Lord Somerton's Heir (38 page)

Isabel looked down at her hands. ‘I know all about my late husband’s unhappy life, Lady Kendall. Seb…Lord Somerton tells me that your relationship with my late husband was no more than platonic. Is that true?’

Georgiana Kendall’s shrewd eyes held hers, but she was prevented from answering by the reappearance of the maid returning with the tea tray. Neither woman spoke while Isabel poured tea and handed a bowl to her guest.

Lady Kendall took a delicate sip and looked up. ‘It is quite true. Anthony loved only one woman in his life, Lady Somerton, and that was you.’

‘Sadly, I don’t believe he truly knew how to love a woman,’ Isabel said.

‘Maybe not,’ Georgiana responded. She set the bowl back on the saucer. ‘But I would not have you continue to think the worst of me…or of him. His feelings for you were confused but genuine. I was but a friend to Anthony. No more.’

Isabel cocked her head, looking directly at the woman. ‘Just a friend’ had not been the impression conveyed by either party, but it no longer mattered. Anthony was dead and, in his memory, she could forgive this woman.

‘I came to tell you that I am selling my home in Lincolnshire and moving away from the area. Too many memories, Lady Somerton. With Harry’s unexpected departure for Port Jackson, I find myself craving some bright company, so I intend to move back to London.’

Sebastian had told Isabel of Harry Dempster’s sudden decision to seek adventures in the far off colony of Port Jackson. She wondered if there was more to the story than Sebastian was prepared to tell her, but she had learned not to pry. If he wanted to confide in her, he would do so in his own time.

Isabel allowed herself a smile. ‘Our company is not bright enough for you?’

Lady Kendall’s lips twitched. ‘In honesty, my dear Lady Somerton, there is a certain earl currently in London with whom I wish to get better acquainted.’

‘Ah, I see.’

Isabel felt a pang of regret. All the time she had thought of Lady Kendall as her rival, only to see that she could have been her friend.

‘I hope it is not any antipathy on my part that drives you away, Lady Kendall,’ she said.

Georgiana smiled. ‘Not at all. I would like to think we part as friends, you and I.’

Isabel nodded. ‘I think we will probably never be friends, Lady Kendall. We are too different, but I would not like to think of us as enemies.’

Lady Kendall set her cup down and looked at Isabel with an unblinking gaze. ‘I hear that you are establishing a charity school in Manchester?’

Isabel nodded. ‘I am. It has been a long held dream of mine.’

‘I would like very much to donate to your effort,’ Lady Kendall said.

Georgiana, Lady Kendall, may just as well have hit Isabel in the stomach. All the breath left her body and her mouth dropped open. ‘Donate? But why…?’

‘If a difference can be made to the lives of even just a few women, Lady Somerton, then I will think the money well spent. I will instruct my lawyer to set up an annual donation that should be enough to assist with the running expenses of the establishment. I want no acknowledgment, except a yearly report of your activities.’

‘That is extraordinarily generous of you…’ Isabel began but Lady Kendall waved away her gratitude with a gloved hand.

‘I have been fortunate in my life. This is just a small way I can repay the many kindnesses.’

Georgiana Kendall rose to her feet. ‘Thank you for the tea. I will now take your leave. I return to London in the morning. I wish you every well-deserved happiness.’ She bobbed a respectful curtsey. ‘Good day to you, Lady Somerton.’

With a twitch of her green skirt, Lady Georgiana Kendall left the room, leaving the lingering scent of her perfume. Isabel stood for a long moment, staring out of the window of the dower house. She turned and hurried to her room to fetch her hat and coat and, ignoring the cold, autumnal wind, she strode out of the dower house gate and up the hill to the mausoleum.

Holding her bonnet, she stood looking at her husband’s name on the memorial.

‘Anthony!’ The name rose in the wind and was carried away across the grass. She laid her hand on the cold marble inscribed with his name. ‘Anthony, I’m sorry that it had to be the way it was. Forgive me for not understanding.’

She sank down to her knees and touched the letters of her son’s name, sensing, for the first time, a peace that she thought she would never feel again.

Epilogue

March 15 1816

Among the gravestones of the Brantstone church, a few hardy daffodils and primroses braved the first breath of spring. The faintest green softened the grey branches of the yew trees that marked the boundary and, inside the little church, Isabel and Sebastian pledged their undying love for each other.

So many people crowded the church that those at the back were forced to stand and, as the happy couple left the church, it was to cheers and whoops of delight.

Later, much later, after a grand party in the ballroom — attended by as many of the tenants, villagers and neighbours as could be fitted into the room — the new Lord and Lady Somerton slipped away.

In an acknowledgment of the change in their lives, Sebastian had announced that they would occupy a much smaller bedchamber than the overblown room that had been Anthony’s. For months, Sebastian had been deep in consultation with Connie about its redecoration and, while Isabel had initially been a little miffed not to be consulted herself, she allowed him his plots and plans, trusting if not to his taste, then to that of his sister.

They stood outside the door, hand in hand.

‘Close your eyes,’ Sebastian ordered.

Isabel complied. She heard the door open and Sebastian took her hand, leading her into the room. She sniffed, smelling the subtle scent of snowdrops, one of her favourite flowers.

‘You may open your eyes now.’

Isabel complied and her mouth fell open in surprise as she found herself looking at the bed, a familiar scene of seashells and seaweed and little boats carved on the headboard.

‘It’s Mother Shipton’s bed!’ she exclaimed

‘No. It’s only the head board,’ Sebastian said. ‘When I explained why I wanted it she was only too happy to sell it to me.’

Isabel turned to her husband, tears of happiness springing into her eyes.

He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her in towards him. Every time he touched her, she thought she would shatter into a hundred pieces. She wanted to be with him all day every day. As they kissed, she let her mind fly away to the future.

She was once more Lady Somerton, but how different her life would be with this man. She had found hope and happiness and a new life with a man she loved and who loved her. She knew now what it was to be truly content, and loved.

Sebastian slid his arms around her, lifting her up and carrying her over to their new bed. Tonight they would come together as man and wife and, in time, God willing, there would be a child: Lord Somerton’s heir.

If there’s one universal truth, it’s this: You’re always wearing your worst underwear when you land in trouble
.

Lola’s parents told her that
everyone
can make a difference. And she believed them. She’s been fighting the good fights since she was eleven years old. But at 23, Lola falls hard for an Australian stockbroker who thinks Doctors Without Borders is a porno and Joni Mitchell sounds like a harp seal being battered to death. She cuts him loose, but over the next fifteen years, through protests, misunderstandings, humiliating predicaments, and a number of poor underwear choices, their lives and paths continue to converge.

Along the way, Lola learns a few important life lessons: Never wear a red lace thong to a strip search. Make sure you take motion sickness pills if you’re going to the Southern Ocean to save the whales. And sometimes, Mr Right can be all wrong, and Mr Wrong just needs time to find the right path.

Funny, touching, emotional and political,
Lingerie for Felons
is Bridget Jones meets
An Inconvenient Truth
, about doing the right thing, finding the right person, and always thinking through your underwear choices.

He thought he knew all there was to know about the birds and the bees, but he’s about to get schooled
.

A little birdie tells Hope Buchanan that American hotel developer Sullivan O’Dare isn’t just in town for a holiday. As the manager of Hot Tropics Bird Sanctuary, Hope has more than a vested interest in protecting natural habitats.

Hope pulls out all the stops to convince Sullivan to come out with her to the WA bush, with its beautiful trees and unique wildlife. Surely the stunning scenery and a dose of ‘Broome time’ will show him what is at stake. But what is initially about saving the Sanctuary soon becomes about finding a connection. Could it be that Hope has finally found the bird of a feather to form her own flock?

They’re a car crash waiting to happen…so why do they keep crashing into each other?

From the moment Fetch gets knocked off his Harley, crawls into Driver’s car and offers her an obscene amount of money to drive him from Sydney to Perth — no questions, no names, no chit chat — they’re stuck with each other. By the time they arrive, they’re stuck
on
each other.

It’s lust at full throttle, with no seat belts. It could be more, but he’s a fake and she’s a liar. They’re both neck deep in crime, and only one of them is on the right side of the law.

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