She glanced up at him and said with absolute honesty, ‘Pure self interest, Lord Somerton.’
Back in the house she waited until Bennet had taken his master up to the bedchamber. Removing her gloves and bonnet, she handed them to Lucy and turned for the stairs. She looked up at the elegant curve of the balustrade and smiled.
Once Sebastian Alder was safely installed at Brantstone she would be free.
It was all she could do not to bound up the stairs two at a time, while a voice in her head whispered, ‘Free! Free!’
***
Sebastian stood at the window, his hands behind his back, looking down into the bustling London street. A blackened chimney sweep passed the time of day with a butcher’s boy towing a cart of bloodied packages. Two drunken soldiers lurched past, their arms around each other’s shoulders, dark bottles clutched in their hands. Sebastian recognised the facings of their uniforms.
Veterans of Waterloo, he thought grimly. Soon they would be put out on to half pay, probably forced to beg for a living. There were some grim times coming for England’s heroes.
A coach stood at the front of the house, the Somerton arms emblazoned on the door. As he watched, Lady Somerton descended the front steps with a quick, firm step, a black feather in her bonnet waving jauntily, at odds with the deep mourning she affected. She handed the bandbox she carried to her maid and allowed one of the footmen to help her into the coach.
Intriguing woman, Sebastian thought, and, as if he had called out to her, she glanced up. She must have seen him at the window and, while her gaze held his for a moment, she did not in any other way acknowledge his presence.
With her departure he felt oddly cast adrift, as if she had been the one familiar person anchoring him to this strange new life; a life that was proving to be even stranger than he could have imagined, if there was truth in what the lawyer in the room behind him was saying.
The man’s nasal voice ceased and he heard the Somerton man of business, Bragge, clear his throat. Sebastian turned around in time to see a quick, nervous glance pass between the two men.
‘I blame myself,’ Bragge said. ‘His late lordship was not disposed to confide in me. I had no idea that he had…’ The man swallowed, wiping his upper lip with a large kerchief. ‘If I had known… The damage to the estate should have been more readily ascertainable.’
Sebastian regarded the man with cold eyes. Bragge had brought with him a complete accounting of the Somerton inheritance.
What inheritance? Sebastian had thought with mounting anger as Bragge and the lawyer laid the full extent of his cousin’s inept management out for him.
It had all gone, expended on clothes and horses and who knew what else besides. There were large, unexplained monthly payments, which Bragge suggested were probably gambling debts and a foolish investment some two years earlier in a gold mine in Guinea on the basis of a prospectus issued by a group calling themselves The Golden Adventurers Club. It was this last bit of idiocy that had taken every penny, including, it seemed, Isabel’s jointure. Brantstone and the London house were mortgaged.
Any man of business worth his pay should have known to the penny the extent of his master’s debts at any given time, regardless of other concerns. Sebastian regarded the man without sympathy. If he had been his quartermaster, Bragge would have been flogged. As it was, he may well find himself looking for a new employer before this day was out.
‘Does Lady Somerton know that her jointure is gone?’ he enquired.
Bragge shook his head. ‘No, my lord.’
Sebastian thought of Isabel’s shining eyes as she had spoken of her school. How long had she been nurturing this dream? How was he to tell her that all her dreams were dashed because her foolish husband had squandered her money? Her money.
‘How did he get his hands on the jointure?’ Sebastian demanded of the lawyer.
The man swallowed. ‘It seems he forged her ladyship’s signature on the documents.’
Reprehensible, Sebastian thought, if not criminal.
The more he learned of his cousin, the less he liked him. But Anthony was dead and, for some perverse reason, it had fallen to him to clean up the mess.
‘Recrimination is not going to restore the fortunes of this estate. I suggest that, for the moment, we do not burden Lady Somerton with this news,’ he said, suddenly desperately tired. The sheer effort of trying to digest the figures laid out before him had been exhausting.
Bragge looked at him. ‘She should be told, sir.’
‘In time,’ snapped Sebastian.
Sebastian dismissed the man, unflogged and with his employment still intact, and sat down at the desk. He turned back to the neat rows of figures, trying to find some reason for hope.
Somehow, the money needed to be found to reimburse Isabel her lost income, but after a while he shut the books and leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers together as he concluded that the Somerton inheritance was a tainted privilege.
In some ways he was no better off than he would have been if he had remained a penniless officer of the line on half pay. At least then he only had his siblings and himself to worry about. Now he had a household and an estate, all claiming pennies from a purse that looked decidedly the worse for wear.
Where had it all gone and how, in God’s name, was he expected to restore the family fortunes? If his cousin had walked into the room at that point, Sebastian may well have had to be constrained from breaking the man’s neck himself.
Chapter 4
Sebastian waited with impatience until the footmen had set down the steps of the coach before descending. He knew this moment would set the tone for whatever his life would be from now on and if he exited the Somerton coach without a proper degree of dignity all respect would be lost.
The soles of his new boots crunched on the fine gravel. He looked up at the Palladian mansion that soared above him and hoped his face did not betray the apprehension he felt. From the coach box he heard Bennet’s muttered ‘Cor blimey’ and smiled.
Lady Somerton waited on the top step, her hands clasped in front of her severe black skirt, her hair concealed within a cap of the type his mother had once favoured. She looked as cold and forbidding as the tall columns that flanked the portico. However, as he approached, a smile twitched at the corners of her lips.
‘Welcome to Brantstone, Lord Somerton,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Lady Somerton,’ he replied with an answering smile.
He leaned heavily on the ebony cane to catch his breath. He probably should have remained in London for another week as the doctor advised but he was anxious to pick up the reins of his new life.
‘Allow me to introduce you to the staff.’ Lady Somerton said. She stood back and followed him into the house.
The circular front hall of the house in London was only an echo of this magnificent entranceway. The entire staff of the house encircled the room — everyone from the steward and the housekeeper to the lowliest kitchen hand had been assembled to meet their new master.
A young girl stepped forward with a posy of flowers, which she presented to him with a shy curtsey. Sebastian stooped to the girl’s level. He took the flowers and asked the girl’s name.
‘Matilda, my lord,’ she said in a small voice, her wide, surprised eyes meeting his as if she couldn’t believe he would deign to address her.
‘Where do you work?’ He asked.
‘In’t kitchen, m’lord.’
‘Thank you, Matilda.’ He straightened and smiled at the child.
He went around the circle, making a point of greeting each and every staff member, asking their name and position and hoping he would remember. He had always made it a point to know the name of every man in his company and he did not consider a household staff much different. He had thought the matter through in the tedious hours in the coach and decided that if he thought of the task ahead as being akin to a sudden promotion to Colonel of a regiment, it did not seem so daunting.
The greetings done, the staff dispersed, leaving only the housekeeper, introduced as Mrs Fletcher, and a footman who helped him off with his travelling coat and new hat.
‘Would you care to take a cup of tea?’ Lady Somerton enquired, indicating a door to her left.
Sebastian thought longingly of a comfortable bed and a tankard of beer. Instead, he ignored his body’s protests and mustered a smile. A tankard of beer would probably be thought indelicate and rest could wait. He had dispatched Bennet to the bookshops of London to seek out some books of instruction in etiquette and these he had found most instructive.
‘Thank you, Lady Somerton.’
Despite the books, he had so much to learn, he reflected as he followed her across the black and white tiles towards a heavy door.
He was not a complete stranger to the ways of the upper echelons of society. As the Reverend Alder’s eldest son he had been a frequent visitor to the ‘big house’ at Little Benning, being deemed a suitable companion to Sir Richard’s sickly son.
The boy had not lived to adulthood and, to ease his grief perhaps, Sir Richard had been kind to the young Sebastian, even purchasing his commission as an Ensign. But Sir Richard, too, had followed his son to the grave and with him went his patronage. From that moment, Sebastian had been on his own.
The old, rambling home of a baronet bore no comparison to this mansion. Money and plenty of it had built Brantstone. He wondered what nefarious practices his forebears had indulged in to allow the purchase of such an ostentatious building.
The footman opened the door and he stepped into a pleasant parlour, the windows hung with blue velvet curtains. As he crossed the threshold, a young man, who had been sitting on a well-upholstered chair, sprang to his feet. A heavy lock of fair hair fell across his face in his haste and he brushed it back with a delicate hand as he advanced to greet Sebastian.
‘Lord Somerton…cousin…if I might make so bold.’ He thrust out a hand. ‘Welcome, welcome, welcome.’
In the face of this effusive greeting, and more out of reflex than politeness, Sebastian took the proffered hand and shook it.
‘Thank you, er…’ He glanced at Isabel.
‘My apologies, Lord Somerton. I did mention Mister Lynch and his sister who are guests here at Brantstone,’ she said.
‘Frederick Lynch, your servant, sir.’ The young man bowed. ‘And may I present my sister, Frances. But please, as we are kin, Fanny and Freddy to your lordship.’
A young woman, who had been reclining on a brocaded day bed rose to her feet and curtsied, holding out her hand.
Two eyes the colour of cornflowers looked up at him from a small, peaked face framed by ringlets the same shade as her brother’s hair. He could not take his eyes off the rosebud mouth, which his brother officers would have described as ‘eminently kissable’.
‘Please sit,’ Lady Somerton said, indicating a chair. ‘I will pour tea.’ As she handed Sebastian a bowl and saucer, she said, ‘As I explained to you in London, Mister and Miss Lynch are cousins of my late husband.’
The two Lynchs smiled at Sebastian. Frederick was one of those young men with ‘classical’ looks who could be any age — high cheekbones and dark, soulful eyes with a full, soft mouth and a receding chin. Sebastian had seen his sort in the army, generally the younger sons of the aristocracy with purchased commissions and no idea of how to lead men. More at home in a drawing room than a battlefield, they generally died in their first action.
Fanny took a sip of tea. ‘Cousin Sebastian, I do hope you are recovered from your terrible wound.’
Sebastian made the mistake of looking at her and, once again, found himself drowning in a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen.
‘Er, yes, thank you,’ he stuttered.
‘We’ve been simply dying to meet you ever since we received word of your existence and then dear Isabel saw your name in the casualty lists and went flying off to London,’ Fanny continued, apparently oblivious of the effect she was having on him. ‘It’s just been too, too exciting. Now here you are.’
‘Excellent,’ Freddy put in for good measure. ‘We despaired of ever finding an heir, didn’t we, cousin Isabel?’
Sebastian glanced at Isabel. Her face, as appeared to be her custom, betrayed little, and he wondered if she kept everything so tightly contained that one day it would just burst from her.
‘We did indeed,’ she agreed, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a sip. As she set it back in the saucer she said, ‘Tell me, Lord Somerton, what did your brother and sister make of the news?’
‘I don’t think they believe me. My sister’s letter was almost unintelligible.’
He smiled at the memory of Connie’s reply to his letter. It had been filled with scratching out and exclamation marks.
‘Oh, you’ve a brother and sister?’ Fanny declared. ‘How marvellous. Are they Kingsleys too?’
‘No. They are my half siblings. My brother, Matthew, teaches at the local grammar school and my sister, Constance, is something of an artist.’
Fanny blinked. ‘They work?’
The comment brought Sebastian up with a jolt. Of course they worked. His Captain’s pay alone was barely enough to support them. As soon as Matt had been old enough, he had taken a teaching post at the village school. Any thought of Oxford had been out of the question. Connie’s choice of profession had been her own. She had told him in no uncertain terms that she wished to contribute to the household and her considerable artistic talent would be otherwise wasted. For someone so young she had already garnered several lucrative commissions.
‘When will they be arriving?’ Isabel cut in before Sebastian could respond.
Sebastian’s gaze drifted to the window and the wide expanse of parkland beyond. His land, he presumed.
‘I thought it best to wait a little while. At least until I’ve found my feet.’
Fanny gave a small cry of distress, her hand flying to a well-endowed bosom that threatened at any moment to burst free of the low cut neckline of her dress. ‘Oh, but you simply can’t leave them to moulder in some dreary little corner. You must bring them to Brantstone.’
She reached across and took her brother’s hand, looking up at him with a fond smile. ‘Freddy and I have been talking and we think you should hold a ball.’
‘A ball?’ Isabel set her cup down, the cup rattling in the saucer.
‘Oh! With your agreement of course, cousin Isabel,’ Fanny said. ‘Any earlier would have been quite improper, but you did say you would be moving to the dower house as soon as the new Lord Somerton was installed.’
‘The dower house is not quite ready,’ Isabel said. She paused and glanced at Sebastian, ‘Although for once I must agree with you, Freddy. I think a ball would be an excellent idea.’
Fanny clasped her hands together. ‘Oh, dear Isabel, I’m so glad you are in agreement. Freddy and I have it all planned. The neighbours must be simply dying to meet the new Lord Somerton and what better way than a ball?’
Sebastian glanced at Isabel, looking for rescue, but he seemed to be on his own. ‘I’m not sure a ball —’ he began.
‘Somerton,’ Freddy broke in. ‘What better way to launch you into society than a ball at Brantstone? It will be the talk of the county.’
‘I don’t need to be launched into society —’ Sebastian began to say, but Fanny had already moved ahead.
‘Freddy and I are set on the first week in September. Aren’t we, Freddy?’
‘Absolutely,’ Freddy concurred.
Sebastian cast another desperate look at Isabel. This time she returned a sympathetic smile.
‘That’s only six weeks, Fanny,’ Isabel observed.
‘Plenty of time. Please don’t concern yourself, Lady Somerton. I know you will be quite busy enough with the dower house. Freddy and I are happy to organize it all and it will be marvellous to be of some use.’ Fanny shot Sebastian a smile of such incredible sweetness that his opposition to the very idea of a ball melted. ‘And of
course, Lord Somerton, your brother and sister will be here by then. It will be a wonderful welcome to them and set you up in fine form for the season. You can’t say no, dear cousin Sebastian.’
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.’
Lord Somerton’s Heir Page 4