Lord Somerton's Heir (15 page)

‘Your mail, my lord.’ A footman with a silver salver bearing a number of slim, cream coloured packages appeared at Sebastian’s elbow. Sebastian took the letters and the proffered letter opener and sifted through the missives.

‘My brother,’ he said, selecting one and consigning the rest to the table.

He slid the knife beneath the seal and opened it with a smile. However, as he read through the note, his brow darkened.

‘Is something amiss in Little Benning?’ Isabel enquired.

Sebastian ran his hand through his damp hair, making it stick up on end, and rose to his feet with such speed that his chair toppled backwards, skilfully retrieved by Johnson before it hit the floor.

‘I have to go home,’ he said.

‘Home?’ Fanny asked, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Cheshire.’ Sebastian looked at Isabel. ‘My sister has been taken ill and is in a high fever. Baker —’ he addressed one of the other footmen who visibly jumped.

Isabel had noticed that he had made it his business to learn the name of all the household staff and made sure he addressed them properly. As this was unheard of in his cousin’s time, it was little wonder that the poor staff looked startled when his lordship spoke to them.

‘My lord?’

‘Take a message to Thompson that I want Pharaoh saddled and ready within the hour.’

He turned and strode out of the room. Isabel rose quickly and caught up with him in the front hall. She interposed herself between him and the stairs, standing on the second step to bring herself level with him.

‘You cannot possibly consider riding Pharaoh to Cheshire,’ she said.

‘Indeed I can. Please stand aside, Lady Somerton.’ He placed a foot on the first step meaning to go around her but she responded by laying her hand on his chest.

‘You are barely out of your own sick bed,’ she said.

Sebastian stepped back. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, if you ride hell for leather to your sister’s bedside today you will be more likely to end up tearing your wound open again and risking a fever. Let me order the coach for you.’

‘The coach,’ he repeated and ran a hand across his eyes. ‘I forgot that I own a coach.’

‘I shall order it to be brought around to the front door in an hour. That will give me enough time to pack a few things myself,’ Isabel continued.

He frowned up at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I shall accompany you.’

Sebastian stared at her. ‘That is very kind, Lady Somerton, but really there is no need.’

‘There is a young girl who needs a…’ she paused, struggling for a word, ‘a friend.’

‘I assure you, she is well cared for. My housekeeper, Mrs Mead —’

‘Can hardly manage a household and a sick girl, Lord Somerton. Trust me, I have some experience in these matters. I will be of more use to you there than here,’ she said in a voice that, she hoped, brooked no opposition.

Chapter 12

As the coach rolled out of Brantstone’s great gates, Isabel looked across at Sebastian, slumped in the diagonal corner, resting his head on his hand as he stared out of the window, his concern for his sister written in the downward turn of his mouth and the furrowed brow.

So long used to concealing all emotion, a forgotten place in her heart stirred and she reached out and laid her hand over his. ‘Sebastian,’ she said, using his first name without conscious thought, ‘we will be there by the morning. There is nothing you can do for her and worrying won’t help.’

He made no effort to withdraw his hand. ‘I should have been there…I shouldn’t have left them…I should have brought them with me.’ The words, heavy with responsibility and guilt, rolled out.

She tightened her fingers around his. ‘You did exactly the right thing. Even if you had been there, your presence would not have stopped Constance taking ill. It is probably nothing more than a fever. It will pass and you can bring them back to Brantstone with you when she is strong enough.’

He looked up at her, his face contorted with distress. ‘They are the world to me, Isabel. My mother passed away when Connie was born and my stepfather when they were still young. I am all they have and I have been neglectful of my duties to them.’

She smiled, trying to instil some confidence in him. ‘No brother could have done more. I look forward to meeting them.’

He looked down at her hand and his fingers tightened on hers. ‘Thank you for coming. You are a good friend, Lady Somerton — Isabel.’

Even through the soft kid of her gloves, she could feel the strength in his fingers. Her breath quickened as his gaze met hers and she pulled her hand back as if she had been burnt. What was this man doing to her? She didn’t understand the way he made her feel.

Sebastian returned to his contemplation of the passing countryside and Isabel rested her hands in her lap, watching him. On one hand, it pleased her to be thought of as his friend but, somewhere deep inside, did she seek more than friendship? Is that why she had offered to come with him? A selfish opportunity to spend time alone with him, away from the many eyes at Brantstone? She glanced down at her hands, twisting them together in her lap, appalled by motives that she had not consciously considered.

No, she told herself. Her concern was for Constance. If she had a motive it was purely selfish. She needed to ensure Sebastian’s sister was well and capable of taking on the responsibility of the house.

Bringing Constance to Brantstone had to be achieved before she would be free of the last of her duties.

She glanced back at Sebastian, seeing his profile framed against the window of the coach. The unmistakable line of the Somerton nose, turned up slightly at the end, the high cheekbones and strong mouth.

When had it all gone wrong? She knew the answer to that: the day she had fallen in love with a tall, elegant aristocrat by the name of Anthony Kingsley, Lord Somerton. Her uncle had tried to warn her but she would not hear a word against him. Anthony had offered for her, her aunt approved, and her uncle could only agree. Like the smuggled romances she had read at school, she would marry Anthony and live happily ever after. It had not occurred to her that the only attraction the handsome Lord Somerton saw in her was a substantial dowry.

She closed her eyes, suppressing the sob that rose in her chest. No, she did not need any complication in her life. She did not need to be hurt by another man.

‘Do you have any siblings, Isabel?’ Sebastian’s voice jerked her out of her reverie.

She shook her head. ‘No. At least none that survived their infancy. The climate in the West Indies is unforgiving for the weak.’

He straightened. ‘The West Indies? Were you born there?’

‘Yes. My father made his fortune in sugar. I was born in Jamaica. A tropical fever carried both my parents off when I was nine and I was brought home to England to be brought up by my aunt and uncle.’

‘Where?’

‘Near Manchester. My uncle was a mill owner.’

‘And were they kind to you, your aunt and uncle?’

For a moment she didn’t answer — couldn’t answer. Memories of the beatings and the dark cupboard under the servant’s stairs where she had been confined for real and imagined infractions against the iron rule of her aunt still haunted her nightmares.

‘They were childless.’ She swallowed. ‘My uncle was kind but my aunt had her own ideas about how to bring up a child. When I was not at school I helped with the local charities she supported. I suppose I should be grateful to her. Through that work I saw how bleak the life of the working women could be.’ She bit her tongue before she added. ‘Any woman’s life.’

He studied her face for a moment.

‘And how did you come to marry Anthony?’

She looked away. He may as well know the truth. ‘My aunt sent me to London for a season and we were introduced. I imagined myself in love with him.’ Madly, deeply, wildly in love. She had begged her uncle to permit the marriage. ‘Anthony needed an heiress and he got what he wanted: a wealthy wife with a good dowry.’

‘And you?’

‘I escaped my aunt’s cold house for a gilded cage of another making.’

She turned to look at him again and, seeing the undisguised shock in his face, she said with a bitter laugh, ‘That is how it is done, Lord Somerton, and if you have any sense you will do something similar. Find yourself a wealthy wife and restore the fortune of the Somertons. I think I know you well enough to know you will not squander the windfall the way Anthony did.’ She could hear the acrimony in her voice even as she spoke but seemed powerless to prevent it.

He frowned, his gaze burning into hers through the gloom of the carriage as he said, ‘When I wed, Lady Somerton, it will not be for the sake of a convenient business arrangement.’

‘Then you are a romantic, Sebastian.’

Once she had been a romantic. At the school for young ladies she had been sent to, like the other girls, she had sighed over distant, unattainable young men and buried her nose in unsuitable novels but, after a few months of marriage, she had turned her thoughts to loftier ideals. If there was nothing to be done about her marriage, perhaps in some small way she could help other women.

Now she sat in a coach with a man who professed that he would only wed for love and wondered what real love was. How did it feel? How did you know when you were in love? She knew it had not been the breathtaking desperation she had felt when the young and devilishly handsome Anthony Kingsley sauntered into a room.

Had it been the happiness she had known in those months after William’s birth when Anthony had sloughed off his veneer of callousness and indifference and had been attentive to her every wish? There had been no visits to London. He had stayed at Brantstone. They had laughed together and, once again, her heart lifted when he walked into the room.

William’s death had ended all of that. When she had needed him the most he had withdrawn from her, retreated to London and his old life. On the few occasions he had returned to Brantstone, the visits were marked with deliberate cruelty and long visits to Lady Kendall.

‘Isabel?’ Sebastian’s voice jerked her out of her maudlin reverie. ‘You look sad.’

She gave a nervous laugh. ‘I was just thinking that love did not help your parents, Lord Somerton. Your father disinherited, and your mother cast out of her family.’

He rested a long finger against his cheek and leaned on his hand. ‘I cannot answer for my parents, Lady Somerton, but my mother found both love and happiness with the Reverend Alder. That was the pattern of my childhood and that is all I ask for my children. To be brought up with two parents who both love and respect each other.’

‘You ask a lot, Sebastian.’ Isabel heard the bitterness in her voice and shook her head. ‘In my experience romantic love is a foolish concept.’

He tilted his head to one side. ‘My cousin has a great deal to answer for, Isabel, to have left you so wounded and bitter.’

Was it so obvious?

She straightened her shoulders and shrugged. ‘No, Sebastian, you’re wrong. I have a title and status in society, even if I have no money to my name. As for love, I’ve nothing to compare. Even when they lived, my own parents spent little time in my company. In Jamaica I was raised by the slaves and then an aunt and uncle who kept their distance. That was my lot in life and I accepted it. Had Anthony not died when he did, I would have endured.’

‘Endured? Endured is what I did on the Peninsula, Lady Somerton. It is not my idea of marriage.’

‘It is marriage in our class. And it is as well you learn that now or you will find yourself equally as cynical before long.’

His mouth tightened. ‘If that is indeed what I am to expect, it is a bleak outlook and it is as well that I was not raised of your class. I do know what it is to love and be loved. My wife —’ His voice caught and he looked away.

Her breath caught at his words and she looked up at him, remembering his fevered cry for Inez.

‘She died.’ He said in a clipped tone that brooked no further discussion.

‘I’m sorry.’ It seemed an inadequate response.

He took a deep breath. ‘It was a long time ago.’

She let the silence stretch between them, wondering if he would venture any further information, but he remained staring out of the window.

‘Whatever the price I paid for love, Lord Somerton, I have paid my dues,’ she ventured. ‘Anthony is dead and, whatever you may think, legally I am now free to do as I wish.’

He shifted, bringing his gaze back to her and relaxing a little as he leaned back against the plush upholstery. He crossed his arms and stretched out his long legs. Her gaze rested momentarily on the strong, well-muscled leg that now intruded on her space.

He regarded her for a long moment before he asked. ‘And what is it you wish to do now you have earned your freedom, Lady Somerton?’

She took a breath. ‘I know my jointure is gone but I intend to continue with my plans for the charity school.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘And how will you finance it?’

‘My friend, Lady Ainslie, has a modest income, so I cannot ask her for money but I have thought about it and I believe if I start a school in the dower house…’

He sat up straight. ‘Start a school in the dower house? What sort of school?’

‘A school for young ladies. Daughters of men who can afford to pay for the things that a lady of quality can give them.’

‘So you intend to live out your life playing governess to the bored, indolent daughters of the aristocracy? Hardly worthy of you, Isabel.’

She flushed. ‘No! But as I no longer have an independent income of my own, it is a means to an end.’

He leaned back against the dark blue velvet of the coach seat. ‘And you think the fees from a school at Brantstone will accomplish this?’

‘If I live simply, then yes. Lady Ainslie is, like me, a widow. We have been planning this venture since we were schoolgirls ourselves.’

‘No,’ he said.

She sat bolt upright. ‘No? What do you mean, no?’

‘While you may live in the dower house for as long as you wish, I cannot allow you to turn it into a school.’

Heat rose to her face. ‘How else am I to raise the funds for my charity school? Would you have me hire out my services as a companion for young ladies wishing to enter society? For that is my only alternative. There are those who seek out impoverished titled ladies to ensure their darlings meet just the right man.’