Lord Somerton’s Heir

by Alison Stuart

  He reflected on what she had told him of her life and thought he could understand her a little better now. There had been precious little love or happiness in her privileged life. Far better, he thought, to be the penniless child of a parson and grow up in a happy home full of laughter and music.

  He wanted to support her venture. He admired the idea — if he was honest, he admired Isabel — but he could make no promises until the state of his finances became clearer.

  A lock of hair had come loose and fallen across her face. He leaned across and lifted it, gently tucking it behind her ear. She stirred but did not wake and he let his hand linger just above the soft curve of her cheek.

  She didn’t have Lady Kendall’s striking beauty but there was a soft vulnerability in her oval face that she masked in her waking moments. He sat back in his corner with his arms crossed as he contemplated the sleeping woman. So much hurt and bitterness… His cousin had much to answer for.

  The coach lurched, throwing Isabel from her seat. She gave a sharp cry as Sebastian caught her. He held her for a moment. Beneath his hands, she seemed to have the fragility of a bird. She went rigid and pushed away from him.

  ‘Steady, Lady Somerton,’ he said and, to his surprise, she stilled in his embrace. For a moment she seemed to relax and he took a deep breath, drawing in the essence of rosemary and lavender, a scent so different from Lady Kendall’s exotic perfumes.

  All he needed to do was draw her into his arms and he could kiss her. The thought that he wanted to do just that startled him. The same notion must have occurred to her and she squirmed in his grip. He let her go and she fell back into her own place, righting her skirts and patting her hair back into place with muttered apologies for inconveniencing him. Once more the composed, and distant, Lady Somerton.

  He smiled to himself. For all her outward calm, she sounded breathless and flustered.

  Conscious that he had entertained such surprising thoughts about what he would have liked to do with Lady Somerton, he allowed himself to laugh, hoping it would put her back at her ease. ‘No apology necessary. We should be there soon. We’ve made good time.’

  She looked out into the dark night. ‘What time is it?’

  He shook his head. ‘It must be nearly midnight. I’m sorry. You must be exhausted. I should have let you stop for the night.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not at all. I have slept quite well.’

  ‘I sent a message on ahead at our last stop, so they will be expecting us.’

  The coachman knocked on the roof and Sebastian pulled down the window.

  ‘Village up ahead, sir.’

  He sat back and closed his eyes. He was home.

  Chapter 13

  The coach drew to a shuddering halt and Isabel peered out of the window. It was hard to make out anything except the outline of a small cottage. Lights burned in one of the downstairs windows and, above the front porch, light glimmered between curtains.

  The front door opened and the silhouette of a young man appeared on the threshold. He reached behind him for a lantern, which he held up, illuminating his face. He stared at the magnificent coach with undisguised awe.

  ‘Matt!’

  Without waiting for the footman, Sebastian flung open the door of the coach, jumped down and raced toward the door like a schoolboy.

  The two men met on the garden path and embraced.

  Remembering Isabel, Sebastian turned as the coachman handed her down from the coach. With one arm across his brother’s shoulder, he guided the young man forward.

  ‘Lady Somerton, allow me to present my brother, Matthew Alder.’

  Matthew bowed low over Isabel’s hand. ‘Welcome to Little Benning, Lady Somerton. I only wish it was in better circumstances.’

  He smiled at her and she found herself unable to resist a smile in response. Even in the light of the lantern, she could see he was a good looking young man, half a head shorter than his brother, his hair a few shades lighter. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his mouth seemed to be lifted in a permanent smile. If he had not already broken every heart in this village, he soon would.

  ‘How is Connie?’ Sebastian asked.

  The humour drained from Matt’s face and he shook his head. ‘The doctor’s bled her again this evening but he says if the fever does not break by the morning…’ He trailed off.

  ‘Then let me see her.’ Isabel began walking down the path, removing her gloves.

  At the door, an elderly dame who wore the cap and apron of a servant met them. The woman bobbed a curtsey, holding out her hand for Isabel’s hat, cloak and gloves.

  ‘Lady Somerton, this is Mrs Mead, our housekeeper,’ Matthew affected the introduction.

  ‘Lady Somerton?’ The old woman turned to Sebastian, her expression one of surprise and disapproval.

  ‘The widowed Lady Somerton.’ Isabel made the correction herself.

  Mrs Mead cast a confused glance at Sebastian who ducked his head to enter the cottage. He bent to kiss the woman.

  ‘Mrs Mead, as I asked in my message, did you arrange the best room for Lady Somerton at the White Swan?’ he asked.

  Isabel turned to him with the unspoken question on her lips.

  ‘There’s no room here and you must be exhausted after the journey,’ Sebastian said spreading his hand apologetically.

  ‘I told you, I am not tired and I would rather stay here.’

  ‘She can have my room. I’ll share with you, Bas,’ Matthew said.

  ‘You will be more comfortable at the Swan,’ Sebastian protested.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Alder, your room will do me fine. I will be more use here than living in splendour at the inn.’

  ‘You haven’t seen the White Swan,’ Matt murmured under his breath.

  ‘But, my lady, it is hardly proper for you to stay here,’ Mrs Mead began. ‘We live very simply.’

  ‘Mrs Mead, I am here to help, not to be entertained. Now, I know Lord Somerton would like to see his sister.’

  ‘Help? What help is a fine lady like her going to be?’ Isabel heard the old lady whisper to Matthew as they climbed the narrow stairs to the upper storey of the cottage.

  Four doors led off the tiny landing. The unmistakable fug of a sickroom permeated the close atmosphere as Sebastian opened one of the doors, again ducking his head to enter the room.

  A fire burned fiercely in the hearth, making the room unbearably warm. In the bed, obscured by the piles of bedding, a young woman tossed feverishly. She had thrown the bedding off and Mrs Mead, following behind, pulled it up again.

  ‘Doctor said she had to be kept warm,’ the old woman said.

  ‘Fiddlesticks!’ Isabel said.

  The old woman looked up, shock on her face. Isabel met her gaze and continued, ‘Damp that fire immediately and open the windows.’

  Mrs Mead looked to Sebastian. He locked Isabel with a look and raised his eyebrows. She returned his gaze with unblinking evenness, willing him to trust her.

  He turned to Mrs Mead. ‘Please do as her ladyship has asked, Mrs Mead. Her methods are unorthodox but they seem to work.’

  Isabel met his eyes and he gave her a wink. Her heart lurched. Did he remember that night in London when she had nursed him through his fever’s crisis?

  The old woman gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘The doctor said…’

  Isabel bit back a retort about the wisdom of the doctor and said, ‘Please, Mrs Mead. I have some knowledge in these matters.’ She glanced at Matt. ‘Mister Alder, can you fetch me a bowl of water? Cold from a well, if possible. And some cloths.’

  She flung back the curtains and shutters and opened the windows, filling the room with the cool, night air. The girl on the bed took a shuddering breath and her eyes flickered open.

  Sebastian perched on the edge of the bed, taking one of her hands in his.

  ‘Connie. I’m here,’ he whispered.

  ‘Bas?’ The girl turned bleary eyes to the sound of his voice.

  ‘I came as soo
n as I heard you were ill.’

  ‘Don’t leave.’ Her voice cracked and she flung her head to one side, again lost in delirium.

  Sebastian did not relinquish her hand as Isabel rolled her sleeves up and began folding back the voluminous bedding, ignoring the squeak of alarm from the housekeeper.

  She picked up Connie’s free hand, running her fingers lightly over the bandaged wrists. Spots of blood marred the white sheets.

  She looked up at Sebastian. ‘Little wonder she’s so weak.’

  ‘Of course she’s been bled. Doctor’s been every day,’ Mrs Mead’s voice quavered.

  Matthew appeared at Isabel’s elbow with a large basin of water.

  ‘Straight from the well, as you ordered.’

  ‘Set it on the nightstand.’ Isabel dipped one of the cloths Matthew had also brought with him into the water and began to sponge the girl’s face and hands.

  ‘Oh, you’ll kill her,’ Mrs Mead said at last, wringing her hands together. ‘’Tis well known the fever must be sweated out of her. The doctor was most insistent…’

  Sebastian looked up. ‘I don’t recall Dr Neville being an advocate of bleeding. In fact, I seem to remember his thoughts about the treatment of fever were much the same as Lady Somerton’s.’

  ‘Dr Neville is no longer with us,’ Mrs Mead said. ‘He has moved to Chester. We have Dr Llewellyn now.’

  Sebastian rose to his feet. ‘Then I will send the coach to Chester for Neville in the morning.’

  ‘Cap’n Alder, you can’t…’ Mrs Mead began and then broke off in the realisation that he could, and he would.

  Isabel looked up and laid a hand on the old woman’s arm. ‘The fever will kill her if she is layered up with so much heat. In the place where I was born, the slaves taught me that, to bring a fever down, you must keep the patient cool. Mrs Mead, can you take a cloth and help me to sponge her down? I’m sorry, Lord Somerton, but could I ask you to leave?’

  Sebastian rose to his feet and, with a last glance at them both from the door, he left the room, pushing his brother before him. The two women worked on the girl and beneath their gentle hands, Connie fretted and shivered in the soon sodden, blood specked sheets.

  ***

  Isabel and Mrs Mead sat with Connie through the night, taking it in turns to bathe her with cold water. As the first grey streaks of dawn began to lighten the sky, they ceased their ministrations.

  Mrs Mead changed the girl’s sheets and nightdress and, as she pulled the bedding up, she looked at Isabel, her face puckered with concern.

  ‘My lady, I’m sure you mean well, but it don’t seem to have made a blind bit of difference.’

  For the first time, a qualm of fear at her reckless disregard of the doctor’s instructions shook Isabel. She looked down at the girl who had fallen into a fitful sleep and forced a wan smile. ‘It’s a new day and she is still alive, Mrs Mead. That is as much as we can hope for.’

  Mrs Mead’s lip trembled. ‘I ‘ope you’re right, my lady.’ She stooped and stroked Connie’s face. ‘She’s as dear to me as my own darling could be. It would break my heart to lose her. Now you must be all done in after travelling all day and then sitting up all night. The bed’s made up next door. Go and get some rest…my lady.’ Two spots of colour appeared in her wan cheeks as she remembered this woman’s status.

  Isabel fell exhausted into the bed and woke around midday to the clattering of pans downstairs. She washed and dressed in a clean gown and made her way down the narrow uneven stairs to the kitchen.

  To her surprise, she found Sebastian in his shirtsleeves with no neckcloth, apparently engaged in preparing a meal. Seeing her, he reached for his jacket, pulling it on.

  ‘Please excuse my state of undress,’ he said.

  She shook her head and it was on her lips to remark that she had seen him in a greater state of undress on at least two occasions, but refrained.

  He clattered around the kitchen with a confident familiarity, setting out a rough lunch of soup, cheese and bread.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s such plain fare,’ he said with a smile, the lines in the corners of his eyes crinkling. Despite the circumstances that had led to them being in Little Benning, for the first time in their acquaintance, he seemed relaxed and confident in his humble surroundings.

  Isabel shook her head. ‘It’s perfect. Where’s Mrs Mead?’

  ‘Still sitting with Connie. Now you’re up, I will send her to her bed.’ He waved a hand at the table. ‘Please help yourself. There is no one here to serve you.’

  Her stomach growled and she tucked in gratefully to the simple fare.

  ‘And how is Connie?’ Isabel found herself unconsciously using the girl’s diminutive name.

  Sebastian shrugged. ‘I sat with her a little this morning. She was sleeping.’ He sighed and she caught the shadow of a rueful smile. ‘She’s still with us and that’s what’s important.’

  ‘And Matthew?’ she asked, looking around the room.

  ‘He teaches at the Grammar School and he felt he would be more help out of the way.’

  As he spoke, Mrs Mead appeared at the doorway. She looked drained and grey with exhaustion, but there was defiance in the set of her jaw as she said, ‘Just so you both know, I’ve sent for Dr Llewellyn.’

  Sebastian’s dark eyebrows drew together and in a low, controlled voice he said, ‘Dr Neville will be here in a few hours, Mrs Mead. There is no need to trouble Llewellyn.’

  Even as he spoke, a knocking at the door announced the arrival of the doctor. He bustled into the house, his ancient wig askew and traces of gravy still at the corner of his lips. Without waiting for introduction to the two new members of the household, he hurried upstairs complaining about being interrupted in the middle of his dinner.

  In the doorway, he stopped and turned to the crowd on the landing who had followed him up. He waved a hand at the dampened fire, the billowing curtains and light covering over his patient and his face grew purple with anger.

  ‘What is the meaning of this, Mrs Mead?’ he thundered, rounding on the housekeeper. ‘My every instruction has been wantonly disobeyed. If my patient has died then on your head be it.’

  ‘How dare you speak to my housekeeper in that tone.’

  At the sound of Sebastian’s low voice, the doctor turned to face the tall soldier.

  ‘And who, sir, are you? Are you a doctor of medicine?’

  ‘I am Lord Somerton, Miss Alder’s brother,’ Sebastian replied.

  The man’s face dropped and he took a step back into the room. ‘Lord Somerton? My apologies, sir.’ He bowed in a servile manner.

  Sebastian’s lip curled and he said in a tone of voice that dripped ice, ‘As you are here, doctor. You may as well see to your patient.’

  ‘Bas?’ The ruckus had woken Connie, who looked around at the assembled crowd with hazy, puzzled eyes.

  The doctor listened to Connie’s breathing, took her pulse, and pronounced, with some obvious displeasure, that the danger appeared to have passed. Isabel, standing behind Sebastian, allowed herself a smile of satisfaction.

  ‘I will, of course, bleed her,’ the doctor announced, reaching for his bag.

  At this, Sebastian rose to his full height, towering over the little man and narrowly avoiding hitting his head on a beam.

  ‘You will not lay another finger on her, you old charlatan. Now, out of my house.’

  ‘Well, really!’ The doctor began to protest but his voice trailed off at the sight of Sebastian’s thunderous eyebrows.

  Sebastian followed the man down and slammed the door behind him. Isabel heard him stomping back up the stairs two at a time.

  ‘Thank god he wasn’t here six years ago, or I would be dead,’ he said as he re-entered the room, clenching and unclenching his hands.

  Sebastian sat down beside the bed and picked up Connie’s hand, raising it to his lips. It looked small and frail in his big, scarred hand.

  Connie turned her head on the pillow.

 
; At the sight of her brother, she smiled. ‘It is you! I thought it was a dream. What are you doing here?’

  His fingers tightened on the girl’s hand. ‘Mrs Mead said I was allowed to sit with you and hold your hand. She also said I could adjust your pillows, offer you a drink of water or read to you.’

  ‘Did she? Well, I would like a drink of water,’ Connie whispered, her gaze not moving from her brother’s face.

  He smiled and pressed her delicate hand to his lips. Isabel was left with the suspicion that a secret joke had passed between them.

  ‘Let me help you,’ Sebastian rose to his feet and took the cup Isabel poured. He raised Connie’s shoulders and the girl drank thirstily.

  ‘Now then,’ Mrs Mead said, taking charge, ‘you leave Miss Connie to me and both of you go and get yourselves some rest.’

  ‘It’s you who should rest,’ Isabel said.

  Mrs Mead shook her head. ‘I’ll take to my bed this evening, my lady. For now, leave my girl with me.’

  She shooed them both from the sick room and shut the door behind her. In the confines of the tiny landing, Sebastian loomed over Isabel.

  He took her hand and, even in the gloom, she sensed his gaze on her face, but could not bring herself to look into his eyes.

  ‘How do I thank you? You saved my life and now Connie’s. That is two debts I can’t hope to repay,’ he said. ‘I won’t forget what you did for me in London.’

  Isabel bit her lip and looked down at the polished oak floor. ‘I didn’t think you knew that I had…’

  ‘Sat with me?’

  He placed a hand on either side of her face and raised her face to look at him, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

  ‘I don’t, but Bennet told me. I do remember your kindness to me then and I will remember your work today, Isabel.’

  No one ever called her by her given name. She liked the way it sounded when he spoke it.

  He let his hands drop and took a step back. ‘Would you care for a walk, Lady Somerton? Little Benning is hardly London, but I feel the need for some fresh air.’

  Chapter 14

  On her way to fetch her bonnet, Isabel glanced into the sick room. Seeing Sebastian’s anxious face, she smiled at him as she came back down the stairs.