Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
‘Am I disturbing you?’
Sebastian looked over the top of the broadsheet as Freddy slid into the chair across from him, a slim leather volume held in his hand.
His jaw tightened with annoyance. He had sought out the library in the hope of finding a quiet corner.
For a house this size, it seemed remarkably busy.
The walls of this fine room, with a magnificently painted ceiling sporting nymphs and cupids, were lined with high, heavy bookcases, filled with an impressive array of leather-bound books, and seemed to provide a sanctuary of male solidity.
‘Are you a reader of the poets, sir?’ Freddy enquired, with a slight curl of his lip as if he anticipated the answer.
‘I rather enjoy Lord Byron, but I find Shelley a bit flowery for my taste. I prefer the older poets such as Donne,’ Sebastian said, retreating back behind his paper.
Freddy cleared his throat. ‘Well, cousin, it is encouraging to know we share something in common.’
The possessive use of the familiar ‘cousin’ had begun to grate on Sebastian’s nerves. His fingers tightened on the edges of the broadsheet.
‘I understand from Lady Somerton that we are not blood relatives,’ he said, without lowering his paper.
‘Well not blood relatives, dear chap, but surely cousins by marriage?’
Sebastian folded his paper and set it down on the table beside him. ‘I wouldn’t presume upon a relationship that does not exist in law.’
‘Presume? Oh, my dear chap, I presume nothing. Fan and I are just your humble servants.’ Freddy looked down at the quizzing glass that hung from his neck, produced a kerchief and began polishing it.
‘Fact is, we have nowhere else to go. My late father left me with debts, dear chap. If it were not for dear Anthony’s kindness, we would be on the street.
With poor Anthony now gone, we will, of course, make other arrangements, but I do crave a little leniency to allow us time to find suitable alternate accommodation. ’
Sebastian considered the man. He could not, in good conscience or Christian charity, throw them both out if they had nowhere else to go, and maybe some sort of settlement would be required.
‘Of course. You are welcome to stay for as long as it takes,’ he said with little warmth.
‘Oh, you are too kind. You have my assurance that we will be gone as soon as is possible.’ Freddy folded his hands across the front of his waistcoat and smiled expectantly.
When Sebastian resumed his reading of the broadsheet and did not initiate any further conversation, Freddy said, ‘I suppose you are one of those chaps who spends his time hunting and shooting?’
‘I was brought up in the country. I both hunt and shoot, but I have spent too many years hunting and shooting our enemies,’ he said. ‘I am happy to let foxes and pheasants live in peace.’
If he hoped his words would deter Freddy from continuing the conversation, he was mistaken.
‘Cousin Anthony’s stable was judged one of the finest in the county,’ Freddy continued and Sebastian felt obliged to lower his paper and give him his attention.
‘Anthony knew his horseflesh and as for the fairer sex…’ He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner and said in a lowered voice.
‘Pity he was a little less choosy about his wife.’
Sebastian bristled and the paper crackled in his hand. ‘I will not have Lady Somerton spoken of in that way.’
Freddy’s eyes widened and he held up a deprecatory hand.
‘Lady Somerton is a fine woman but not... Anthony’s sort.
He liked his women with a bit more spirit in ’em.
They weren’t exactly what you might call a match made in heaven and, to be honest, would you take with a woman who dresses like such a dowd?
I mean, my dear, the child’s been dead well over a year and dear Cousin Anthony nearly as long. ’
The child again.
‘My dear chap, there’s only one reason a fellow like Anthony would marry a woman like Isabel: money. She was an heiress. If he hadn’t married her, he’d have lost Brantstone. Just like my late, unlamented father did our estate,’ he concluded with ill-disguised bitterness.
‘I see,’ said Sebastian.
So the fine horses in the stable, which he was yet to inspect, and the elegant surroundings were courtesy of Isabel, and what had Anthony left her? A ‘comfortable jointure and use of the dower house’. It seemed like a poor exchange, and now even that had gone.
‘What do you know of Anthony’s death?’ he said, deflecting the topic from Isabel.
‘It was an accident,’ Freddy said with an expressive lift of his eyebrows.
‘Just between us chaps, Cousin Anthony was on his way home from visiting a certain lady. I guess that he’d fuelled himself on a bit too much of the good lady’s late husband’s wine stock.
Took a hedge and came off. Snapped his neck.
They found him in the morning, cold and stiff. ’
‘So, between us chaps, was Anthony unfaithful?’ Sebastian enquired.
Freddy looked genuinely startled. ‘I suppose... yes, of course he was. Got no comfort at home, if you know what I mean. Told you he liked the company of women with a bit of spirit to ’em.’
Sebastian looked past Freddy, gazing out of the window.
He tried to imagine Isabel’s lot in life, tied to a man who apparently had only married her for her money, preferring the company of light skirts.
Their only child dead before his first birthday.
No wonder she sought the peace and serenity of the dower house.
Brantstone Hall could hold precious few happy memories for her.
Sebastian sat back in his chair and contemplated the elegant fop sitting across from him.
‘Forgive my curiosity, Lynch, but can you be a little more specific about your relationship to my cousin?’
Freddy blinked. ‘Have I been remiss in not informing you of my antecedents? Why my mother was second cousin to dear Anthony’s mother.’
Sebastian found the relationship somewhat remote. ‘And how exactly did you come to be here at Brantstone?’
Freddy rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘My father was the very worst of gamblers. He lost everything on horses and then took his own life, leaving poor Fan and I quite on our own in the world. Dear Anthony offered us shelter and comfort when we needed it most. He promised, promised, to leave us provided for in his will, but, as you know, there was no such provision for us and the estate devolved to you.’ He paused, his fingers playing with the ribbon of his quizzing glass.
‘What a happy day that must have been for you, Sebastian.’
Sebastian regarded Freddy over his steepled fingers.
He sighed. ‘Look, Lynch. Whatever my cousin’s intention towards you and your sister, I am conscious that I cannot, in all conscience, disregard an obligation, but until I can liquidate some more assets and have a better idea of the extent of the estate, I cannot make you any promises.’
Freddy twirled his quizzing glass.
‘That is very kind of you, and more than we deserve. Now we are friends again, perhaps I can divert you with a small game of cards?’
Sebastian rose to his feet. ‘You must excuse me, Lynch, but I am a little weary after my walk this morning.’
He shut the library door with a deep, thankful breath. He could have sworn the man was doused in some sort of fragrance. If Freddy haunted the library, he would have to find another room in the house to call his own.
As he passed the blue parlour he peered in through the half open door. Isabel sat at a desk, pen in hand. He knocked and entered.
She looked up and smiled. She seemed to be unbending a little in his presence and the smile softened her features.
‘Can I help you, my lord?’
Remembering the talk with his grandmother, his gaze swept the walls of the parlour on which hung a large number of portraits, large and small.
‘One day you need to take me through the rogues’ gallery,’ he said.
Isabel smiled. ‘Well, there are a couple of rogues here in this room that you may be quite interested in.’ She rose to her feet and walked over to a medium-sized portrait of two young men in powdered wigs lounging under a stylised oak tree. A dog and a hunting rifle completed the picture.
‘The younger man is your father,’ she said, ‘and the older his brother, George, Anthony’s father.’
Sebastian joined her, staring at the first likeness of his father he had ever seen.
‘Everyone I met this morning says I look like my father,’ he said. ‘I can’t see it myself.’
‘You’re at least ten years older than the James in the picture but, yes,’ Isabel considered him, ‘there is a strong resemblance.’
‘What about Anthony? Is there any likeness of him in the house?’
Isabel’s chest rose as she seemed to take a deep breath. ‘I have a small picture painted last year,’ she said. ‘Do you want to see it?’
He nodded. ‘It helps to be able to put a face to a name. I’m not good at just names.’
‘Wait here. I will fetch it.’
While he waited for her to return, Sebastian studied the bucolic painting of his father and uncle, searching for the character of the men in the stylised representation.
James lacked the robust physique of his older brother, and he thought he could sense a dreamy nature in his father’s eyes, but perhaps that was just artistic licence.
He heard Isabel’s footsteps behind him and turned to face her.
She handed him a portable leather-bound folio.
He raised the little latch, opening it to reveal a small but exquisite portrait of a man standing behind a woman seated on a low chair.
His hand rested lightly but possessively on her left shoulder. The woman held a baby in her arms.
He glanced up, noticing a line between Isabel’s eyebrows, a sure sign of the rigid self-control she imposed on herself.
‘I know about the child,’ he said quietly.
She let out a breath.
‘My aunt and grandmother let it slip,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘That was painted when William was three months old. It is a very good likeness of Anthony.’