Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Isabel glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece and across at the new Lord Somerton, noticing the pinched look around his nose and mouth. An hour with the Lynchs when fully fit would be an ordeal. Now he just looked exhausted.
She rose to her feet, prompting the two men to stand.
‘If you wish, Lord Somerton, allow me to show you the house,’ she suggested.
He reached for the ebony cane. ‘I think, Lady Somerton, that can wait. For now I would be thankful for the opportunity to rest before supper.’
‘Of course. I will show you to your rooms.’
He turned at the door and inclined his head. ‘Mister Lynch, Miss Lynch.’
As they made their way up the stairs, Sebastian asked in a low voice, ‘Forgive me asking, Lady Somerton, but who exactly are those people?’
A fair question, Isabel considered. ‘They are cousins of Anthony’s on his mother’s side, so no blood kin of yours.
’ She turned to look at him. ‘You owe them no obligation at all. Anthony found them in straitened circumstances about a year ago, and they have lived here on his grace and favour ever since.’
‘Did he make no allowance for them in his will?’
‘No,’ she said shortly.
‘What am I expected to do with them?’
They had reached the top of the stairs and Isabel turned to look at him.
‘It is not for me to say. You are Lord Somerton. It is your decision as to whether you throw them out or make some sort of settlement on them.’
He stared back at her. ‘Throw them out? I can hardly do that, Lady Somerton.’
Isabel swallowed the scathing retort that rose in her throat.
They had been uninvited guests in this house long enough.
Freddy was quite capable of making his own way in the world, but chose not to.
As for Fanny, lack of a respectable dowry, or indeed any dowry, lessened her attractions on the marriage market.
She was reaching an age when she could be considered unmarriageable and should be grateful for any offer she received, but Freddy seemed set on a ‘good’ marriage for his sister and had resisted suggestions of suitable husbands for Fanny.
‘Nothing less than a title, my dear Lady Somerton,’ he had said. ‘It’s what she deserves.’
She changed the subject. ‘When your sister arrives, you will have a lady to grace your table, Lord Somerton. It is my hope that the work on the dower house will be complete and I will take my leave of you then.’
Before he could respond, she threw open the door of the bedchamber. Sebastian stood in the doorway and looked around the magnificent room that occupied the end of the west wing of the house, running the full depth of the building.
He leaned on the cane with both hands and shook his head. ‘I swear, Lady Somerton, the entire contents of my cottage would be lost in this room.’
‘It is a little ostentatious,’ Isabel agreed.
A huge four-poster bed, draped with green silk hangings, dominated the room, which had been decorated with a green silk wallpaper that matched the bed hangings. Sebastian reached out to trace the design of herons that fluttered across the pale fabric.
‘Of course, you may decorate to your own taste, my lord,’ Isabel said.
He turned and gave her a half smile. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’
A discreet cough came from behind them. Both Sebastian and Isabel turned.
‘My lord, welcome to Brantstone Hall,’ said a ponderous voice.
‘And you are?’ Sebastian enquired.
‘Pierce, my lord. I am your lordship’s valet. I apologise for not being downstairs to greet you. I was detained in ensuring all was in readiness for you.’
‘Valet?’ Sebastian glanced at Isabel.
‘’Ere, what about me?’ Bennet had appeared in the doorway, carrying Sebastian’s battered campaign trunk. ‘He don’t need a valet. I’ve been his batman these fifteen years past.’
‘And I have been valet to the last two Lord Somertons.’ Pierce looked down his nose at the interloper into his kingdom.
Sebastian turned to Isabel and she read the look of mute appeal in his eyes.
‘I think for the moment—Pierce, Bennet—we should all leave Lord Somerton to get some rest. And might I suggest, Pierce, that his lordship takes supper in his rooms tonight?’
‘Very good, m’lady. I shall tell the kitchen.’ Pierce bowed and made off at a stately pace.
Isabel excused herself and closed the door behind her.
Returning to the parlour, she found Freddy and Fanny engaged in a game of Piquet. Freddy suggested a game of Pope Joan, but she declined, picking up her embroidery frame.
‘Oh, my dear Isabel,’ Freddy said, without moving his eyes from his cards, ‘we will have our work cut out with our new Lord Somerton.’
Isabel looked up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘My dear, the way he talks. And his clothes! He has no idea, does he?’
Isabel stiffened. ‘I think he will soon adapt, Freddy, and if I may make an observation, I do not think he will take kindly to any instruction from you.’
Freddy swivelled in his chair to look at her. He placed a hand on his chest, a frown creasing his forehead and a pained look in his eye.
‘What do you mean?’
‘May I remind you, he is no kin of yours, Freddy. You would be advised to start looking to your own future.’
‘Oh, he wouldn’t throw us out, would he?’ Fanny declared, her blue eyes wide.
Isabel stabbed the needle into the cloth. ‘It is not for me to say what Lord Somerton will do.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the quick look that passed between the siblings. Was it fear?