Lord Somerton’s Heir

by Alison Stuart

  He pulled off the covering to reveal an elegant, modern saddle. The leather around the pommel had been heavily tooled and bore the Somerton arms. Bennet recognized the stars, from escutcheons all around the house.

  As Peter watched, Bennet turned the saddle over. He may not have liked horses but he knew enough to recognize the girth strap, which still hung buckled to the saddle. It had broken high up beneath the saddle flap on the off side. Bennet held up the torn edges. In his hands, the leather still felt new and firm. Even he could see there should have been no reason for the girth to fail. Unless…

  He drew a deep breath as he looked more closely at the broken ends.

  To the casual observer the strap appeared to have torn, but now, as he looked at it, he was not so certain. The first half-inch on both sides of the strap betrayed a clean cut — a knife cut. He turned the strap over in his hands, looking at the underside. Unless he was very much mistaken, the underside of the strap had been scored with a knife as well. It meant that the girth strap had been severely compromised and, put under any kind of stress, would have failed.

  Bennet frowned, letting the implication of his discovery sink in. Someone had cut the girth strap. Someone had intended for it to fail. Someone had intended Lord Somerton to suffer a serious fall. He ran his hand over the embossing on the pommel. Someone had intended for Lord Somerton to be injured or…killed. His blood ran cold.

  ‘It didn’t seem right,’ Peter said. ‘I thought if anyone asked the question…’ He tailed off.

  Bennet nodded. ‘You did the right thing, boy.’

  ‘What should I do with it?’

  ‘Just you put the saddle back where you’ve been hiding it,’ Bennet said.

  ‘Are you sure? Do you think his lordship should know?’

  Quite possibly, Bennet thought.

  ‘Just put it back and I think we will keep it our secret for now, lad.’

  He watched as the boy returned the parcelled saddle to the bottom of the feed bin. As the boy turned around, Bennet looked around the room.

  ‘Now where’s his lordship’s ‘at?’

  ***

  Bennet stamped into the bedchamber carrying Sebastian’s hat. Sebastian set his book to one side and considered his batman from over his steepled fingers. He knew Bennet’s moods as well as he knew his own. And something troubled his batman.

  Bennet stood by the window, absently brushing the chaff from the beaver skin.

  ‘Something on your mind, Bennet?’ Sebastian enquired.

  Bennet started as if he hadn’t noticed Sebastian. ‘Beg pardon, m’lord,’ he said.

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow and, taking his silence as it was intended — an invitation to talk — Bennet set the hat down and crossed over to Sebastian’s chair.

  ‘Mind me speaking out of turn, sir?’

  ‘When has that ever stopped you? What’s troubling you?’

  ‘Well, you know as how the late Lord Somerton died?’

  ‘Girth broke and he came off his horse.’

  Bennet nodded. ‘I… No, it don’t make sense.’

  Sebastian glared at him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ve just seen the saddle and the girth strap was cut.’

  Sebastian stared at him. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘As certain as I am standing here talking to you.’ Bennet took a breath and recounted his interview with young Peter Thompson. When he had finished, Sebastian sat back in the chair and let the enormity of what Bennet had told him sink in.

  Anthony’s death was no accident. Someone had intended, if not to kill him, to at least cause a serious injury. He glanced at the door and thought about the residents beyond it. Someone in this house could be a murderer.

  Chapter 9

  Sebastian faced Bragge across the large mahogany desk in the study. He liked this room. While Freddy Lynch seemed to be in possession of the library, filling it with the nauseating cologne that he wore, this room, with its leather inlaid desk and resolutely masculine furniture, made him feel welcome.

  He and Bragge had been on an inspection tour of the estate, an excursion undertaken from the back of one of the more docile saddle horses. Even so, he felt stiff and sore and out of sorts.

  The state of the farms had horrified him. No money had been spent on their upkeep for years. Little wonder the returns were so low.

  ‘It is time for some economising. Is everything in order for the auction on Friday?’

  ‘It is, my lord!’ It had not taken Bragge long to organise for the sale of the racehorses, setting up an auction to be held at the Hall. ‘We should do well. There are years of work invested in those beasts and they have a good reputation.’

  ‘Then they should be worth something to someone whose business it is to understand these things. I have no interest in racing,’ Sebastian said. ‘Far better they go to someone who will pay us well for them.’

  ‘What about the rest of the stable, sir?’

  Sebastian thought of the matched bay carriage horses and the elegant grey pair used for the phaeton. He could not bring himself to sell those — not yet.

  ‘Just the racing horses.’

  Bragge scribbled in his notebook.

  ‘Now about this ball that Miss Lynch is hell bent on holding…’ Sebastian began, his hand straying to a small, steadily mounting pile of invoices that seemed to be associated with the soiree.

  ‘Well, it does seem rather an extravagance, my lord, but on the other hand, it is an excellent way of meeting the county. I used to say to his late lordship that the importance of one’s acquaintances was not to be underestimated.’

  ‘And he ignored your advice?’

  ‘He was want to ignore my advice on most matters, my lord.’ Bragge’s tight lips betrayed his thoughts on the subject of the last Lord Somerton.

  Sebastian heaved a sigh. ‘The ball remains but, between us, Bragge, what am I to do with the Lynchs? They’ve been costing my cousin a fortune.’

  The drain on the purse caused by those two individuals showed up in the accounts as a hefty monthly allowance paid to Freddy. The sum did not, of course, include the free board and lodging he and his sister also enjoyed. He would talk to Lynch about the ridiculous allowance his cousin had been paying. It should have been sufficient to keep him and his sister in modest comfort without the necessity of living on Somerton grace and favour.

  Bragge looked surprised. ‘Your lordship doesn’t owe them anything. They are no relations of yours.’

  ‘I know that, but I feel some moral obligation towards them.’

  Bragge averted his eyes, cleared his throat, but said nothing.

  Sebastian leaned back in his chair, thinking about Freddy Lynch.

  ‘Tell me, Bragge, has anyone ever looked into their claim to be who they say they are?’

  Bragge shook his head. ‘His lordship vouched for them. That was enough.’

  ‘I am not my cousin. I think before I make any decision about a settlement, I would like their claims investigated. Good reconnaissance, Bragge, is the key to a successful campaign.’

  ‘Do you have reason to doubt their veracity, my lord?’ Bragge ventured.

  ‘There is something about them that is not quite…’ Sebastian trailed off. It was not so much a word he sought as a nagging feeling of distrust, honed by a lifetime of rubbing shoulders with every sort of man. Something about Freddy Lynch did not ring true.

  Bragge nodded. ‘I know a man in that line of work, my lord.’

  ‘Excellent. See to it and, while you’re at it, can you find out more about this “Golden Adventurers Club” — the lucky recipient of my inheritance? If for no other reason than I hope to meet one or more of them and give them a bloody nose!’

  Bragge’s eyebrows rose but he made no comment, just appended a note in his book. He looked up.

  ‘There is one last matter my lord.’

  ‘That is?’

  ‘Her ladyship. Have you broken the news of her jointure to her yet?’


  A heavy weight settled on Sebastian’s shoulders. ‘No.’

  ‘It is just that she has tradesmen working on the dower house. Those bills must be paid…’

  ‘Have them sent to me.’

  Bragge hesitated for a moment. ‘As you wish, my lord.’

  He bowed and left the room.

  Sebastian stood up and walked over to the window, which afforded an excellent view out across the garden and parkland. He could see the chimneys of the dower house rising above the trees. He would never let Isabel suffer for the sake of her husband’s foolishness. While he was Lord Somerton she would live comfortably, but the matter of the charity school that she had mentioned remained. He knew he had to talk to her, and the sooner the better.

  ***

  Isabel sat at her desk penning a letter in reply to Lady Ainslie. A suitable premises had been found and Harriet was keen to sign the lease.

  ‘May I disturb you?’

  She looked up as Sebastian entered the parlour, sliding the letter beneath the blotter. She rose to her feet and gestured at one of the chairs. He sat down heavily on one of the elegant gilt seats and she heard an ominous creak from the protesting furniture. Sebastian flushed and, to cover his embarrassment, Isabel picked up a second cup from the tray that had just been brought in to her.

  ‘Would you care for some tea?’ she enquired.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Somerton.’

  As she handed him the cup, his hand shook slopping tea in the saucer. He upended the contents of the saucer into the cup. Her mouth fell open but, before Isabel could compose herself, he looked up at her with a rueful smile.

  ‘The bad habits of a lifetime are hard to break, Lady Somerton,’ he said.

  ‘Unfortunately it is those little habits that you are going to have to break,’ she observed.

  She took a dainty sip of her own tea and set her cup down, folding her hands neatly in her lap. The fingers of his right hand drummed the delicate arms of the chair.

  ‘Is there something troubling you?’ she enquired.

  ‘I have spent the day with Bragge,’ he began. ‘We’re not quite in the workhouse but I’m going to have to make some serious economies. Were you aware of the position of the estate?’

  He brought his clear, strong gaze around to meet hers. She shifted uncomfortably, wondering what this conversation was leading to.

  She gave a small shrug. ‘I had my suspicions. Like his father before him, Somerton was a profligate spender and I knew the money didn’t all come from his success at the races.’

  ‘No, it didn’t,’ Sebastian said. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together on his knees. ‘Lady Somerton, I have some bad news to impart to you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It is about your jointure. Your late husband…’

  She stared at him, the implication of what he was saying beginning to dawn on her. Surely not her jointure. She put a hand to her mouth as her life shattered at her feet.

  ‘It’s gone,’ she said.

  ‘You knew?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I had my suspicions.’

  He nodded. ‘He forged your signature on the papers.’

  ‘What did he spend it on?’

  Sebastian shrugged. ‘It seemed every penny he could raise went on a gold mine in Guinea.’

  She let out a heavy breath, fighting tears. ‘And what charlatan got him to invest in such a venture?’

  Sebastian shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It was called the “Golden Adventurers Club” but who its members were, I have no idea. I have asked Bragge to look into it further.’

  She looked away, her heart hammering as she battled her emotions. It had all gone and with it her freedom, her dreams…the school… What would she tell Harriet?

  With difficulty, she brought her attention back to Sebastian, seeing the concern in his eyes.

  A good man, she thought, but how could he possibly even begin to understand?

  ‘I want to assure you, Lady Somerton, that it will be my responsibility to ensure you want for nothing. The dower house is yours and I will provide a monthly allowance…’

  ‘The dower house?’ She heard her voice catch and she rose to her feet. Swallowing, she managed to say, ‘It is not the dower house, Lord Somerton…it is my life. Please excuse me.’

  Without looking backwards, she left him and barely made the sanctuary of her own bedchamber before the flood burst. She fell face down on the covers of her bed, curling into a small ball as her heart broke. Just when she thought Anthony could hurt her no more, he had reached from the grave and stolen the last of her dreams from her.

  Chapter 10

  The day of the horse auction dawned bright and clear. From early in the morning, a large crowd began to gather in the grounds, where Sebastian, at Freddy’s suggestion, had obligingly arranged for the erection of a large marquee and light refreshment. In discussing the plans over dinner, Freddy had pointed out that a crowd that had been fed and watered with a pleasant ale would be more likely to be feeling in an expansive mood when the bidding began.

  Sebastian had twelve horses to sell and, to judge from the crowd, they would fetch a pretty penny. Not for the first time, he considered that Anthony’s eye for horses could have been the man’s one redeeming feature. It may well be the saving of the estate.

  As he circulated among the crowd, he noticed Lady Kendall in conversation with her brother as they inspected a handsome bay mare. They both looked up as he approached. Lady Kendall smiled as Sebastian took her outstretched hand. His nose caught the scent of roses.

  ‘Do you have an interest in horses, Lady Kendall?’ he enquired.

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Indeed I do. My last husband owned several winners at Newmarket and I rather enjoy carrying on his tradition.’

  ‘Are there any horses here that take your eye?’ Sebastian indicated the magnificent beasts being paraded around the crowd.

  ‘I rather fancy that chestnut with the white sock on his off foreleg,’ Lady Kendall said.

  ‘I don’t believe he has any wins to his name,’ Sebastian responded.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘What about you, Harry?’

  ‘My man is bidding on the sorrel filly,’ Harry said.

  She nodded. ‘Excellent choice, but I doubt father will be quite so sanguine if you are successful. Now I really must go and talk to my own man about the chestnut.’ She dipped a curtsey and, smiling sweetly at both men, excused herself.

  Sebastian stared after her as the crowd parted to let her through. Although it was predominantly a male occasion, a few wives and families had accompanied their menfolk, no doubt, Sebastian considered ruefully, hoping for a chance of an early encounter with the new, and eminently eligible, Lord Somerton.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the county mamas, with her clutch of eligible daughters in tow, bearing down on them.

  ‘Come inside and join me in an ale,’ Sebastian said, grasping his friend by the elbow and propelling him bodily towards the house.

  Inside the cool hall, they encountered Fanny tying on her bonnet.

  ‘What a crowd,’ Fanny said. ‘Who would have thought such a boring thing as selling horses could be such a social occasion? I thought I should like to join Freddy and see the bidding.’

  Harry bowed low over Fanny’s hand as Sebastian introduced her.

  ‘Enchanted. Of course, Mr Lynch and myself are acquainted, but Alder never mentioned you were cousins.’

  ‘Well she’s not actually my cousin,’ Sebastian pointed out. He nearly added ‘I appear to have inherited her with the estate’ but refrained.

  ‘Are you a friend of dear cousin Sebastian’s?’ Fanny enquired, tucking her hand around Sebastian’s arm. His jaw clenched at the unwanted intimacy and the assumption of ownership the gesture entailed.

  ‘We served together in the same regiment, my dear,’ Harry said.

  ‘Oh, then you must have some wonderful stories to tell about Seb — Lord Somerton.’ Fanny flashed Seb
astian her prettiest smile but he was becoming inured to her charms.

  As Harry opened his mouth to speak, Sebastian shot him a warning glance and Harry said, ‘Just boring military stuff. Nothing of any interest to a pretty, young thing such as yourself.’

  Fanny giggled, covering her mouth with her free hand and patting her curls. She cast a dimpled smile at Harry. ‘I do hope you will be attending the ball, Colonel?’

  ‘What ball?’ Harry cast an enquiring eye at Sebastian.

  ‘Some ghastly soiree Fanny is organising to allow me the opportunity to meet the neighbours,’ Sebastian replied, removing the clinging hand from his arm. ‘Although, by the look of this crowd, I think they’re all here today. They seem hell bent on introducing themselves to me and I’m damned if I can remember a single name.’

  ‘Cousin Sebastian is being quite churlish about it,’ Fanny pouted.

  ‘Sebastian Alder? Churlish about a ball? Never!’ Harry said with a wink.

  ‘As I have explained to Miss Lynch, a certain French musket ball ended my dancing days.’

  ‘Nonsense. You hardly limp. I don’t see why you can’t dance,’ said Harry unhelpfully.

  ‘I am certain an invitation has been sent to your sister, so I do hope you will come as well.’ Fanny continued.

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, if only to see Bas here in dancing slippers!’ He glanced at Sebastian and winked. ‘I’ve got no immediate plans that would take me away from Lincolnshire.’

  ‘I think that is the auctioneer’s bell,’ Sebastian said.

  ‘You’re not going to watch?’ Fanny pouted.

  Sebastian shook his head. ‘No. Bragge can give me the good news later.’

  After Fanny left the house, Sebastian shook his head and clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘You have just set your cap at the silliest female it has ever been my misfortune to meet.’

  Harry grinned. ‘Just a bit of fun, Alder.’

  ‘Odd pair, those,’ Sebastian remarked. ‘You said you know Lynch?’