Lord Somerton's Heir (26 page)

‘Thank you, Mrs Fletcher.’

Sebastian sat back in his chair and the woman stood.

‘Was there anything else, sir?’

He shook his head. ‘No, you must be very busy with this ball.’

She smiled. ‘Oh, I am sir, but it will be such fun to see the house come to life again. It’s been a sad place for too long.’

After she had left, Sebastian stared at the ceiling. If he was right then there was a good chance the silver saltcellars were still in the custody of the thief and he had a fair idea who the thief may be. Never mind. It could wait until after the ball.

Everything would change once the wretched ball was out of the way.

Chapter 20

Isabel raised her hand to knock on the door to Lord Somerton’s bedchamber. She could hear the low growl of Sebastian’s voice from within, interspersed with encouraging noises from both Bennet and Pierce.

As she opened the door, she beheld Sebastian standing in the middle of the carpet, looking impeccable from the carefully coiffed hair on his head to the polish on his dancing shoes while Pierce fussed around him. She took a deep breath and thought of the Sebastian she knew with his hair disarrayed, his neckcloth untied and those old boots. While he would turn heads and set a few hearts aflutter tonight, of the two, she infinitely preferred the latter.

He glanced at her and managed a watery smile. ‘Do I pass?’

She smiled in response. ‘You look every inch a Somerton.’

Pierce added a diamond pin to the neckcloth and stood back, a pleased smirk on his face.

‘Very fine, my lord. Don’t you agree, Mr Bennet?’

Mr Bennet concurred and Isabel cast him an amused glance. Like his master, he appeared to be falling into the ways of the house with ease and dressed and emulated Pierce in every way.

‘Are you ready? Your guests are assembled,’ Isabel said.

Sebastian took a deep breath, cut short by the constricting neck cloth, which nearly grazed his ear.

‘I feel worse than I did before Waterloo,’ he said.

‘Mercifully, we have not invited the French infantry tonight,’ Isabel said.

He held out his arm and she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. It had begun to feel a comfortable and natural act between them.

‘You look very lovely tonight, Isabel,’ he paused, ‘if I may make so bold.’

Warmth flooded her cheeks. She had taken a great deal of trouble with her wardrobe. Conscious she was still officially in mourning, she had dressed in a new gown of black satin trimmed with jet beads. Lucy had worked hard on her hair, twisting it into a complicated knot and enhancing it with a turban of the same black satin, trimmed with a curling black feather.

‘Thank you, my lord. I have no doubt my presence will scandalise a few of the more conservative of our neighbours.’

‘Anthony has been dead nearly a year. Time to start living again,’ Sebastian said.

She looked up at him, conscious of his gaze on her face. The brown eyes, softened by the shadows, filled her with a confidence she hadn’t felt in years. It felt as if something momentous would happen tonight.

At the head of the stairs, Sebastian hesitated, pulling back into the shadows at the sound of the gathering crowd in the brightly lit hall below. Beyond, from the ballroom, came the sound of bright chatter and music. Beads of sweat dappled his brow.

‘Sebastian, it is only a ball,’ Isabel whispered.

He gave a rueful smile. ‘If I let them smell fear, I’m lost.’

‘So what did you do before battle to calm your nerves?’

‘Psalm 23,’ he said and closed his eyes, his lips moving as he silently recited the comforting words. When he opened his eyes, he straightened his shoulders and, looking down the stairs, said, ‘Forward, Lady Somerton.’

Fanny, dressed in a gown of blue and silver that Isabel had not seen before, cut her way through the crowd to meet them at the foot of the stairs.

‘There you are, cousin Sebastian. Everyone is waiting for you.’ She drew back and looked him up and down. ‘My, you do look fine. Now, do come and let us greet your guests.’

Isabel relinquished his arm but, as Fanny stepped forward, she moved in close beside Sebastian.

‘Thank you, Fanny,’ she said. ‘It will be my pleasure to affect the introductions.’

Isabel did not miss the flash of annoyance that clouded Fanny’s face for an instant. The girl turned to Sebastian, her eyelashes fluttering as she said, ‘Cousin Sebastian, I do hope you will take the first dance with me. My card is quite free.’

Sebastian turned and looked at her. ‘My dear Miss Lynch, I told you: I don’t dance.’ He swept a hand toward the ballroom. ‘I can see there are plenty of young men who would be more than happy to oblige.’

Fanny pulled a face. ‘Oh yes. The war wound.’

Sebastian patted his right thigh. ‘Pains me something fearful if I so much as try a cotillion.’

Fanny glowered, but before she could retort, a young man with a badly pocked face had approached her. Lacking any excuse to decline his offer of the first dance, she took his proffered hand and, with a toss of golden curls, sailed into the ballroom.

‘The war wound doesn’t seem to inconvenience you unduly in other matters,’ Isabel observed with an arched eyebrow.

‘Oh, I could manage a cotillion if forced into it,’ Sebastian admitted with a smile, ‘but not just yet.’

‘Come, you are keeping your guests in the most terrible suspense.’

As they entered the room, a silence spread across the gathering like a blanket across a bed. Glancing up at Sebastian, Isabel felt a surge of pride. His nerves did not show in the confident way in which he stood, allowing the eyes of the assembled company to conduct their evaluation of his worth and person. She could hardly credit that this was the same ragged soldier she had pulled from the fetid hospital in London. His own natural charm and some hard work by Pierce had produced a man who looked as if he had been born into the role.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to thank you for the welcome I have received since my arrival. I apologise that I have not been able to receive you all in person but I hope to get a chance to make your acquaintance this evening.’ He spread a hand across the room in a gesture of munificence. ‘In the meantime, I bid you a warm welcome to my home.’

A smattering of applause met this speech. Sebastian introduced Matt and Connie, who looked delightful in a new gown of green silk, and with Isabel at his elbow to smooth the introductions he moved through the assembly. As he passed, the fans fluttered and Isabel heard the whispered conversations as the women compared their impressions.

Seeing Harry Dempster standing alone, Sebastian quickened his pace. Harry had dressed in his full dress scarlets and Isabel had to admit he looked magnificent. He didn’t have Sebastian’s height and his hair was a lighter brown but he had a litheness and elegance to his carriage and a confidence in his rank that made him every bit the subject of covert female attention as did his lordship. And he knew it.

Sebastian clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder with such an obvious sense of relief that Isabel realised how difficult he was finding the evening.

‘Dempster, so glad you could come.’

Harry bowed to Isabel. ‘Lady Somerton, your servant.’

‘Is your sister here?’ Sebastian enquired.

Harry gestured at the dance floor where Lady Kendall danced with one of the neighbours. She wore a high waisted dress of deep midnight-blue satin, cut low enough to intrigue the men and scandalise the women, whose fans waved furiously as she passed. A magnificent drop of sapphires hung about her creamy throat and her thick, auburn hair was curled and coiffured around a simple blue ribbon. As Isabel watched the familiar stirrings of the green eye of jealousy tugged at her. Why couldn’t she be more like Georgiana Kendall? So full of life and laughter and easy with all she met.

‘Somerton!’ Sebastian was hailed by a portly man. ‘You must meet Sir John Dawlish. He’s got some radical ideas on farm improvement. Just the sort of thing you were talking about at Lady K’s the other evening.’

With only time to briefly acknowledge Isabel and Harry, Sebastian was hauled away.

‘You look very lovely tonight, Lady Somerton,’ Harry said in a low voice.

Without looking at him, she found her voice. ‘How kind.’

‘Would you consider a dance?’

She looked up into his handsome face and shook her head. ‘I think not. I am still officially in mourning.’

Isabel opened her fan, making a pretence of watching the dancers. She sensed Harry’s presence behind her, his breath on her hair. On the far side of the dance floor she could see Sebastian bending to talk to a group of elderly matrons.

‘You haven’t taken your eyes off my old comrade,’ Harry observed.

‘What do you mean, Colonel?’ Isabel hid her embarrassment with her fan.

‘He is wed to a ghost, my dear Lady Somerton.’

Isabel took a steadying breath. ‘You mean Inez Aradreiras? I know about her.’

‘Has he told you how she died?’

‘Just that she was murdered by the French.’

Harry’s lips tightened. ‘It had taken some persuasion, but he’d got the Colonel’s consent to wed and Inez was on her way to join him when her coach was ambushed by a patrol of French soldiers. I will spare you the details, Lady Somerton, but it was a bad business, and the tragedy is that it was Alder who had the misfortune to find her. Would have destroyed a lesser man. It shook me to the core.’

She turned to look at him, seeing the grim line of his mouth. ‘You were there?’

He nodded.

Isabel had read newspaper reports of terrible atrocities in Spain. A young, beautiful woman, such as Inez, would have met a fearful end. And for Sebastian to have found her? She gave an involuntary shudder.

‘What was she like?’

‘Inez Aradeiras was the daughter of a Portuguese colonel. A truly lovely girl. She nursed the wounded and, to be honest, I never heard a bad word about her. Alder was besotted with her. And she with him.’

Isabel felt a stab of pain. She would much rather have heard about a harridan. Little wonder the memory of a paragon of Portuguese virtue made it hard for any living woman.

‘He tracked the murdering swine down and killed him, you know,’ Harry continued. ‘Didn’t bring Inez back and he took to the bottle. Then came Talavera. Wouldn’t be the first soldier who sought a way out in battle.’

It took Isabel a moment to pick up the implication of his words. ‘Are you saying he deliberately put himself in danger at Talavera?’

‘Led a suicidal charge that should have killed him but the good Lord had other plans.’

Isabel shot a glance across the room to Sebastian. Matt had joined him and they were engaged in conversation with another of their neighbours, Sebastian’s handsome head bent towards the elderly woman as if she were the most interesting person in the room. She tried to imagine what he had been through and wondered how he could appear so…normal.

The conversation in the churchyard came back to her. He had found the solace and forgiveness he sought from his stepfather’s gentle counsel, but was Harry right? Would he always be wed to a ghost?

She turned to excuse herself, but Harry had already left her side and was leading Fanny out on to the dance floor.

Sebastian excused himself from the elderly woman and waylaid a passing servant for a glass of champagne. Across the dancers, Isabel still stood where he had left her, Harry Dempster at her shoulder, engaged in conversation.

He began to make his way around the floor, pausing only for the most cursory of greetings, only to find his way barred by Freddy.

‘Well, well, our Isabel and your old chum seem to be getting on well, don’t they?’ Freddy leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘I have heard that the good Colonel is a little stretched for cash. Perhaps a widow’s jointure would be useful?’

Sebastian scowled. ‘That is insulting to both of them, Lynch.’

Freddy held up a hand in protest. ‘I merely meant they make a handsome couple.’

They did. Even Sebastian had to concede that there was something about both of them that seemed matched.

‘I think Isabel is entitled to some happiness in her life,’ Sebastian replied stiffly. ‘Ah, I see Lady Kendall has finished dancing and is headed this way.’

They both watched as the crowd parted to let Lady Kendall pass. Even to Sebastian’s unschooled eye he could see that she was dressed in the very latest fashion. She looked magnificent and Sebastian wondered for the first time about her late husband. He must have left her well provided for.

Lady Kendall arrived at Sebastian in a miasma of her perfume that quite threatened to choke him. She held out her hand and he bowed low over it.

‘My dear Lord Somerton.’

‘Lady Kendall, may I say you look enchanting tonight.’

She smiled and her hand went to the sapphire necklace. ‘Thank you, Lord Somerton. Oh, Mr Lynch, I didn’t see you there.’

‘Lady Kendall. Your servant, ma’am,’ Freddy said.

Lady Kendall spared him a quick smile and a cursory acknowledgement of his presence before turning back to Sebastian as the band struck up the next dance.

‘A waltz, Lord Somerton? My card is quite free.’

Sebastian opened his mouth to protest but she had already taken his arm and he had no choice but to lead her out on to the floor. Despite his protests to Fanny, he could dance, quite well. The pain was not so much physical as emotional. Dancing always brought back memories of the ball in Lisbon where he had met Inez.

For once, Inez was forgotten as the familiar rhythm took them both around the dance floor. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Freddy had led his sister out, moving with a grace and elegance that surpassed any of the other men.

Lady Kendall glanced at the Lynch siblings and a small frown puckered her eyebrows. ‘Quite why Anthony put up with Freddy I never understood. It was almost as if the odious creature had some hold over him.’

‘They were cousins,’ Sebastian said without conviction.

‘If there is any family resemblance, I am afraid it eludes me. I did ask him once but he changed the subject.’ Lady Kendall smiled up at Sebastian. ‘On a more pleasing subject, Lord Somerton, your sister is a picture tonight. You must be very proud of her.’