He followed Isabel across the black and white tiles towards a heavy door. Before he could reach for the door knob, a footman sprang forward and opened the door admitting Sebastian and Isabel into a pleasant parlour, the windows hung with blue velvet curtains. As he crossed the threshold, a young man, who had been sitting on a well-upholstered chair, sprang to his feet. A heavy lock of bright fair hair fell across his face in his haste, and he brushed it back with a delicate hand as he advanced to greet Sebastian.
‘Lord Somerton... cousin... if I might make so bold.’ He thrust out a hand. ‘Welcome, welcome, welcome.’
In the face of this effusive greeting, and more out of reflex than politeness, Sebastian took the proffered hand and shook it.
‘Thank you, er ...’ He glanced at Isabel.
‘My apologies, Lord Somerton. I mentioned Mister Lynch and his sister, who are guests here at Brantstone,’ she said.
‘Frederick Lynch, your servant, sir.’ The young man bowed. ‘And may I present my sister, Frances. But please, as we are kin, Fanny and Freddy to your lordship.’
A young woman, who had been reclining on a brocaded daybed, rose to her feet and curtsied, holding out her hand.
Two eyes the colour of cornflowers looked up at him from a small, peaked face framed by ringlets the same shade as her brother’s hair. He could not take his eyes off the rosebud mouth, which his brother officers would have described as ‘eminently kissable’.
‘Please sit,’ Lady Somerton said, indicating a chair. ‘I will pour tea.’ As she handed Sebastian a bowl and saucer, she said, ‘As I explained to you in London, Mister and Miss Lynch are cousins of my late husband.’
The two Lynchs smiled at Sebastian. Frederick was one of those young men with classical looks who could be any age—high cheekbones and dark, soulful eyes with a full, soft mouth and a receding chin. Sebastian had seen his sort in the army, often the younger sons of the aristocracy with purchased commissions and no idea of how to lead men. More at home in a drawing room than on a battlefield, they generally died in their first action.
Fanny took a sip of tea. ‘Cousin Sebastian, I do hope you are recovered from your terrible wound?’
Sebastian made the mistake of looking at her and, once again, found himself drowning in a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen.
‘Er, yes, thank you,’ he stuttered.
‘We’ve been simply dying to meet you ever since we received word of your existence and then dear Isabel saw your name in the casualty lists and went flying off to London,’ Fanny continued, apparently oblivious of the effect she washaving on him. ‘It’s just been too, too exciting. Now here you are.’
‘Excellent,’ Freddy put in for good measure. ‘We despaired of ever finding an heir, didn’t we, Cousin Isabel?’
Sebastian glanced at Isabel. Her face, as appeared to be her custom, betrayed little, and he wondered if she kept everything so tightly contained that one day it would just burst from her.
‘We did indeed,’ she agreed, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a sip. As she set it back in the saucer, she said, ‘Tell me, Lord Somerton, what did your brother and sister make of the news?’
He smiled at the memory of Connie’s reply to his letter. It had been filled with scratching out and exclamation marks and demands to know when she and Matt could join him.
‘I don’t think they believe me. My sister’s letter was almost unintelligible.’
‘Oh, you have a brother and sister,’ Fanny declared. ‘How marvellous. Are they Kingsleys too?’
‘No. They are my half-siblings. My brother, Matthew, teaches at the local grammar school, and my sister, Constance, is an artist. She paints miniatures.’
Fanny blinked. ‘They work?’
The comment brought Sebastian up with a jolt. Of course they worked. His captain’s pay alone was barely enough to support them. As soon as Matt had been old enough, he had taken a teaching post at the village school. Any thought of Oxford had been out of the question. Connie’s choice of profession had been her own. She had told him in no uncertain terms that she wished to contribute to the household, and her considerable artistic talent would be otherwise wasted. For someone so young, she had already garnered several lucrative commissions.
‘When will they be arriving?’ Isabel cut in before Sebastian could respond.
Sebastian’s gaze drifted to the window and the wide expanse of parkland beyond. His land, he presumed.
‘I thought it best to wait a little while. At least until I’ve found my feet.’
Fanny gave a small cry of distress, her hand flying to a well-endowed bosom that threatened at any moment to burst free of the low-cut neckline of her dress.
‘Oh, but you simply can’t leave them to moulder in some dreary little corner. You must bring them to Brantstone.’ She reached across and took her brother’s hand, looking up at him with a fond smile. ‘Freddy and I have been talking, and we think you should hold a ball. The neighbours must be simply dying to meet the new Lord Somerton and what better way than a ball?’
‘A ball?’ Isabel set her cup down, the cup rattling in the saucer.
‘Oh! With your agreement of course, Cousin Isabel,’ Fanny said. ‘Any earlier would have been quite improper, but you did say you would be moving to the dower house as soon as the new Lord Somerton was installed.’
