Lord Somerton’s Heir

by Alison Stuart

After supper, Fanny claimed Sebastian for a cotillion. In contrast to Isabel’s fragrance of rosemary, Fanny smelt of rosewater and stale perspiration. She nattered brightly about the guests but failed to elicit more than a few polite grunts from him.

  As the dance came to an end, she did not relinquish her hold on him. Her fan fluttered open and she began to fan herself furiously as she leaned against him.

  ‘Oh dear, I feel a little faint,’ she said in a small, tight voice.

  Sebastian refrained from commenting that the second serve of raspberry ice he had seen her consuming might account for her indisposition.

  ‘Please help me, cousin. A little fresh air…’ she said, leading him towards the door.

  He scanned the guests to try and catch the eye of some helpful matron on whom he could foist his fainting burden, but no one seemed to be looking his way.

  ‘The library is closest,’ Fanny said.

  For someone about to swoon, the grip on his arm felt like a vice. As they entered the library, her knees buckled and he caught her dead weight. Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her over to the daybed beneath the window. She groaned and he began to chafe her hand.

  ‘I’ll fetch someone…’ he began as her eyes fluttered opened.

  Her fingers closed over his hand. ‘No, no. Just sit with me. I will be fine presently.’

  ‘Can I fetch you a drink?’ Sebastian made to rise again. He could hear voices in the hall outside the library door.

  Fanny only tightened her grip, pulling him back down beside her.

  ‘Fanny, will you let me go. I will be back presently.’

  ‘Don’t leave me!’ She clutched the sleeve of his jacket as if she was drowning.

  Sebastian looked to the door of the library, wondering how to summon assistance, and was relieved to hear Freddy’s voice saying, ‘And of course, the Somerton library has a famous collection of monographs…’

  Fanny sat bolt upright at the sound of her brother’s voice. Sebastian, half rising, his concentration on the door, had no time to deflect the sudden movement of her left hand. Something sharp raked down his left cheek and, as the door opened, she began to scream, a great rending scream that made his ears ring.

  Sebastian leaped to his feet, staring down at her in horror as she pulled at her hair and her bodice. A woman in the crowd at the door gave a loud exclamation and Sebastian saw, with mounting horror, the tableau Fanny had presented: the screaming, distressed girl with her torn gown and disordered hair and he… His fingers went to his cheek and came away sticky with blood.

  He took a step back from the couch as two women rushed toward Fanny, folding her in their motherly arms. Freddy moved behind the couch, placing a solicitous hand on his sister’s shoulder.

  ‘He…attacked me,’ Fanny said between gulps, pointing an accusing finger at Sebastian.

  ‘I never touched her…’ Sebastian began to say, but his words were drowned out in the clamour of approbation.

  Beyond the crowd, Isabel stood at the door, straight and still. He mouthed her name, but she turned on her heel, her place taken by Matt and Connie. They, in turn, stared at him and at the crowd fussing over Fanny. Matt’s eyes asked the question and Sebastian answered with a look of complete despair.

  ‘Fanny, dear, let these good women take you to your chamber. I will deal with his lordship,’ Freddy said in a loud voice, the last two words heavy with venom.

  Too shocked to move, Sebastian became aware of a flash of scarlet as Harry entered the room. His friend moved to his side, followed by Matt and Connie.

  Fanny, still sobbing hysterically, was helped from the room and the rest of the crowd ushered outside by Freddy. At the door, Freddy turned to look at Sebastian. His gaze rested on Sebastian’s supporters.

  ‘I must speak with Lord Somerton alone,’ he said.

  Harry stepped forward. ‘Whatever you have to say, Lynch, you can say in front of us.’

  ‘Very well.’ Freddy walked back into the room, straightening the ruffles at his wrist with deliberate care. ‘I will say what I have to say. You, sir, have outraged my sister, an innocent girl in your care and protection.’

  ‘I didn’t touch her,’ Sebastian said with gritted teeth.

  ‘Then how do you explain your face? Freddy indicated the cut that dripped blood onto the immaculate white of Sebastian’s stock.

  ‘She had something in her hand,’ Sebastian replied. ‘I would never…’

  Harry cleared his throat. ‘We believe you, Alder, but it doesn’t matter what we think. It is what the world is going to think.’

  Realisation dawned on Sebastian. ‘You mean…?’

  Matt glanced at Harry. ‘The Colonel’s right, Bas. As far as the world is concerned, you have outraged the modesty of an innocent girl.’

  Sebastian turned slowly to face Freddy, the whole staging of the scenario now crystal clear. ‘Innocent? The whole thing was carefully planned, wasn’t it, Freddy?’

  Freddy, still absorbed with his linen, looked up. A muscle twitched in his cheek. ‘My dear Somerton, how dare you make such an accusation. I know only what my eyes told me: my sister, distressed and deshabille, in your company. I expect you to address the situation as a gentleman.’

  Sebastian glared at the man. ‘So tell me, as you have been some weeks in the planning of this, what am I, as a gentleman, expected to do?’

  ‘He means,’ Harry said, his mouth a grim line, ‘that you must marry the chit.’

  ‘Marry her?’ Sebastian turned to his friend, his heart sinking.

  ‘You have ruined my sister’s reputation, Somerton, of course you must marry her,’ Freddy said.

  Sebastian sank down on to the couch. Connie sat down beside him and began dabbing at his ruined cheek with a kerchief supplied by the Colonel.

  ‘Marry her…?’ Sebastian repeated. ‘I would sooner return to the field of Waterloo.’ He looked up at Freddy. ‘You have played me for a fool, Lynch. You and that dimwitted sister of yours were never going to accept any offer of settlement. Nothing less than a title for your dear sister. Isn’t that what you said?’

  Freddy straightened, his fingers going to the pin in his cravat. ‘I can see you are overwrought, Somerton. We will speak in the morning when you have had time to consider your situation. This unfortunate incident has regrettably brought the evening to an end, so I will see to your guests and bid you all a good night.’

  Numb with despair, Sebastian buried his face in his hands as Freddy left the room. Connie slipped her arm around him and laid her face on his shoulder in a comforting gesture he appreciated.

  ‘We believe you, Bas,’ she whispered, her own voice sounding close to tears.

  ‘I should have seen this coming,’ he said at last, shaking his head in despair.

  ‘They seemed so nice,’ Connie said in a wavering voice.

  ‘Looks are deceiving,’ said a voice from the doorway.

  They all looked up to see Isabel standing framed by the light from the hallway. Sebastian rose shakily to his feet.

  ‘Isabel…’

  ‘I suggest we all go to bed,’ Isabel said without meeting Sebastian’s eyes. ‘I will take Fanny with me back to the dower house tonight. In the circumstances, it is hardly proper she stays in this house. Colonel, thank you for your help. I am sure his lordship appreciates your friendship. God knows, he is going to need his friends in the next few days. Good night.’

  She gave Sebastian a last pitying glance and walked away.

  Sebastian sank back on the sofa. Had it only been a few hours earlier when he had kissed Isabel and told her he loved her? Only a few hours since his future had a contained a promise of happiness with a woman he loved by his side?

  ‘Isabel is right,’ Connie said softly. ‘I think we should all go to bed. The world will seem much brighter in the morning.’

  She sounded so like her father that Sebastian gave a bitter laugh. The world would be no brighter in the morning. He would still face the grim prospect of a lifeti
me with Fanny. He wondered if challenging Freddy to a duel would satisfy honour, but it wasn’t Freddy’s honour at stake. It was his, and if he considered himself an honourable man, he had no choice but to marry Fanny. The Lynchs had set a fine trap and he had walked blindly into it.

  ***

  After seeing Fanny settled into the guest chamber, looking for all the world like a well pleased cat, Isabel sought the sanctuary of her own bedchamber. Shutting the door behind her and turning the key in the lock, she took a deep, shuddering breath.

  She gasped as a physical pain gripped her and the breath left her body. Laying a hand against her chest, she put out the other to support herself against the post of her bed.

  This, she told herself, was what people meant when they talked of a broken heart.

  A little voice inside her cried out, He said he loved you.

  And I should have said I loved him, she answered the little voice, but I didn’t, and now it is too late.

  She had allowed herself to hope. For a few fleeting moments she had imagined a life with Sebastian, and it had seemed like a warm sun on the cold barren plain of her life. In her heart she had already shed her widow’s weeds and bought brightly coloured gowns. She would dance with him, feel her hand gripped in his strong hand. They would have been happy here at Brantstone…a brood of strong, handsome children…

  She gave a strangled cry and sank to the floor, leaning her head against her bed and allowing her grief to overwhelm her.

  Chapter 22

  Isabel stood at her window, looking out at the parkland with dulled eyes. The grey fingers of dawn washed the colour from the landscape and a light fog shrouded the trees, matching her mood. She had hardly slept and her future now appeared as grey and bleak as the weather.

  A few deer appeared in silhouette against the grey light of the skyline. They looked up and then started, scattering in all directions as a dark horse, ridden hard, appeared out of the mist. She was not the only early riser.

  Isabel stiffened as the horse came to a halt at the gate to the dower house. She pressed a hand to the cold, unforgiving pane of the window and her breath caught in her throat as Sebastian raised his hand in acknowledgment.

  She turned abruptly and, stopping only to pull on a pair of shoes and an outdoor coat over her nightdress, ran down the stairs and out of the front door, startling the maid who had risen early to set the fires.

  The black horse still stood by the gate but Sebastian had dismounted and waited for her. He put out a hand as she ran toward him. She wanted to throw herself into his arms but the memory of the previous night slowed her footfall. If he touched her she would die. She pulled the coat around her, crossing her arms across her body, and stopped just out of his arm reach.

  His hand dropped and he stood looking at her, his face haggard with exhaustion and strain.

  ‘Isabel, I wanted you to know that I didn’t… They…’

  Her chin came up. ‘I know, but it makes no difference what I may think, Sebastian. They have played you for a fool and you must live with the consequences. If I were you, the wedding should take place as soon as practicable if you are to have any hope of salvaging what is left of your reputation.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn for my reputation,’ he said with ferocity.

  ‘Well you should. What the world thinks of you affects all of us within your sphere, most particularly your sister.’

  His lips tightened and he looked up, over her head. ‘I will find a way out of this.’

  She gave a low, humourless laugh and shook her head. ‘There is no way out. It was cleverly planned and expertly executed.’

  He brought his gaze back down to meet hers. Seeing the naked despair in his eyes, her resolve weakened and she took a faltering step towards him. She caught her breath and straightened her shoulders.

  ‘I know one thing: I cannot remain here,’ she said. ‘As soon as this matter is settled, I will remove myself and go to my friend, Lady Ainslie. She will take me in and we will proceed with our plans…somehow…’ She heard her voice take on a high, almost hysterical note.

  His hands, by his side, clenched and he looked away.

  Every fibre in her being cried out to touch him, to put her hand on his arm, tell him that she was still his friend and she would comfort him. In the darkest hour of the night, she had wondered if she could defy society’s expectations of her and become his mistress, but she knew in her heart that he would not want that. He was a good, honourable man and, once he had made a commitment to another woman, however unwanted, he could never come to her.

  His brown eyes met hers. ‘This is your home, Isabel. I will not let a chit like Fanny drive you from it.’

  She smiled but did not reply. That ‘chit’ had already driven her from the man she loved. She would not stay. She could not. To do so would be to face daily humiliation.

  He turned back toward his horse and leaned his head against the horse’s neck. ‘You must do what you think best,’ he said, his voice heavy with defeat.

  He gathered Pharaoh’s reins in his right hand, swinging himself with ease into the saddle.

  He looked down at her. ‘Just one thing before I go. Do you recall the saddle you gave Anthony?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. I gave it to him for his birthday. I thought…’ She broke off. It had been a peace offering, a thanks for the few happy months they had enjoyed with the new baby. That had been before William’s death.

  ‘When Anthony had his accident, did you give an order for the saddle to be destroyed?’

  She looked up at him and shook her head. ‘No. I didn’t even think of it. Why? What has happened to it?’

  Sebastian shook his head. ‘I’ll explain later. Tell Miss Lynch I will see both her and her brother in the library at noon,’ he said and, without waiting for a reply, he put his heels to the horse.

  Pharaoh, obedient to his touch, sprang away, and she watched man and horse until they rounded the bend in the carriageway that ran between the dower house and the big house.

  She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, feeling that if she didn’t do so, she would shatter into a thousand pieces on the ground.

  ***

  Sebastian stood in the chaff room looking down at the dusty saddle he had laid on the table. He glanced up as the door opened and Thompson walked in. The man’s gaze fell on saddle.

  ‘Where did you find that?’ he asked.

  Sebastian shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. This is the saddle the last Lord Somerton was using the night he died?’

  Thompson crossed to the table and ran a hand across the bow of the saddle with its delicate reproduction of the Somerton arms. ‘Aye. Never seen a saddle like it before or since. His lordship told me it were the best saddle he’d ever used.’

  ‘Who gave the order for it to be destroyed?’

  Thompson frowned. ‘I don’t rightly remember.’

  ‘Think, man!’

  Thompson brightened. ‘Her ladyship.’

  Sebastian’s heart sank but Thompson ran a hand through his thinning hair.

  ‘No, wait. It were Mr Lynch what brought the message. He said her ladyship never wanted to see the saddle again. I told the boy —’ Thompson broke off, his mouth tightening in a grim line. ‘I’ll give him what for when I see him.’

  ‘No,’ Sebastian said. ‘You will not give him what for. What the boy did was to preserve some very important evidence.’ He held up the cut end of the girth. ‘Look closely and tell me what you see.’

  Thompson held up the strap to his eyes. He set it down and looked at Sebastian, the colour draining from his face.

  ‘It’s been cut.’

  Sebastian nodded.

  He could almost see Thompson thinking through the ramifications of the discovery.

  ‘There are stories that Lord Somerton was the father of your daughter’s child,’ Sebastian stated.

  Thompson’s eyebrows shot up. ‘No! I mean…are you saying I did this, my lord? I assure you I checke
d the saddle meself that very afternoon and there was nought wrong with it then.’

  Sebastian shook his head. ‘I’m not saying you are involved, Thompson, but what has struck me is that there are two suspicious deaths here at Brantstone within a short time of each other. Your daughter…and Lord Somerton. Is it possible they are related?’

  Thompson shook his head. ‘It weren’t Lord Somerton who fathered Amy’s bairn.’

  ‘And you know that for certain?’

  Thompson gave a disgusted snort of laughter. ‘A pretty girl like my Amy wasn’t to his lordship’s taste. I came across his lordship when he weren’t but a boy, sportin’ in the hayloft with one of the young footmen from the house. No, it weren’t Lord Somerton.’

  Sebastian looked down at the saddle. Some nagging instinct told him the key to unwinding the tangle lay in this inanimate object. ‘Thompson. I would like you to take this saddle and find a new place to secrete it.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘And replace an old saddle in that chaff bin.’ He pointed to the bin where Peter had kept the saddle hidden.

  Thompson looked mystified but kept his peace. ‘Of course, my lord.’

  ‘One last thing, Thompson. Did you see Lord Somerton’s body?’

  Thompson nodded.

  ‘What were his injuries?’

  ‘His neck was broken. That’d be what killed him, but he also had a broken leg and several smashed ribs.’

  ‘No other wounds?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Like those you saw on your daughter’s body?’

  Thompson’s face darkened. ‘No, my lord. Just a snapped neck.’

  Sebastian sighed. ‘Thank you, Thompson. I’ll leave this with you now. Hide it well and not a word to anyone.’

  Thompson nodded.

  Sebastian walked back to the house, feeling the enormity of his predicament settling on his shoulders like a black carrion bird.

  Chapter 23

  Bragge stood in front of the large table that served as Sebastian’s desk and cleared his throat.

  ‘I don’t think you will like this, my lord,’ he said.