‘It was an accident,’ Freddy said with an expressive lift of his eyebrows. ‘Just between us chaps, Cousin Anthony was on his way home from visiting a certain lady. I guess that he’d fuelled himself on a bit too much of the good lady’s late husband’s wine stock. Took a hedge and came off. Snapped his neck. They found him in the morning, cold and stiff.’
‘So, between us chaps, was Anthony unfaithful?’ Sebastian enquired.
Freddy looked genuinely startled. ‘I suppose... yes, of course he was. Got no comfort at home, if you know what I mean. Told you he liked the company of women with a bit of spirit to ’em.’
Sebastian looked past Freddy, gazing out of the window. He tried to imagine Isabel’s lot in life, tied to a man who apparently had only married her for her money, preferring the company of light skirts. Their only child dead before his first birthday. No wonder she sought the peace and serenity of the dower house. Brantstone Hall could hold precious few happy memories for her.
Sebastian sat back in his chair and contemplated the elegant fop sitting across from him.
‘Forgive my curiosity, Lynch, but can you be a little more specific about your relationship to my cousin?’
Freddy blinked. ‘Have I been remiss in not informing you of my antecedents? Why my mother was second cousin to dear Anthony’s mother.’
Sebastian found the relationship somewhat remote. ‘And how exactly did you come to be here at Brantstone?’
Freddy rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘My father was the very worst of gamblers. He lost everything on horses and then took his own life, leaving poor Fan and I quite on our own in the world. Dear Anthony offered us shelter and comfort when we needed it most. He promised,promised, to leave us provided for in his will, but, as you know, there was no such provision for us and the estate devolved to you.’ He paused, his fingers playing with the ribbon of his quizzing glass. ‘What a happy day that must have been for you, Sebastian.’
Sebastian regarded Freddy over his steepled fingers.
He sighed. ‘Look, Lynch. Whatever my cousin’s intention towards you and your sister, I am conscious that I cannot, in all conscience, disregard an obligation, but until I can liquidatesome more assets and have a better idea of the extent of the estate, I cannot make you any promises.’
Freddy twirled his quizzing glass.
‘That is very kind of you, and more than we deserve. Now we are friends again, perhaps I can divert you witha small game of cards?’
Sebastian rose to his feet. ‘You must excuse me, Lynch, but I am a little weary after my walk this morning.’
He shut the library door with a deep, thankful breath. He could have sworn the man was doused in some sort of fragrance. If Freddy haunted the library, he would have to find another room in the house to call his own.
As he passed the blue parlour he peered in through the half open door. Isabel sat at a desk, pen in hand. He knocked and entered.
She looked up and smiled. She seemed to be unbending a little in his presence and the smile softened her features.
‘Can I help you, my lord?’
Remembering the talk with his grandmother, his gaze swept the walls of the parlour on which hung a large number of portraits, large and small.
‘One day you need to take me through the rogues’ gallery,’ he said.
Isabel smiled. ‘Well, there are a couple of rogues here in this room that you may be quite interested in.’ She rose to her feet and walked over to a medium-sized portrait of two young men in powdered wigs lounging under a stylised oak tree. A dog and a hunting rifle completed the picture.
‘The younger man is your father,’ she said, ‘and the older his brother, George, Anthony’s father.’
Sebastian joined her, staring at the first likeness of his father he had ever seen.
‘Everyone I met this morning says I look like my father,’ he said. ‘I can’t see it myself.’
‘You’re at least ten years older than the James in the picture but, yes,’ Isabel considered him, ‘there is a strong resemblance.’
‘What about Anthony? Is there any likeness of him in the house?’
Isabel’s chest rose as she seemed to take a deep breath. ‘I have a small picture painted last year,’ she said. ‘Do you want to see it?’
He nodded. ‘It helps to be able to put a face to a name. I’m not good at just names.’
‘Wait here. I will fetch it.’
While he waited for her to return, Sebastian studied the bucolic painting of his father and uncle, searching for the character of the men in the stylised representation. James lacked the robust physique of his older brother, and he thought he could sense a dreamy nature in his father’s eyes, but perhaps that was just artistic licence.
