He struggled to find some words to say that he wanted them to come to the hall, to visit, to live, to be with him. They were his real family. Not outsiders like Fanny and Freddy.
Peggy put a hand on his sleeve. ‘All in good time, my lord. We’re content, more so for knowing you are here. You will bring Matthew and Constance to see us, when they arrive?’
‘Of course, and I will visit again.’
As he walked away from the little cottage, a knot of emotion gathered in his chest and he found he had to choke back unaccustomed tears.
Chapter Eleven
‘Where’s Sebastian this morning?’ Fanny enquired as Isabel sat down at the table for breakfast.
Isabel raised an eyebrow at Fanny’s peremptory tone and the familiar use of Lord Somerton’s forename. ‘While it is no business of yours,LordSomerton is probably feeling the effect of the long journey and, if he has any sense, he will spend a few days resting and recuperating.’
The door burst open, and Sebastian strode in. His appearance caused even Freddy to lay down the broadsheet he had been reading.
Isabel took a breath. Far from resembling the languishing invalid whose portrait she had just painted, Sebastian had a good colour in his unshaven face. It didn’t look as if a comb had seen his hair, and he wore his shirt open at the neck with no neckcloth, under a long, green coat. In this dishevelled state he exuded energy.
In their short acquaintance, she hadn’t seen him looking so—she struggled for a word—alive.
‘Breakfast?’ Fanny enquired, staring at this apparition.
Sebastian glanced at the groaning board. ‘Er, no. I’ve alreadyeaten. I was looking for the London broadsheets. Parker said they had arrived. Ah... you have them, Lynch.’
Freddy folded the papers and, as he handed them over, he remarked, ‘My dear fellow, you haven’t been out looking like that?’
Sebastian looked down at his ensemble. ‘Looking like what?’
‘My dear Somerton. Unshaven... no neckcloth.’ Freddy’s mouth formed a moue of disapproval.
‘I’ve been for a walk. I didn’t intend on social calling but as it happened, I had a long talk to Wilkins the publican, and I met my aunt and grandmother.’ He glanced at Isabel. ‘A delightful surprise. And as every woman in the village seemed intent on fattening me up, I have no room for anything more to eat. No thank you, Johnson,’ Sebastian waved aside the footman with a proffered dish of kidneys.
Freddy’s knife clattered on the plate, and he glanced at Isabel. Isabel read the horror in his eyes. Oneneveracknowledged a servant by name. She picked up her napkin and dabbed at her lips to hide the smile.
As Sebastian turned to leave the room, Freddy straightened in his chair. ‘You’re probably unaware, Somerton, that now you have arrived at Brantstone, there will be a veritable parade of the county notables all leaving their card for you. The local mamas will be simply dying to introduce you to their darling daughters.’
Sebastian looked back at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He means you are the most eligible male in the county,’ Fanny said, turning her blue eyes on him. ‘That is why this ball is so important. We have to launch you properly into society and find you a suitable bride.’ She smiled.
‘As you said you didn’t dance, I have arranged for Monsieur Fromard to attend on you tomorrow morning,’ Freddy said.
Sebastian’s mouth tightened, but he responded pleasantly enough. ‘And what does Monsieur Fromard do?’
Freddy shot him a frosty look. ‘Dancing and deportment, dear fellow.’
Sebastian drew himself up to his full, formidable height. ‘I am an officer of the Duke of Wellington and quite well schooled in all the usual dances one would expect at such an occasion, but let’s get one thing quite clear, Lynch: I don’t dance.’ His tone dripped ice.
‘Oh, were you at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball on the eve of Waterloo?’ Fanny clapped her hands together.
‘A mere captain of the line?’ Sebastian gave her a withering glance.
‘But you’re Lord Somerton. How rude of the Duchess.’
Isabel looked at Fanny with amazement. ‘Fanny, neither Sebastian nor the Duchess were acquainted with his antecedents.’
Sebastian cast Fanny a look of sheer exasperation. ‘Miss Lynch,’ he said, employing a tone of polite patience. ‘Have you not noticed that I walk with a limp? A French musket ball ended my dancing career. Trust me, whatever my inclination towards a cotillion, I make a most difficult dance partner. I therefore choose not to dance on these occasions.’
‘Cousin Sebastian,’ Fanny adopted a wheedling tone, ‘how do you hope to find an eligible young lady if you cannot dance? There are expectations ...’
