‘He was, and I could do with his wise counsel now.‘
They had reached the village and a sizeable crowd, all dressed in their Sunday best, gathered at the door of the Church.
‘I see the church attracts quite a congregation.’ Sebastian straightened, his hand going to the knot of his cravat.
‘I don’t think the Reverend Dunn can claim any credit, my lord. You are the attraction today,’ Isabel observed.
They encountered Sebastian’s Aunt Cissy at the lychgate. Seeing Sebastian, she coloured and dropped into a wobbly curtsey. Sebastian tipped his hat.
‘Good morning, Aunt. How is your mother today?’
‘She is too frail to attend the service anymore,’ Cissy said. ‘The Reverend will call in later.’
Sebastian held out his arm. ‘May I escort you into church?’
Cissy’s eyes widened and darted to the right and left. The colour in her cheek deepened.
‘Oh, Lord Somerton,’ she whispered.
‘I insist,’ he said.
Cissy took his arm. Isabel put her hand to her mouth to conceal the smile that crept onto her lips as Cissy’s social elevation provoked a murmuring from the gathering crowd.
As they walked up the path towards the door of the church, Sebastian tipped his hat in response to the greetings, the rustle of petticoats from the curtseying ladies accompanying their progress into the church.
‘The Somerton pew is at the front,’ Isabel whispered, indicating the pew at the left hand side of the church aisle, beneath the pulpit.
‘After you, Lady Somerton,’ Sebastian smiled, removing his hat. ‘Aunt…’
‘Oh, my lord, I can’t,’ Cissy whispered, her fingers plucking at his sleeve. ‘Not the lord’s pew.’
‘Of course you can. You are my family and this is my family pew,’ he hissed back.
Isabel knelt in prayer as Cissy entered the pew.
‘Beg pardon, my lady,’ Cissy said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but his lordship insisted.’
‘Of course, I don’t mind,’ Isabel responded, making room for the older woman.
A rustle stirred the congregation and Isabel glanced around to see the cause of the disquiet. She caught her breath as a woman wearing a fashionable dress and pelisse of Sherwood green with a matching green hat topped with a jaunty feather walked confidently down the aisle to take her place in the pew across from the Somerton pew. As she seated herself, the woman glanced sideways, catching Sebastian’s eye, and inclined her head, causing the curls of chestnut hair that clustered beneath the bonnet to bounce.
Sebastian acknowledged her with an inclination of his head and the woman’s glance moved to Isabel. Isabel acknowledged the brusque nod of the head.
‘Who is that?’ Isabel heard Sebastian whisper to his aunt.
‘That’s Lady Kendall,’ Cissy replied. ‘We don’t often see her in church. She lives at Fairchild Hall about two miles over toward Grantham.’
Isabel looked down at the prayer book in her hand and drew a steadying breath. Nobody present could be under any illusion as to what had drawn Lady Kendall to the service of Divine Worship and it had nothing to do with God or Reverend Dunn’s sermon.
The Reverend, pink with pleasure, publicly acknowledged Sebastian’s presence, welcoming him to the parish.
Isabel cast a glance at Sebastian. He sat quite still, his back arrow straight, his profile carved from the same stone as those of his ancestors, whose tombs filled the corners of the old church. He looked as if he had been born to the role. The weight of the expectations that pressed in on him did not seem to bother him in the least, but she suspected that the still waters that were Sebastian Alder ran very deep.
Isabel bowed her head and said her familiar silent prayer for the soul of her dead child.
***
With his eyes firmly fixed on the fine window above the alter showing the crucified Christ, Sebastian let the familiar words of the Morning Prayer pass over him. Just like the manner of his arrival at the Hall this morning would set the tone for his stewardship of the Somerton Estate. Everything he did or said would be noted, dissected and conclusions drawn about him that would be hard to erase.
His common upbringing could either serve to set him apart or give him empathy with his tenants and neighbours. His fingers tightened on the prayer book as he willed his stepfather to send him some sort of divine guidance as to how he should act. In the absence of inspiration, he fell back on what he knew best. He straightened his shoulders and assumed the countenance of a man about to do battle.
As the sermon dragged on, he tried not to steal a glance at Lady Kendall. In just the quick greeting across the aisle, her face masked by the veil, he could never the less see that she had smiled at him, her head tilted to one side, her lips slightly parted. In that brief encounter, he could sense the powerful attraction of this woman who wasn’t ‘any better than she should have been’, as Bennet, relating his conversations from below stairs, had described her.
He looked forward to meeting Harry’s wayward older sister, Georgiana. There had been many a night in Spain when Harry had read of his sister’s antics in back copies of London gossip sheets. His brother officers had chivvied him and demanded introductions. Had someone said she had been through three husbands? A shiver ran down his spine.
They rose for the last hymn and he could hear Lady Kendall’s clear, rich soprano rising into the ancient beams of the church. As soon as the service ended he had every intention of making himself better acquainted with the mysterious, and possibly scandalous, Lady Kendall. The thought caused the blood in his pulse to quicken.
Everyone, it seemed, had cause to linger after the service and, as Sebastian emerged with his aunt on his arm, a noticeable flutter seemed to go around the small groups gathered around the graves. Even he could see there seemed to be a veritable bevy of pretty young ladies of good standing anxious to make his acquaintance.
He looked to Isabel to effect the introductions.
Only as the woman in green approached did Isabel stiffen, drawing back a little, but there could be no escape from Lady Kendall. The woman Anthony had spent his last evening with curtsied and pushed back the veil from her hat.
Sebastian drew a quick breath. The fleeting glimpse in the church did not disappoint. High cheekbones, large, green eyes and full, red lips that invited a kiss.
He cast a quick glance at Isabel in her dowdy clothes and unflattering black bonnet and felt a tinge of guilt. The serene, oval face did not betray her emotions but in the circumstances she must find such encounters difficult.
‘Lady Somerton.’ Lady Kendall acknowledged Isabel with a quick bob. ‘How do you do on this beautiful morning?’
‘Lord Somerton,’ Isabel said with absolute politesse, ‘allow me to present Lady Kendall.’
‘Welcome to Brantstone, my lord.’ Lady Kendall curtsied. Her voice had a deep, husky tone that reminded Sebastian of warm honey.
He bowed over the proffered hand. ‘Lady Kendall. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
As he straightened, she smiled at him with her head tilted as she had done before. He could not help but notice her eyes were the colour of emeralds. Like the jewel they resembled, they glittered.
‘The parish is simply dying to make your acquaintance,’ she said in a lowered tone. ‘Your coming has been anticipated for some time.’
‘Well I hope the reality does not disappoint,’ Sebastian managed.
‘Not at all. Harry has been telling me all about you. If you would walk me to my carriage? I cannot think what has delayed my brother. He promised to accompany me today.’
Ignoring Isabel, Lady Kendall tucked a small, gloved hand into his arm and looked up at him. At this close proximity, he breathed in a heady, exotic scent redolent of spices and roses. As she had already begun to propel him down the path, he could only offer a short apology to Isabel and the others.
‘Indeed,’ Lady Kendall said as soon as they were out of earshot, ‘I am sure you are eve
rything the mothers of the county would wish for.’
‘And what is that?’ Sebastian asked.
‘A title, a fortune and unwed,’ Lady Kendall replied.
Sebastian gave a snort of laughter. If only they knew how illusory the ‘fortune’ had proved to be.
‘You know you are very like your cousin to look at,’ she said.
‘So I’ve been told, but I assure you that is where the resemblance ends,’ Sebastian replied. She invited a bit of gentle sparring so he countered, ‘I believe you were well acquainted with my cousin.’
Lady Kendall laughed and her gaze met his in perfect understanding. ‘Yes, we were indeed…quite well acquainted.’
A barouche waited by the lychgate and, as Sebastian handed her up into the carriage, she smiled down at him. ‘I shall look forward to our next meeting, Lord Somerton. You must come and take tea with me.’
‘It would be a pleasure, Lady Kendall.’
She leaned forward to instruct her driver but suddenly straightened. ‘There he is, the rogue!’ She stood up and waved as a man on a roan horse trotted toward them. ‘What kept you, Harry?’ she demanded, resuming her seat.
Harry slid from the saddle and, looping the reins over his shoulder, walked over to the barouche.
‘Sorry, George, I overslept.’ The man turned to Sebastian and a grin split his face. ‘Alder? Good God, I hardly recognised you from our encounter in London.’
‘Dempster! It’s good to see you.’
The two men grasped hands, slapping each other on the shoulder.
‘I’m staying with my sister, Georgie.’ Harry indicated Lady Kendall who smiled in response. ‘I only got in yesterday. Georgie was bursting to tell me that there was a new Lord Somerton who had been plucked from the obscurity of His Majesty’s finest.’ He slapped Sebastian on the shoulder again. ‘And just for once I was able to enlighten her. None other than my old comrade, Bas Alder!’
Lady Kendall sighed. ‘What a happy reunion. I suppose you two are going to catch up on old times? I shall leave you to it. Drive on.’
The barouche lurched forward at a pretty pace, the green feather in Lady Kendall’s bonnet bobbing as it rounded the corner.
‘My lord, we really must return to the hall.’
At the sound of Isabel’s quiet voice, Sebastian tore his eyes away from the departing carriage as Harry turned to Isabel. He took her outstretched hand and bowed over it.
‘My dear Lady Somerton. How are you?’
‘Well, thank you, Colonel. Excuse me gentlemen, I must speak with Mrs Bryan,’ Isabel said and turned away to talk to a stout woman in a blue gown who had been trying to get her attention.
‘Fortune has smiled on you at last, Alder,’ Harry said.
Sebastian held up his hands. ‘I scarce believe it myself.’
‘Well I’m glad! You’ve earned it. So tell me how did it come about?’
Sebastian recited the family antecedents and the tale of waking up in Somerton House to the news and Harry shook his head. ‘Well you hear these tales, but I never thought to put much credence in them. So, how does it feel to be the new Lord Somerton?’
‘Can’t say I’ve come to terms with it yet. My late cousin has left me with a pile of debt and trouble.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me. An interesting chap, your cousin,’ Harry said.
‘How well did you know him?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Reasonably well. Met him through Georgie and we shared a few good dinners and rounds of cards in London mostly. You know the sort of thing. I always found him hard to judge. A bit mercurial if you know what I mean.’ Harry’s cheerful face became serious. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘Sell off some assets.’
Harry’s face brightened. ‘Well if you are considering selling any of the racehorses let me know.’
‘Ah yes, the racehorses. I have to confess I haven’t even seen the stables yet. I found some pedigree books in Anthony’s papers. He seemed to know what he was doing.’
‘Your cousin may have been a fool in some ways but he knew his horses,’ Harry agreed.
Sebastian shook his head. ‘I had better not get too attached to them then. What about you? I haven’t seen you since you left the regiment in ’11 or was it ’12?’
Harry shook his head. ‘I got out in ’11. Had enough of bad food and hard beds and my father was nagging me to show some interest in the estates.’ He rolled his eyes.
‘Well, I’m glad to see you. Glad of a familiar face, truth be told.’ Sebastian smiled with genuine pleasure. ‘Will you join us for dinner?’
‘Unfortunately I must get back to London for a few days, but I’ll be back by the end of the week,’ Harry said. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I’d better follow Georgie home, or I’ll never hear the end of it. Give my regards to Lady Somerton.’ He tipped his hat in Isabel’s direction.
‘It’s always good to see an old friend,’ Sebastian said as Isabel joined him. He had an ally now, someone with whom he could be himself.
‘I can understand that,’ Isabel said. ‘My own friend, Lady Ainslie lives too far away for us to meet often but when we do…’ She broke off. ‘We had best return to the Hall. Cook will be burning our dinner.’
Sebastian offered her his arm. She hesitated before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, a comfortable and familiar gesture. She smelt clean and fresh and, while, Lady Kendall had the power to invoke instantaneous lust, this woman was far more intriguing. He glanced down at her, frustrated that her bonnet obscured her face.
She remained silent as they retraced the path through the woods. He swung the cane he still carried.
‘Harry used to talk about his sister,‘ Sebastian said at last, breaking the silence between them. ‘She would be a few years older than him.’
Not that you would think it to look at her, he thought privately.
Isabel stopped in the path, withdrawing her hand from his arm. ‘Lord Somerton, I think there is something you should know about Lady Kendall. Indeed, I am surprised you haven’t been appraised of the choicest piece of gossip concerning my late husband. He had been visiting Lady Kendall the night he died.’
Sebastian cleared his throat. ‘I had heard that.’
‘You should know that he was, in fact, a frequent visitor to her home. Lady Kendall occupied a very particular position in my husband’s life. She was his mistress.’
Sebastian tried to look surprised but could see from the tightening of Isabel’s mouth that he had failed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I had heard the rumours but it was tactless of me.’
She looked away, the muscles in her neck taut as she swallowed. ‘Brantstone Hall is your home, Lord Somerton. I can raise no objection if you wish to entertain her, and her brother of course, but do not ask me to play at being the gracious hostess in her company.’
‘I understand.’
She looked back at him, an almost wild desperation in her eyes. ‘Do you?’
Before he could respond she set off at a brisk pace. He joined her, but they walked back to the hall in silence.
***
Isabel, Lady Somerton, would have been appalled if anyone had accused her of flouncing. Nonetheless, she arrived back at the Hall, feeling uncharacteristically out of sorts and irritated.
She went straight up to her bedchamber and stood by the window, unbuttoning her gloves while she thought about Georgiana, Lady Kendall. Really, the woman just had to flutter her eyelashes and men fell slathering at her feet.
How did she do it?
Isabel tugged impatiently at a small pearl button, tearing the silk threads that held it to the fine kid. The button fell to the floor with a soft ping and rolled under a chair.
‘Oh, curse it!’ Isabel said aloud, consigning this small domestic inconvenience to the long list of grudges she held against Lady Kendall.
What concern was of it hers if Lord Somerton succumbed to the obvious charms of
Lady Kendall?
Going down on her hands and knees, she searched around for the little button.
She sat back on her heels and caught her refection in the long mirror. Who was that woman with the haggard face and dark circled eyes that looked back at her?
‘Lucy!’ she summoned her maid who appeared at the door.
‘My lady?’
‘Find my riding habit and tell the stables to saddle Stella. I am going for a ride before dinner.’
Lucy’s eyes widened. ‘A ride, my lady?’
‘I need exercise and fresh air.’
An hour later, she stood in front of the long mirror, pleating the fine woollen skirt of her riding habit between her fingers. The deep bottle-green habit, fashionably trimmed with black frogging, had been her last purchase before William’s death. She rode rarely and it had seemed foolish to consign an expensive garment to the box in the attic where the rest of her fine gowns had been sent.
Now the gown hung on her and, for the first time, she noted how thin she had become. Experimentally, she pulled a few stray curls from the severe coil of hair on the back of her head, noting how they softened the hard angles of her face, a parody of the fashionable hairstyles she had once favoured.
Impatiently, she poked the unruly curls back. Why was she indulging in such foolishness? She had no one to impress and yet, if Sebastian could see her as she had once been, he may be pleasantly surprised. No one had ever called her a beauty but, in the right clothes and the right company, she had been known to turn heads. The Queen of the London drawing rooms, reduced to black rags and hideous caps.
She stood up and reached for her hat, pinning it to her head and settling the veil over her face, pulling on her gloves she left her room.
In the stable yard, her usual mount, the star-faced bay mare called Stella, stood saddled and ready. With the boy’s help she mounted, kicking the mare into a trot and then a canter, clearing the stables and the house, her ride taking her more by instinct than design to the grand mausoleum on the hill.
Only when she reached the small grove of trees did she pause, slipping off the saddle and securing Stella’s reins to the nearest oak. Tripping over her skirts, she ran towards the mausoleum and flung herself down on the step, pressing her cheek against the cold marble.
Lord Somerton’s Heir Page 8
