‘Yes. He’s gone to send a message to my home, but it will be tomorrow before they get a coach to us. I hope you don’t mind us intruding on your hospitality.’
‘Not at all. ’Tis an honour to have such a fine gentleman and lady with me.’ The old woman handed over the clothes. ‘These belonged to my Jos. He were a big man like you, so they should fit. If you give me your wet things, I’ll dry ’em by the fire along with her leddyship’s clothes.’
Sebastian looked around the little room, wondering where he could get changed.
‘I’ll see to some broth for your good lady. There’s nowt you’ve got I haven’t seen before.’
Giggling to herself, she turned her back on him and Sebastian stripped off his sodden clothing. The simple clothes that had once belonged to her ‘Jos’ fitted well and reminded Sebastian of another time, not so very long ago, when he would have called such clothes his own. He sank into a chair by the fire.
Mother Shipton took the pile of wet clothes and set his sodden boots to dry by the fire while Sebastian downed a very good fish broth with fresh bread that she set in front of him.
When he had put the wooden bowl to one side, the old woman produced clean bandages and redressed the wound on his hand, slathering a vile-smelling unguent on the cut. Sebastian’s nose twitched and the old woman chuckled.
‘Aye, it smells bad, my lord, but I guarantee within a day ye’ll not know ye’ve been hurt.’ She pointed at the stairs. ‘You go and be with your lady, m’lord. I’ll not disturb you.’
Chapter Sixty-Two
Isabel closed her eyes and sank back against the feather bolsters in Mother Shipton’s bed, letting the events of the past twenty-four hours circle and collide in her tired mind. Surprisingly, she felt no urge to sleep. She was warm and dry, and the excellent fish broth had revived her.
She threw back the bedcovers and, holding up the voluminous folds of what was probably Mother Shipton’s best nightdress, padded over to the little window. It had gone dark, and only the lights from the other dwellings in the village illuminated the night. Rain still pattered on the panes, but the worst of the storm had passed. She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering the howling wind and the crashing waves and how close she had been to death.
She heard the front door shut and watched as Harry, his head bent against the wind, walked out into what passed for a street. He disappeared around a corner, and she turned her attention back to the events of the day.
Had Freddy made it to the safety of the boat, or had he drowned in the attempt? Unless his body washed up on the shore, she might never know. Images of Freddy’s wild eyes as hedragged her to what could have been her death clawed at her, and she closed her eyes, consigning them to a dark place.
Sebastian had pulled her from the sea. Sebastian had saved her life and she had nothing to give him in return except her love, and she would give that gladly.
Sebastian.
A smile twitched the corners of her mouth and she hugged herself tighter. Sebastian—alive, his dark eyes full of love and concern as he bent over her on the beach.
More than anything in the world, she wanted him here to hold her. She wanted a chance to say those precious words that had been on the tip of her tongue on the night of the ball.
As if on cue, a firm rap sounded on the door.
‘Come in,’ she said.
He paused in the doorway, his eyes widening at the sight of the peculiar garment that enveloped her.
‘Good lord, what on earth are you wearing?’
She held out the nightdress and smiled. ‘I think this nightdress would hold four of me.’
He took a step into the room, closing the door behind him. He came to stand beside her, his hands behind his back as they both looked out of the window into the dark, damp night.
Her nose twitched. A strange, slightly fishy smell seemed to be emanating from Lord Somerton.
‘Sebastian, I hate to be personal, but you do smell a little… odd.’
He looked down at his bandaged hand.
‘I’m afraid Mother Shipton took it into her head to dress the cut on my hand. She slathered this stuff on before I could stop her. I did have a go at trying to wipe it off, but the smell lingers, I’m afraid.’
Isabel put a finger to her nose. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘And I am afraid we have something of a dilemma, Lady Somerton.’
‘A dilemma?’
