‘My grandmother?’ Sebastian repeated.
‘It was through her we learned of the possibility of your existence. Finding you was another matter. Is something the matter?’
Sebastian stared at her.
Family? He had family of his own?
He recovered his manners. ‘Forgive me, Lady Somerton. In all my life there has only ever been myself and my brother, and my sister. I can’t even begin to imagine what it will mean to Connie—my sister—to find she has a wider family.’
Isabel looked down at her hands. ‘Having no family of my own, Lord Somerton, I can imagine what a joyous surprise this must be for you.’
‘No family?’
She raised her face, and her gaze met his. ‘None. My parents died when I was a child, and my uncle and aunt, who raised me, are now dead.’
Sebastian thought he should say something, but the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to assure this woman that she would always be welcome in his home and that she was, in his mind anyway, family and under his care and responsibility.
Isabel rose from her seat and fetched an elegant ebony cane from a corner of the room. ‘I found this in a cupboard. It belonged to Anthony. He carried it everywhere. He carried it for affectation, but it seems quite sturdy. I thought you may find it useful in your recuperation.’
Sebastian took the cane, inspecting the carved ivory handle bearing the Somerton coat of arms.
‘That is a kind thought, Lady Somerton. If I am going to go about like a man of eighty, I may as well look the part.’
Isabel smiled, and again he caught an elusive glimpse of the person behind the severe hairstyle and dark dress. As quickly as it had come, it vanished.
He had a dim memory of thinking her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. In the right gown and with her hair softened, Lady Somerton had the potential of a rare beauty. He swallowed and reminded himself that, whatever his change in fortune, she would always be the widow of a viscount and he a simple soldier.
With the aid of the cane, he pulled himself to his feet. ‘Lady Somerton, thank you for your kindness to me over the last week.’
She turned back to her desk. ‘Purely self-interest, my lord.’ She looked back at him. ‘If the weather is fine, and you feel up to it, it is my custom to take a walk in Kensington Gardens around four in the afternoon. Would you care to join me?’
‘In a day or two, perhaps,’ Sebastian replied and, with an inclination of his head left her to her letters.
Back in his room, Sebastian found Bennet. The little corporal had laid out his purchases on the bed and stood back with a pleased grin, like a dog expecting praise for fetching a stick. Sebastian eyed the stockings, gloves, drawers, shirts, andneckcloths without interest. As he subsided, exhausted, onto a chair, Bennet poured a glass of port and lulled by the warmth of the fire and the alcohol, Sebastian fell asleep.
Chapter Five
As Isabel and Sebastian strolled the well-kept paths of Kensington Gardens, Isabel wondered why she chose to inflict this particular form of torture on herself. Habit, she supposed. She had chosen to cut herself off from genteel society, and rumours as to the reason abounded. She knew the gossip. The truth would go with her to the grave.
Beside her, Sebastian walked slowly, leaning heavily on the walking stick she had given him, and, behind them, her maid and Bennet kept a respectful distance. Isabel had been out of society for so long that very few people she passed acknowledged her, although a few curious glances were thrown her way. Those who did know her gave her nothing more than a peremptory greeting and expression of feigned sorrow over Anthony’s death and waited with an expectant look to be introduced to Sebastian. They went on their way, disappointed.
As they turned a corner, a man and a woman walked along the path towards them, arm in arm, the woman leaning in towards the man and giggling at some private joke. The man looked up and recognition sprang into his face as his gaze fell not on her but her companion.
‘Alder! By all the gods, fancy meeting you here.’
The man beside her stiffened.
‘Good God! Harry Dempster!’
The two men clasped hands, theirs a fraternity born of long acquaintance, Isabel guessed.
‘Alder! I hardly recognise you. How long has it been?’
‘Not since you left the regiment, Dempster.’ Sebastian turned to Isabel, ‘Lady Somerton, my old friend and comrade, Colonel Dempster.’
The woman with the colonel turned to Isabel and she recognised Elizabeth Langmead, wife of Sir John Langmead. Sir John must be absent on one of his diplomatic missions, she thought. A fool to leave his much younger wife alone, prey to every rake in London.
‘My, my, Lady Somerton. I thought you resided in the country these days?’ the woman said, dropping into a curtsey so slight it bordered on insolent.
