsheet and did not initiate any further conversation, Freddy said, ‘I suppose you are one of those chaps who spends his time hunting and shooting?’

‘I was brought up in the country. I both hunt and shoot but I can’t say they are my favourite occupation.’

Spent too many years hunting and shooting French
, he thought.

‘Cousin Anthony’s stable was judged one of the finest in the county,’ Freddy continued and Sebastian felt obliged to lower his paper and give him his attention. ‘Knew his horseflesh, did Anthony.’ He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner and said in a lowered voice. ‘Pity he was a little less choosy about his wife.’

Sebastian bristled and the paper crackled in his hand. ‘I will not have Lady Somerton spoken of in that way.’

Freddy’s eyes widened and he held up a deprecatory hand. ‘Lady Somerton is a fine woman but not…Anthony’s sort. He liked his women with a bit more spirit in ‘em. They weren’t exactly what you might call a match made in heaven and, to be honest, would you take with a woman who dresses like such a dowd? I mean, my dear, the child’s been dead well over a year and dear cousin Anthony nearly as long.’

The child again
.

‘So tell me, Lynch, why did my cousin marry her?’ Sebastian asked, curiosity finally overcoming his better judgment.

Freddy laughed. ‘My dear chap, only one reason a fellow like Anthony would marry a woman like Isabel: money. She was an heiress. If he hadn’t married her, he’d have lost Brantstone. Just like my late, unlamented father did our estate,’ he concluded with ill-disguised bitterness.

‘I see,’ said Sebastian.

So the fine horses in the stable, which he was yet to inspect, and the elegant surroundings were courtesy of Isabel, and what had Anthony left her? A ‘comfortable jointure and use of the dower house’. It seemed like a poor exchange and now even that had gone.

‘What do you know of Anthony’s death?’ he enquired.

‘It was an accident,’ Freddy said with an expressive lift of his eyebrows. ‘Just between us chaps, Cousin Anthony was on his way home from visiting a certain lady. My guess is that he’d fuelled himself on a bit too much of the good lady’s late husband’s wine stock. Took a gate and came off. Snapped his neck. They found him in the morning, cold and stiff.’

‘So was Anthony unfaithful?’

Freddy looked genuinely startled. ‘I suppose…yes, of course he was. Got no comfort at home, if you know what I mean. Told you he liked the company of women with a bit of spirit to ‘em.’

Sebastian looked past Freddy, gazing out of the window. He tried to imagine Isabel’s lot in life, tied to a man who apparently had only married her for her money, preferring the company of light skirts. Their only child dead before his first birthday. No wonder she sought the peace and serenity of the dower house. Brantstone Hall could hold precious few happy memories for her.

Sebastian sat back in his chair and contemplated the elegant fop sitting across from him.

‘Forgive my curiosity, Lynch, but can you be a little more specific about your relationship to my cousin?’

Freddy blinked. ‘Have I been remiss in not informing you of my antecedents? Why my mother was second cousin to dear Anthony’s mother.‘

Sebastian found the relationship somewhat remote. ‘And how exactly did you come to be here at Brantstone?’

Freddy rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘My father was the very worst of gamblers. He lost everything on horses and then took his own life, leaving poor Fan and I quite on our own in the world. Dear Anthony offered us shelter and comfort when we needed it most. He promised,
promised
, to leave us provided for in his will, but, as you know, there was no such provision for us and the estate devolved to you.’ He paused, his fingers playing with the ribbon of his quizzing glass. ‘What a happy day that must have been for you, Sebastian.’

Sebastian regarded Freddy from over his steepled fingers.

He sighed. ‘Look, Lynch. Whatever my cousin’s intention towards you and your sister, I am conscious that I cannot, in all conscience, disregard an obligation, but until I can liquidate some more assets and have a better idea of the extent of the estate, I cannot make you any promises.’

Freddy fanned himself with his hand, an oddly irritating and effeminate gesture that Sebastian had noticed before.

‘That is very kind of you, and more than we deserve. Now we are friends again, perhaps I can divert you with a small game of cards?’

Sebastian rose to his feet. ‘You must excuse me, Lynch, but I am a little weary after my walk this morning.’

He shut the library door with a deep, thankful breath. He could have sworn the man was doused in some sort of fragrance. If Freddy haunted the library, he would have to find another room in the house to call his own.

As he passed the blue parlour he peered in through the half open door. Isabel sat at a desk, pen in hand. He knocked and entered.

She looked up and smiled. She seemed to be unbending a little in his presence and the smile softened her features.

‘Can I help you, my lord?’

Remembering the talk with his grandmother, his gaze swept the walls of the parlour. ‘One day you need to take me through the rogues’ gallery,’ he said.

Isabel smiled. ‘Well there are a couple of rogues here in this room that you may be quite interested in.’ She rose to her feet and walked over to a medium-sized portrait of two young men in powdered wigs lounging under a stylised oak tree. A dog and a hunting rifle completed the picture.

‘The younger man is your father,’ she said, ‘and the older his brother, George, Anthony’s father.’

Sebastian joined her, staring at the first likeness of his father he had ever seen.

‘Everyone I met this morning says I look like my father,’ he said. ‘I can’t see it myself.’

‘You’re at least ten years older than the James in the picture but, yes,’ Isabel considered him, ‘there is a strong resemblance.’

‘What about Anthony? Is there any likeness of him in the house?’

Isabel’s chest rose as she seemed to take a deep breath. ‘I have a small picture painted last year,’ she said. ‘Do you want to see it?’

He nodded. ‘It helps to be able to put a face to a name. I’m not good at just names.’

‘Wait here. I will fetch it.’