Sebastian tipped his hat. ‘Good morning, Aunt. How is your mother today?’
‘She is too frail to attend the service anymore,’ Peggy said. ‘The Reverend will call in later.’
Sebastian held out his arm. ‘May I escort you into church?’
Peggy’s eyes widened and darted to the right and left. The colour in her cheek deepened.
‘Oh, I couldn’t…’
‘I insist,’ he said.
Peggy took his arm. Isabel put her hand to her mouth to conceal the smile that crept onto her lips as Peggy’s social elevation provoked a murmuring from the gathering crowd.
As they walked up the path towards the door of the church, Sebastian tipped his hat in response to the greetings, the rustle of petticoats from the curtseying ladies accompanying their progress into the church.
‘The Somerton pew is at the front,’ Isabel whispered, indicating the pew at the left-hand side of the church aisle, beneath the pulpit.
‘After you, Lady Somerton,’ Sebastian smiled, removing his hat. ‘Aunt ...’
‘Oh, my lord, I can’t,’ Peggy whispered, her fingers plucking at his sleeve. ‘Not the lord’s pew.’
‘Of course you can. You are my family and this is my family pew,’ he whispered back.
‘Beg pardon, my lady,’ Peggy said as Isabel made room for her. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but his lordship insisted.’
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Isabel responded with a welcoming smile.
A rustle stirred the congregation and Isabel glanced around to see the cause of the disquiet. Isabel caught her breath as a woman wearing a fashionable dress and pelisse of Sherwood green, with a matching green hat topped with a jaunty feather, walked confidently down the aisle to take her place across from the Somerton pew. As she seated herself, the woman glancedsideways, catching Sebastian’s eye, and inclined her head, causing the curls of chestnut hair that clustered beneath the bonnet to bounce. Despite the veil Isabel did not miss the tantalising smile and the inclination of her head directed at Sebastian.
Sebastian acknowledged her with a nod and the woman’s glance moved to Isabel. Isabel pretended not to have noticed the woman’s attention.
‘Who is that?’ Isabel heard Sebastian whisper to his aunt.
‘That’s Lady Kendall,’ Peggy replied. ‘We don’t often see her in church. She lives at Fairchild Hall, about two miles over towards Grantham.’
Isabel looked down at the prayer book in her hand and drew a steadying breath. Nobody present could be under any illusion as to what had drawn Lady Georgiana Kendall to the service of divine worship, and it had nothing to do with God or Reverend Dunn’s sermon.
The Reverend, pink with pleasure, publicly acknowledged Sebastian’s presence, welcoming him to the parish.
Isabel cast a glance at Sebastian. He sat quite still, his back arrow straight, his profile carved from the same stone as those of his ancestors, whose tombs filled the corners of the old church. He looked as if he had been born to the role. The weight of the expectations that pressed in on him did not seem to bother him in the least, but she suspected that the still waters that were Sebastian Alder ran very deep.
Isabel bowed her head and said her familiar silent prayer for the soul of her dead child.
Chapter Fourteen
With his eyes firmly fixed on the fine window above the altar, showing the crucified Christ, Sebastian let the familiar words of the morning prayer pass over him. Just like the manner of his arrival at the hall, this morning would set the tone for his stewardship of the Somerton estate. Everything he did or said would be noted, dissected, and conclusions drawn about him that would be hard to erase.
His common upbringing could either serve to set him apart or give him empathy with his tenants and neighbours. His fingers tightened on the prayer book as he willed his stepfather to send him some sort of divine guidance. In the absence of inspiration, he fell back on what he knew best. He straightened his shoulders and assumed the countenance of a man about to do battle.
As the sermon dragged on, he tried not to steal a glance at Lady Kendall. Even across the aisle of a church, he sensed the powerful attraction of this woman who wasn’t ‘any better than she should have been’, as Bennet, relating his conversations from below stairs, had described her.
He looked forward to meeting Harry’s wayward older sister, Georgiana. There had been many a night in Spain when Harryhad read of his sister’s antics in back copies of London gossip sheets. His brother officers had chivvied him and demanded introductions. Had someone said she had been through three husbands? A shiver of anticipation ran down his spine.
The congregation rose for the last hymn, and he could hear Lady Kendall’s clear, rich soprano rising into the ancient beams of the church. He had every intention of making himself better acquainted with the mysterious, and possibly scandalous, Lady Kendall as soon as the service ended. The thought caused the blood in his pulse to quicken.
Everyone, it seemed, had cause to linger after the service and, as Sebastian emerged with his aunt on his arm, a noticeable flutter seemed to go around the small groups gathered near the graves. His intention of speaking with Lady Kendall was thwarted by the veritable bevy of pretty young ladies of good standing in his path, eager to make his acquaintance. He looked to Isabel to effect the introductions and managed to stutter out some polite conversation about the weather and the sermon.
Only as the woman in green approached. Beside him Isabel stiffened, drawing back a little. He cast a quick glance at Isabel in her dowdy clothes and unflattering black bonnet and felt a tinge of guilt. The serene, oval face did not betray her emotions. In the circumstances, she must find such encounters difficult but there could no avoiding the woman with whom Anthony had allegedly spent his last evening.
