‘The dower house is not quite ready and I am still officially in mourning,’ Isabel said. She paused and glanced at Sebastian, ‘Although for once, I must agree with you, Fanny. I think a ball would be an excellent way to introduce the new Lord Somerton to our society.’
Fanny clasped her hands together. ‘Oh, dear Isabel, I’m so glad you are in agreement.’
Sebastian glanced at Isabel, looking for rescue, but he seemed to be on his own.
‘I’m not sure a ball—’ he began.
‘Somerton,’ Freddy broke in. ‘A ball at Brantstone will launch you into society. It will be the talk of the county.’
‘I don’t need to be launched into society—’ Sebastian began to say, but Fanny had already moved ahead.
‘Freddy and I are set on the first week in September. Aren’t we, Freddy?’
‘Absolutely,’ Freddy concurred.
Sebastian cast another desperate look at Isabel. This time she returned a sympathetic smile.
‘That’s only six weeks, Fanny,’ Isabel observed.
‘Plenty of time. Please don’t concern yourself, Lady Somerton. I know you will be quite busy enough with the dower house. Freddy and I are happy to organise it all and it will be marvellous to be of some use.’ Fanny shot Sebastian a smile of such incredible sweetness that his opposition to the very idea of a ball melted. ‘And of course, Lord Somerton, I hope that your brother and sister will be here by then. It will be a wonderful welcome to them and set you up in fine form for the season. You can’t say no, dear Cousin Sebastian.’
They both returned his horrified look with hopeful smiles.
He cleared his throat and tugged at his neck cloth. ‘If you think that it is an appropriate way for me to start this new role, then so be it. But don’t expect me to dance, Miss Lynch.’
Fanny blinked. ‘Not dance? But why ever not, Cousin Sebastian? Oh dear, do you have a bad leg? Remember, Freddy, poor Miles Otterley could not dance because he had a French musket ball lodged in his knee.’
‘Oh yes, poor fellow, walked with a dreadful limp,’ her brother concurred.
Sebastian opened his mouth to protest that, while he did have a ‘bad leg’, he had his own reasons for not dancing that had nothing to do with a French musket ball, but Isabel cut across him with a comment about the weather.
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.’
