‘Just something to pass a tedious sermon,’ Sebastian responded with a croak.
Isabel traced the caricature of a chaplain’s ruddy, self-satisfied face with her finger.
‘But it’s so good. I can almost hear him pontificating.’
Sebastian held out his hand, and she gave the book back to him. He stuffed it unceremoniously into his pocket.
‘Connie’s the artist in the family. I just scribble.’ He glanced up at the stairs. ‘I take it we will not be joined by the Lynchs?’
Isabel shook her head. ‘I don’t think either of them has set foot in the church, except for funerals, in all the time they’ve been here.’
As they stepped out into the light of another glorious day, he swung his cane and turned his face to the sun. ‘I love this time of year.’
Isabel drew her shawl around her shoulders and tried to match her stride to his. He slowed with a rueful apology.
As they walked, he said, ‘I have written to my brother and sister and told them I will send the coach for them as soon as they are ready to leave.’
Isabel glanced up at him in time to see a flicker of yearning cross his eyes.
‘That’s good news. I look forward to meeting them. I am sure they will love their new home.’
He gave a rueful smile. ‘I don’t think I could restrain them from coming. I suspect Connie is already packed.’ He clasped his hands behind his back and said in a wistful tone, ‘I still have trouble thinking of anywhere except Little Benning as home. It will be strange to have them here.’
‘I am sure they will accustom themselves quickly enough,’ Isabel said with certainty. Surely, the two young people would have no difficulty in accustoming themselves to such a comfortable life.
She had turned down a path that ran away from the driveway, a well-trodden shortcut that took them through the woods.
‘This is a much more pleasant route to the village,’ Sebastian remarked. ‘I took the road yesterday. Tell me about the incumbent of the parish. Is it my living?’
‘It is. Your grandfather only died four years ago, after fortyyears in the parish. Poor Reverend Dunn is still referred to as the “new vicar”.’
‘And he will probably always be referred to that way,’ Sebastian observed, correctly.
Isabel glanced at him. ‘I forget you are, after all, the grandson and indeed the son of a parson.’
He squinted into the trees above them. ‘God and I have not always been on the best of terms. Indeed, there was a time when I stood on the precipice of hell and considered it quite a viable alternative.’
She checked her stride and looked at him in consternation. It went against everything she thought she knew about this man.
‘No. I cannot credit that,’ she said.
‘There was a time in Spain—’ He stopped himself abruptly and began again. ‘I was wounded at Talavera, and they sent me back to England. I... had seen some terrible things, Isabel. I stopped having hope.’
She looked up at him. ‘To lose hope is surely to lose the will to live, Sebastian. What changed?’
He looked down at her, and his mouth quirked into a self-deprecating smile. ‘My father reminded me that there is still great goodness in this world.’
‘The Reverend Alder sounds a remarkable man,’ Isabel observed.
‘He was, and I could do with his wise counsel now.’
They had reached the village, and a sizeable crowd, all dressed in their Sunday best, gathered at the door of the church.
‘I see the church attracts quite a congregation.’ Sebastian straightened, his hand going to the knot of his cravat.
‘I don’t think the Reverend Dunn can claim any credit, my lord. You are the attraction today,’ Isabel observed.
They encountered Sebastian’s Aunt Peggy at the lychgate. Seeing Sebastian, she coloured and dropped into a wobbly curtsey.
