Lord Somerton’s Heir

by Alison Stuart

  Harry shook his head. ‘I’ve met him a few times, in London. Always happy for a hand of cards. I must confess she is a pretty thing.’

  ‘No dowry, no pedigree that I am aware of and one of the most foolish females I have ever met.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘Alder, you are too quick to judgement. Apart from the lack of dowry and pedigree, she may well have other redeeming features.’

  Sebastian admitted Harry to the peace of the study and the two men subsided into the masculine, leather chairs that stood by the empty grate. Johnson brought two stout ales on a silver tray. The absurdity of the gesture did not escape Sebastian. He caught the footman’s eyes but, beyond a slight quirk of the mouth, the man was too well trained to react.

  ‘I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have a familiar face here,’ Sebastian said.

  Harry smiled. ‘It’s good to see you too. Not sorry to miss the fun at Waterloo.’

  Sebastian laughed without humour. ‘Oh, trust me, you missed nothing. The rain and the mud for starters…and when the Imperial Guard charged us, I thought my day had finally come.’

  ‘Ah, but you stood up to them, Alder.’

  ‘The square held but I got nicked by a musket ball in the process.’

  ‘You look well enough on it.’

  ‘I have Lady Somerton to thank for that. She’s the one who found me. If I’m honest, she probably saved my life.’

  ‘Ah yes, the formidable Lady Somerton,’ Harry said. ‘I can imagine she let nothing stand in her way when she thought she had found Lord Somerton’s heir.’

  Sebastian regarded his friend for a long moment. ‘I’ve heard that it was not a happy marriage.’

  Harry took a draught of his ale before replying. ‘A more mismatched couple you would never meet, but they tried.’

  This was news to Sebastian. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘In the early days of their marriage, they were the centre of quite an influential circle of the “ton”. The house in London was the place to be seen.’ Harry drained his cup and seemed to contemplate the empty vessel for a moment before he said. ‘There was a child, you know.’

  Sebastian nodded. ‘Yes, that was a tragedy.’

  ‘After that, she shut herself away. I don’t think she’s been seen in London since.’

  ‘And Anthony?’

  Harry swilled his beer. ‘Well, I don’t think he was seen much at Brantstone.’

  ‘Tell me about Anthony. Did he have any enemies?’

  Harry frowned. ‘Enemies? A man like that is sure to have enemies. Possibly a few cuckolded husbands, certainly cheated card players, but none in particular. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I think…’ Sebastian voiced, for the first time, the thought that had been growing in his mind since Bennet first told him about the saddle. ‘I think he may have been murdered.’

  Harry’s eyes widened. ‘Good lord! What on earth makes you think that?’

  Armed with the intelligence Bennet had passed on, Sebastian had slipped unseen into the stables and inspected the saddle for himself. The cut had been subtle but the evidence damning. The saddle had been tampered with in such a way as to cause a rider serious injury…or death.

  ‘I’ve got evidence,’ he said.

  ‘What sort of evidence?’

  Sebastian shook his head. He’d said too much, even to Harry whom he would have trusted with his life. ‘I’m probably seeing shadows where there aren’t any. Take no notice of me.’

  Harry shook his head in disbelief. ‘You must be mistaken, Alder. God knows he could be irritating and he certainly owed money to all and sundry, but I can’t think of anyone who would want to kill him.’ He paused and laughed, raising his glass to his lips again. ‘Apart from you, that is!’

  ‘I didn’t even know he existed and, besides, I have an impeccable alibi.,

  Harry frowned. ‘Be sensible, Alder. Who would want to kill him?,

  When Sebastian didn’t answer, Harry laughed. ‘No, you are seeing shadows. Somerton broke his neck taking a fence. Accidents happen. It doesn’t mean there is anything sinister about it.’ When Sebastian didn’t respond, Harry’s face sobered. ‘You surely don’t suspect someone in this house capable of such a thing?’

  Sebastian had considered that question. It seemed to be in Freddy and Fanny’s interest to keep Anthony alive. The servants? It seemed ludicrous that a servant would kill their master unless they had very good reason to do so.

  He tightened his lips. To the best of his knowledge, the only person with motive enough to want to see Anthony dead may have been Isabel. But why? It certainly seemed to have been a loveless marriage but that was not generally motive for murder. Money? Murder seemed an extreme measure for finding the finance to start a school. He pushed the thought away.

  ‘The man had enough creditors,’ Harry said. ‘Maybe one of them…?’

  Sebastian shook his head. ‘They’d have wanted him alive. A dead debtor is of no use.’

  Harry set down his empty mug. ‘No, it seems too farfetched. I can’t believe it, Alder.’

  ‘Has your sister said anything about the night he died?’

  ‘Georgie? Good god, no. Why?’

  ‘I have heard rumours that he had…’ Sebastian searched for the right word, ‘an involvement with your sister.’

  Harry regarded him for a moment. ‘Look, she’s my sister and I adore her, but I’m not immune to her faults. She likes to marry old, rich men but she does like to take the young, good-looking ones to her bed. Somerton was both of those things, so yes, it’s quite likely they formed some sort of attachment. I’m not privy to my sister’s private life.’ He gave a shudder. ‘In fact, I deem it in my own best interest not to know. In fact, I’ll give you fair warning that you may need to watch your own honour, Alder. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.’

  Sebastian laughed. ‘As if she would eat me for supper?’

  ‘Preferably covered in a sugar glaze with an apple in your mouth,’ Harry said. ‘Dangerous woman, my sister.’

  ‘I can see the attraction, Dempster, but no… I assure you I can resist her blandishments.’

  Harry leaned forward, his brow creased. ‘It’s none of my business, Alder, but it’s been seven years since Inez. You’ve got responsibilities now. Time to find yourself another wife.’

  The back of Sebastian’s neck prickled as it always did when Inez was mentioned.

  ‘I’ve always had responsibilities, Dempster.’

  ‘But now you need an heir.’

  Sebastian rose to his feet and walked over to the window. Outside, the crowd was beginning to drift away. The auction had concluded. His heart clenched, the pain as raw and bitter as it had been the day he had found his wife’s battered and violated body.

  He heard Harry rise to his feet and join him at the window. They stood together in empathetic silence.

  ‘I’m serious,’ Harry said at last. ‘You have to overcome thinking of yourself as plain Captain Sebastian Alder. You are now Lord Somerton, and the world and all the beautiful women you have ever dreamed of are at your feet. Take in the London season, play the field. You never know.’

  ‘Playing the field has little interest.’

  ‘What about the widow?’ Harry suggested.

  ‘Isabel? Good lord, Harry! I hardly know her.’

  Harry just shook his head. ‘No one says you have to love the woman you marry. You just want two things, a good dowry and a good breeder.’

  Sebastian shot his friend a look of disgust.

  ‘That’s how it’s done,’ Harry said with a shrug.

  Sebastian stared out of the window, horrified by his friend’s cold, calculating approach to marriage.

  Was that how it had been for Anthony and Isabel? he wondered.

  Chapter 11

  Isabel woke to a gentle knocking on her door.

  ‘My lady, my lady…’

  She heard her maid’s voice at the keyhole.

  Sitting up, she bade Lily come
in and the woman, clad in her nightdress with a shawl over her shoulders, crept into the room.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am,’ Lily said, ‘but young Peter’s downstairs. Millie’s foaling and it isn’t going well. Thompson thought you would want to know.’

  Isabel swung her legs out of the bed as she ran her hands over her face in an effort to wake herself up. ‘Of course I do. Quick, Lily, find me some warm clothes.’

  Clad in an old dress of blue wool with a tartan shawl wrapped around her, her hair still tied in a loose braid down her back, Isabel hurried from the room.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  She turned to see Sebastian himself standing in the doorway of his bedchamber, his green housecoat pulled haphazardly over his nightshirt, his hair stuck up in spikes.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,’ Isabel said.

  ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ Sebastian growled, although his dishevelled hair and heavy eyes gave a lie to his words. ‘I’m a light sleeper,’ he added.

  ‘It’s Millie,’ Isabel said. ‘She’s having difficulty with the foal.’

  ‘I’ll just find some clothes.’ Sebastian turned back into his room.

  ‘Really, my lord, there is no need,’ Isabel said, but the door had already shut behind him.

  She joined the boy in the hallway. Peter shifted from foot to foot with impatience until Sebastian, looking like he had grabbed the nearest clothes he could find, joined them.

  They hurried out of the house to the stables where a bright, lighted window showed where the mare laboured. The little piebald lay on the clean bedding straw of her stall, lathered in sweat and clearly in distress. Her terrified eyes rolled towards her mistress and she uttered a faint nicker.

  Thompson, his sleeves rolled up over his elbows, knelt on the straw at her rear. He looked up as they entered the stall. Isabel immediately sank to the floor, holding the mare’s head in her lap and whispering in her ear while Sebastian ran a hand over her heaving flank. One tiny hoof protruded from the birth canal.

  ‘This is not good,’ Sebastian said.

  Thompson nodded. ‘I reckon he’s stuck.’

  ‘The foal will have to repositioned,’ Sebastian said.

  Thompson looked up at him. ‘I’ll have to get the boy to try, sir. I cut my hand this morning.’ He held up a bandaged right hand.

  ‘I’ve done this before,’ Sebastian said, stripping off his jacket and shirt, and when Thompson looked doubtful, he added. ‘I’ve been around horses all my life, Thompson.’

  He looked down at Isabel.

  ‘Can you get her to stand?’

  Isabel tried not to let her eyes linger on the impressive expanse of chest above the heavy strapping. Not for the first time did it warrant favourable comparison with her late husband. Anthony’s pampered lifestyle showed in his physique but this man had obviously lived a vigorous outdoor life. The years of soldiering were written on that hard, muscular body. The tan did not stop at his neckline but extended down his powerful chest and shoulders, contrasting with the white bandage that still bound his recent wound.

  Her heartbeat quickened in a way she had not experienced. Damn the man! The unexpected reaction to the sight of Sebastian’s torso astonished her, as if a part of herself she had kept shut away tapped at the door to her consciousness.

  ‘Lady Somerton?’

  Realising he had asked her to get the mare to stand, she nodded and rose, urging the mare to come with her. Millie did not want to co-operate. It took the strength of both men and a great deal of coaxing from Isabel to get the little pony to her feet. The mare stood on shaking legs while Sebastian washed his right arm thoroughly before covering it with a foul smelling grease Thompson had produced.

  Isabel watched, the unspoken words forming on her lips to stop him, conscious, even if he was not, that he was in no physical shape for this sort of exertion. She held her peace. Millie needed help and he was the only person who could provide it, so she held the pony’s head while Sebastian slid his arm inside the mare.

  He grimaced and then smiled. ‘Come on little fellow,’ he said. ‘Out you come. Thompson, tie that bootlace to the hoof and pull down — gently.’

  Thompson complied.

  ‘Isabel, let her go,’ Sebastian ordered.

  Isabel released her hold on the halter and the mare went down on her knees, rolling over on her side. The pony groaned and shuddered.

  On his knees beside the horse, Sebastian looked up at Isabel and grinned.

  ‘Here he comes. Well done, Millie.’

  He stroked the mare’s neck as the second hoof protruded and, with one gigantic contraction, the nose and head of the foal appeared.

  Sebastian sat back on his heels as Peter, following his father’s instructions, gently eased the little creature out, the boy’s face shining with wonder. Millie gave a great shuddering sigh and relaxed under Isabel’s hand.

  They sat in awe as the mare and the little foal rested from their travails. Isabel stole a glance at the new Lord Somerton, seeing the smile on his face as the mare’s head swung around to look at her baby. It would have been beneath Anthony’s dignity to have attended the stable, let alone participated in a foaling. He loved horses, but Anthony liked to keep himself away from anything remotely dirty or unpleasant. That had been Anthony’s loss. Nothing could have been more wonderful than seeing a new life come into the world.

  With a grunt, Millie rose to her feet. The foal also struggled up, standing on shaking stick-thin legs. The foal nickered and it was Sebastian, not the head groom, who instructed Peter in guiding the baby’s questing mouth towards its mother. It took a couple of attempts but it latched on and began suckling greedily, its little tail beating in pleasure.

  Isabel’s heart melted both at the sight of the little creature and the smile on Sebastian’s face. Hardened soldier or not, the experience of the foal’s birth clearly affected him and tears started in her own eyes. She dashed them away before he could notice and think her foolish.

  Thompson looked up at the window. ‘It’ll be dawn soon.’ He turned back to Sebastian. ‘Thank you, my lord. You missed your vocation as a stable hand.’

  Sebastian smiled as he rose to his feet. ‘Oh, I had plenty of practice. As a boy I used to haunt the local squire’s stables. I’ll leave you to it and have a wash down outside.’

  Isabel picked up his shirt and coat. ‘I’ll bring these,’ she said.

  He looked down at his hands and grimaced. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Ye’ll find soap by the trough,’ Thompson said and turned back to the horse.

  The first grey streaks of dawn lightened the sky as Sebastian and Isabel stepped out into the courtyard. A water-filled trough stood to one side of the door, soap balanced on the rim and a rough towel hung on a rusty nail.

  Sebastian plunged his arms into the trough with a sharp exclamation at the water’s temperature. He picked up the soap and began scrubbing vigorously. Standing to one side, holding his shirt and coat, Isabel found her eyes fixed on his broad shoulders. His muscles rippled beneath the brown skin and once again her heartbeat quickened. She took a deep steadying breath.

  As the sky lightened she could see that there were other scars marring the brown skin.

  ‘You seem remarkably careless of your life, Lord Somerton.’

  He glanced at a long, white scar that ran down his bicep. ‘I’ve been a soldier a long time, Isabel.’

  A flush of pleasure rose to her cheeks at this invitation to familiarity. Being alone with a half-naked man in the early hours of the morning did not call for formality, neither did it reflect well on her reputation. She glanced around the stable yard but they were quite alone.

  He straightened and began towelling off. The grey light of the early dawn flattened the planes of his face, leeching the colour from his skin and eyes, but she could see the lift of humour curling the corners of his mouth as he caught her watching him and the heat rose to her face as she thrust his shirt at him.

 
; He pulled it over his head and took the coat from her, his eyes not leaving her face. As he buttoned the coat he tilted his head to one side.

  ‘I’ve been trying to work out what is different about you this morning. It’s your hair.’

  He reached out and touched the loosely tied, heavy braid that hung over her shoulder. His finger brushed her cheek, leaving a burning trail across her cool skin.

  ‘What about my hair?’ Isabel stuttered.

  ‘I like the way you have bits of it around your face,’ he withdrew his hand and looked away. ‘Now I am being personal.’

  Given his previous state of undress and the fact they were alone together, a personal remark seemed the least of her concerns.

  ‘I’ll forgive you this once.’ She took a step back from him. ‘I must be getting back to the house.’

  Before someone sees us together like this.

  Sebastian looked at the sky. ‘It’s going to be another lovely day. I think I’ll go for a walk.’

  Isabel lingered in the gateway to the stable, watching him stride away from her into the early morning mist. He moved with purpose and strength and she felt sure, had she been a soldier, she would have willingly followed where he led.

  ***

  Sebastian strode into the breakfast room. He did not look like a man who had spent the early hours of the morning assisting with a foaling. Freshly shaved and with white, starched linen, he looked like a man who had slept long and well. A lock of dark hair fell damply across his forehead and Isabel could smell the tang of fresh soap.

  She, on the other hand, felt — as her late aunt would have said — like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. With only a few hours of sleep, the dark circles dragged her eyes into her head. Her hair lacked lustre and fell in lank locks from the harsh bun into which she had screwed it that morning.

  Freddy looked up from his cup of tea.

  ‘My dear Somerton, you look very pleased with yourself this morning.’

  Sebastian sat down. ‘We had a very successful day yesterday,’ he said. ‘I can now clear some of the worst of my cousin’s debts and,’ he glanced at Isabel, ‘we now have a new addition to the stable. Has Lady Somerton told you?’