Lord Somerton's Heir (6 page)

They both returned his horrified look with hopeful smiles.

‘If you think that it is an appropriate way for me to start this new role, then so be it. But don’t expect me to dance, Miss Lynch.’

Fanny blinked. ‘Not dance? But why ever not, cousin Sebastian? Oh dear, do you have a bad leg? Remember, Freddy, poor Miles Otterley could not dance because he had a French musket ball lodged in his knee.’

‘Oh yes, poor fellow, walked with a dreadful limp,’ her brother concurred.

Sebastian opened his mouth to protest that, while he did have a ‘bad leg’, he had his own reasons for not dancing that had nothing to do with a French musket ball, but Isabel cut across him with a comment about the weather.

Isabel glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece and across at the new Lord Somerton, noticing the pinched look around his nose and mouth. An hour with the Lynchs when fully fit would be an ordeal. Now he just looked exhausted.

She rose to her feet, prompting the two men to stand.

‘If you wish, Lord Somerton, allow me to show you the house,’ she suggested.

He reached for the ebony cane. ‘I think, Lady Somerton, that can wait. For now I would be thankful for the opportunity to rest before supper.’

‘Of course. I will show you to your rooms.’

He turned at the door and inclined his head. ‘Mister Lynch, Miss Lynch.’

As they made their way up the stairs, Sebastian asked, ‘Forgive me asking, Lady Somerton, but who exactly are those people?’

A fair question, Isabel considered. ‘They are cousins of Anthony’s on his mother’s side, so no blood kin of yours.’ She turned to look at him. ‘You owe them no obligation at all. Anthony found them in straightened circumstances about a year ago and they have lived here on his grace and favour ever since.’

‘Did he make no allowance for them in his will?’

‘No,’ she said shortly.

‘What am I expected to do with them?’

They had reached the top of the stairs. Isabel turned to look at him. ‘It is not for me to say. You are Lord Somerton. It is your decision as to whether you throw them out or make some sort of settlement on them.’

He stared back at her. ‘Throw them out? I can hardly do that, Lady Somerton.’

Isabel swallowed the scathing retort that rose in her throat. They had been uninvited guests in this house long enough. Freddy was quite capable of making his own way in the world but chose not to. As for Fanny, lack of a respectable dowry, or indeed any dowry, lessened her attractions on the marriage market. She was reaching an age when she could be considered unmarriageable and should be grateful for any offer she received, but Freddy seemed set on a ‘good’ marriage for his sister and had resisted suggestions of suitable husbands for Fanny. ‘
Nothing less than a title, my dear Lady Somerton,’
he had said. ‘
It’s what she deserves
.’

She changed the subject. ‘When your sister arrives, you will have a lady to grace your table, Lord Somerton. It is my hope that the work on the dower house will be complete and I will take my leave of you then.’

Before he could respond, she threw open the door of the bedchamber. Sebastian stood in the doorway and looked around the magnificent room that occupied the end of the west wing of the house, running the full depth of the building.

He leaned on the cane with both hands and shook his head. ‘I swear, Lady Somerton, the entire contents of my cottage would be lost in this room.’

‘It is a little ostentatious,’ Isabel agreed.

A huge four-poster bed, draped with green silk hangings, dominated the room, which had been decorated with green silk wallpaper to match the bed hangings. Sebastian reached out to trace the design of herons that fluttered across the pale fabric.

‘Of course you may decorate to your own taste, my lord,’ Isabel said.

He turned and gave her a half smile. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’

A discreet cough came from behind them. Both Sebastian and Isabel turned.

‘My lord, welcome to Brantstone Hall,’ said a ponderous voice.

‘And you are?’ Sebastian enquired.

‘Pierce, my lord. I am your lordship’s valet. I apologize for not being downstairs to greet you. I was detained in ensuring all was in readiness for you.’

‘Valet?’ Sebastian glanced at Isabel.

•’Ere, what about me?‘ Bennet had appeared in the doorway, carrying Sebastian’s battered campaign trunk. ‘He don’t need a valet. I’ve been his batman these fifteen years past.’

‘And I have been valet to the last two Lord Somertons.’ Pierce looked down his nose at the interloper into his kingdom.

Sebastian turned to Isabel and she read the look of mute appeal in his eyes. ‘I think for the moment — Pierce, Bennet — we should all leave Lord Somerton to get some rest. And might I suggest, Pierce, that his lordship takes supper in his rooms tonight?’

‘Very good, m’lady. I shall tell the kitchen.’ Pierce bowed and made off at a stately pace.

Isabel excused herself and closed the door behind her.

Returning to the parlour, she found Freddy and Fanny engaged in a game of Piquet. Freddy suggested a game of Pope Joan, but she declined, picking up her embroidery frame.

‘Oh, my dear Isabel,’ Freddy said, without moving his eyes from his cards, ‘we will have our work cut out with our new Lord Somerton.’

Isabel looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘My dear, the way he talks. And his clothes! He has no idea, does he?’

Isabel stiffened. ‘I think he will soon adapt, Freddy, and if I may make an observation, I do not think he will take kindly to any instruction from you.’

Freddy swivelled on his chair to look at her. He placed a hand on his chest. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He is no kin of yours, Freddy. You would be advised to start looking to your own future.’

‘Oh, he wouldn’t throw us out, would he?’ Fanny declared, her blue eyes wide.

Isabel stabbed the needle into the cloth. ‘It is not for me to say what Lord Somerton will do.’

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the quick look that passed between the siblings. Was it fear?

Obadiah Bennet took the cup proffered by Mrs Fletcher, the housekeeper, and stretched out his legs. He had been invited to take a chair beside the fire, which burned for the unseasonable cool of the evening, and to take tea with Mrs Fletcher and Mr Pierce.

It had not taken batman and valet long to settle their differences. At the age of seventy-five, Pierce told Bennet he would be pleased to teach the younger man the fine art of being a ‘gentleman’s gentleman’ and Bennet had agreed with alacrity. He had his fill of soldiering and the new turn of events gave him great hope for a comfortable future. No more flea-ridden billets and starvation rations. A comfy bed and three meals a day for the rest of his life. Bennet was a truly happy man.

‘That’s a fine cuppa,’ Bennet told the housekeeper, who acknowledged the praise with a small bob of her head.

‘It is just a relief to have Lord Somerton here at last, isn’t it, Mr Pierce?’ she said. ‘He seems like a steady sort of man.’ She leaned forward. ‘So tell me, Mr Bennet, is he a single gentleman?’

Bennet hesitated. ‘He is, Mrs Fletcher.’

‘Oh, but he’s a fine looking man,’ she persisted. ‘Surely there’s been a woman in his life?’

Before Bennet could respond, Pierce cleared his throat. ‘My dear Bennet, you hear and see things as valet. The first lesson is: discretion.’ He tapped his nose. ‘One does not question or gossip about one’s master.’

‘Of course,’ Bennet agreed. The terrible fate of Mrs Alder, as he liked to think of her, was no one’s business but his Captain’s, and he, Bennet, would carry it to his grave. Mrs Fletcher sat back in her chair, clearly disappointed.

‘The late Lord Somerton was not easy,’ she said with a heavy sigh. ‘Never knew his comings and goings.’

‘Not an ‘appy man,’ Pierce conceded, apparently contravening his own first rule. ‘Lovely wife, estates, money and still not ‘appy.’ He shrugged.

‘It was the child’s death,’ Mrs Fletcher said.

Bennet pricked up his ears. ‘Child?’

Mrs Fletcher sighed. ‘Aye, such a bonny boy he was too. Nursemaid found him dead in his cradle just over a year ago. Broke her ladyship’s heart. She’s worn mourning ever since. And then his lordship going only a few months later. That’s enough sadness for anybody to have in their life.’

Bennet, born in the slums of London, had seen too many children die to take anything more than a pragmatic view of such events.

‘Drove his lordship back to his wicked ways in London,’ Pierce said with a shake of his head.

‘Still, he didn’t deserve to die the way he did.’ Mrs Fletcher took a delicate sip of her tea.

‘’Ow did he die?’ Bennet enquired.

‘It was a riding accident. The girth on his saddle snapped, or so I was told. He broke his neck in the fall and they found him cold and dead in the morning,’ Mrs Fletcher said. ‘Of course, what he was doing out at that hour of the night, and visiting a lady no less…’

‘A lady?’

Mrs Fletcher’s lips tightened. ‘That Lady Kendall. Three husbands she’s had they do say.’ Her lips pursed. ‘For all her fine ways, she isn’t any better than she ought to be.’

‘Now, now, Mrs Fletcher. That’s enough,’ Mr Pierce chided.

The door of the servant’s hall opened and a man and a woman entered. The staff around Bennet immediately stiffened. The man, a big fellow with a round, unformed face like a bowl of dough, looked at Bennet. His companion, a young woman with a crooked eye, gave him a humourless smile.

‘This ‘ere must be the new Lord’s man,’ she said.

Bennet stood up and held out his hand. ‘Bennet, pleased to meet you…’

Neither the man nor the woman moved or responded.

‘This is Mr Jenkins and his sister, Sally,’ Mrs Fletcher said. ‘They serve Mr and Miss Lynch.’

The man grunted something unintelligible, jerked his head at his sister and turned away, his sister following. As the door shut behind them again, Bennet subsided back on to his seat.

‘Strange cove,’ he commented.

‘Mute,’ Pierce said. ‘He had his tongue cut out. Don’t know what for but it’s a horrible sight. You don’t want to annoy him.’

‘So who are these Lynchs?’ Bennet asked.

Mrs Fletcher shrugged. ‘Cousins of the late lord. Came here as guests about a year ago and have never left.’

Bennet jerked his head at the door. ‘And did those two come with them?’

Mrs Fletcher nodded. ‘God knows who is paying them. The Lynchs don’t have a penny between them but the Jenkins are nothing if not loyal.’ She straightened. ‘Another cup of tea, Mr Bennet? And can I tempt you to a slice of cake?’

Chapter 5

True to his soldier’s habit, Sebastian woke with the first light of day. He rose feeling stiff from the long coach ride, but otherwise better than he had felt in weeks. He knew Bennet would be firmly of the opinion that he should rest, but if he had to endure being cooped up in his bedchamber for any longer he would start looking for someone to kill, beginning with Bennet.

He dressed himself, not bothering with a neck cloth, pulled on his old boots and, feeling like a fifteen-year-old playing truant from school, tiptoed out of his room and down the back stairs.

He passed the kitchens, which were a hive of activity, unnoticed and escaped into the cool, clear air of what promised to be a beautiful summer day. Swinging the ebony cane, he took a deep, grateful breath and set out down the long, winding driveway, scattering sheep as he walked past the gatehouse and the magnificent gates, surmounted with the now familiar Somerton crest. He paused to greet the gatekeeper, introduced himself to the astonished man and his wife, and asked the direction to the village.

A few hundred yards past the gate, he entered the village of Brantstone. Life had begun to stir and he stopped at the inn. The publican, whom he interrupted rolling empty wine barrels out of the front door, introduced himself as Wilkins.

‘My lord, ‘tis early, but will you step into the parlour for some breakfast?’ the man said.

Sebastian knew he probably should have refused but the smell of frying bacon wafted out into the street.

Wilkins preceded him into the cool interior with a bellow of ‘Mrs Wilkins! Put on some extra bacon. We’ve a guest.’

A red-faced woman poked her head out of the kitchen. ‘Good mornin’, sir,’ she said. ‘’Tis early for a traveller.’

Sebastian opened his mouth to introduce himself but Wilkins was ahead of him.

‘This ain’t no traveller, Martha. This ‘eres the new lord.’

The woman dropped into a hasty curtsey. ‘Oh sir, I should have known. One look at you and I could sees you’re a Somerton. Well you take a seat in the parlour and I’ll bring you a breakfast to remember.’

Sebastian ducked his head to enter the parlour, his heels ringing on the spotless flagstones. Wilkins pulled out a chair at the table and Mrs Wilkins appeared almost immediately with a pot of small ale in one hand and a heaped plate in the other.

‘You won’t get better up at the Hall,’ she said. ‘We heard how as you was wounded at Waterloo, and may I say you still look a might peaky. A good breakfast’ll set you straight for the day.’

Sebastian tucked in with relish. He indicated for Wilkins to sit with him while he ate and the publican complied.

‘Tell me about the village,’ Sebastian asked.

‘Depends what you want to know, sir,’ Wilkins responded.

‘Mr Bragge has given me the formal facts and figures but I want to know about the people.’

He wanted to know about their lives, their children, their concerns, and who better to inform him than the landlord of the pub? Wilkins seemed happy to comply and chattered on while Sebastian ate his meal.

As Sebastian mopped his plate with a hunk of still warm bread, the landlord leaned back in his chair.

‘Ah, ‘twas a sad business with his late lordship. I was in the search party that found him.’

‘Tell me where the accident happened.’

‘His lordship was want to take a shortcut across the fields. He’d done it a hundred times afore.’

‘I heard the girth broke.’