Only when she reached the small grove of trees did she pause, slipping off the saddle and securing Stella’s reins to the nearest oak. Tripping over her skirts, she ran towards the mausoleum and flung herself down on the step, pressing her cheek against the cold marble.
With her finger, she traced the letters of the carved, gilded name.
WILLIAM ANTHONY CHARLES KINGSLEY
Born 3 August 1813 Died 29 May 1814 Suffer Little Children.
Below William’s name was that of her husband, but Isabel hadn’t come here to think about Anthony. The death of her child sat heavily on her heart. The horror of the morning they had found William dead in his crib, still twisted like a knife in her heart. Every day she walked up this hill, and every day she wondered if the hurting ever became any easier.
She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. A cold breeze stirred the dry grass around the crypt and the smell of freshly cut hay rose in the wind.
The grass should be scythed. Anthony would hate to have his tomb in such an untidy state.
Chapter Sixteen
On his return to Brantstone after church, Sebastian spent the time until dinner, avoiding Fanny and Freddy by shutting himself in his own bedchamber with the London broadsheets.
He sat in an overstuffed armchair covered in the same silk as the walls and bed hangings and surveyed the room. When Connie arrived he would consult her about redecorating. She had a marvellous eye for what suited the occupant of a room. All he knew was that the pale silk wall coverings and matching bed covers and elegant gilded furniture wasnothis style. However redecorating was a luxury he could ill afford.
He rose to his feet and looked out the window. It still lacked an hour until dinner, so he decided that a long overdue visit to the stables would be in order. He found a side door and circled the house until he reached the magnificent buildings built in the same style as the house and entered under an elegant clock tower.
Thompson, the head groom, had been included in the introductions on his arrival and came out to meet him, hastily pulling a coat on over his shirtsleeves. Sebastian greeted him by name and asked to be shown over the stables.
‘Honoured, my lord,’ Thompson replied.
The man escorted him through the immaculate stable block, stopping at each stall to introduce the occupant as if they were favoured tenants. Sebastian followed, enthralled and a little awed that all these magnificent beasts were now his. Freddy had been right. Whatever else his cousin lacked, there was no denying he knew his horses. A dozen racehorses, handsome beasts with long legs and powerful hindquarters, strong and beautifully matched carriage horses and an assortment of saddle horses filled the stalls. For the first time, Sebastian felt a cousinly bond with the late Lord Somerton. Anthony may have had no interest in the house and the estate but he understood horses and knew their value.
He stopped to admire a magnificent black stallion. The animal watched him, ears swivelling with curiosity at the sound of his voice as he approached. Sebastian opened the door of the stall and stepped inside, running an experienced hand down the arched neck of the horse.
‘More than a little Arab in this one,’ he remarked,
Thompson nodded. ‘That’s Pharaoh. You’ve a good eye, my lord.’
‘I’d like to ride him.’
Thompson looked dubious. ‘He’s a handful, my lord.’ He hooked his thumbs in his belt and rocked on the balls of his feet. ‘To be honest with you, his late lordship was riding ’im when he had the accident.’
Sebastian gave the handsome beast a thoughtful look.
‘Has anyone ridden him since?’
‘I’ve had him out a few times, my lord, but you know how ’tis when a horse—’ He broke off.
Sebastian knew he had been going to add: ‘becomes a killer’.
‘There’s some as would have had him destroyed,’ Thompson continued
‘That would have been a pity. From what I know of mycousin’s demise, it was hardly the fault of the horse. Get him ready for me, Thompson. I’ll take him out now.’
Thompson hesitated as if about to say something, but thought better of it and inclined his head.
‘As your lordship wishes.’
Sebastian continued the rest of the stables tour by himself. As he reached the end of the row of stalls, past a pair of matching bay carriage horses, he heard the soft tone of a woman’s voice. In the very last stall, a small, heavily pregnant piebald mare was being fed withered carrots by no less a person than the dowager Lady Somerton.
She’d not heard him approach and it gave him the luxury of a moment to stop and watch her as she caressed the little mare’s nose and whispered in her ear. The mare seemed to lean against her, nickering softly in answer to Isabel’s voice.
Isabel wore an elegant green riding habit, completely at odds with the dreadful, shapeless black gowns she seemed to favour. A long strand of hair, the colour of dark honey, had escaped the jaunty hat with its green and black feathers and black netting.
