Chapter Twenty-Two
Sebastian strode into the breakfast room. He did not look like a man who had spent the early hours of the morning assisting with a foaling. Freshly shaved and with a neatly tied, white, starched linen stock, he looked like a man who had slept long and well. A lock of dark hair fell damply across his forehead, and Isabel could smell the tang of fresh soap.
She, on the other hand, felt—as her late aunt would have said—like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. With only a few hours of sleep, the dark circles dragged her eyes into her head. Her hair lacked lustre and fell in lank locks from the harsh bun into which she had screwed it that morning.
Freddy looked up from his cup of tea.
‘My dear Somerton, you look very pleased with yourself this morning.’
Sebastian sat down. ‘We had a very successful day yesterday,’ he said. ‘I can now clear some of the worst of my cousin’s debts, and,’ he glanced at Isabel, ‘we now have a new addition to the stable. Has Lady Somerton told you?’
Two pairs of eyes turned on Isabel. She swallowed her mouthful of tea.
‘Millie foaled last night,’ she said. ‘A lovely little colt.’
‘Oh, I must go and visit after breakfast!’ Fanny clasped her hands together under her chin. ‘I love baby animals.’
‘Of course you do,’ Freddy simpered.
Isabel glanced at Sebastian and caught the twitch of his mouth. It was all she could do not to laugh.
‘Your mail, my lord.’ A footman with a silver salver bearing the morning mail appeared at Sebastian’s elbow. Sebastian took the letters and the proffered letter opener and sifted through the missives.
‘My brother,’ he said, selecting one and consigning the rest to the table.
He slid the knife beneath the seal and opened it with a smile. However, as he read through the note, his brow darkened.
‘Is something amiss in Little Benning?’ Isabel enquired.
Sebastian ran his hand through his damp hair, making it stick up on end, and rose to his feet with such speed that his chair toppled backwards, skilfully retrieved by Johnson before it hit the floor.
‘I have to go home,’ he said.
‘Home?’ Fanny asked, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Cheshire.’ Sebastian looked at Isabel. ‘My sister has been taken ill and is in a high fever. Baker—’ he addressed one of the other footmen, who visibly jumped.
Sebastian had apparently made it his business to learn the name of all the household staff and made sure he addressed them by their names. As this was unheard of in his cousin’s time, it was little wonder that the poor staff looked startled when his lordship spoke to them.
‘My lord?’
‘Take a message to Thompson that I want Pharaoh saddled and ready within the hour.’
He turned and strode out of the room. Isabel rose quickly and caught up with him in the front hall. She interposed herselfbetween him and the stairs, standing on the second step to bring herself level with him.
‘You cannot possibly consider riding Pharaoh to Cheshire,’ she said.
‘Indeed, I can. Please stand aside, Lady Somerton.’ He placed a foot on the first step, meaning to go around her, but she responded by laying her hand on his chest.
‘You are barely out of your own sick bed,’ she said.
Sebastian stepped back. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, if you ride hell for leather to your sister’s bedside today, you will be more likely to end up tearing your wound open again and risking a fever. Let me order the coach for you.’
‘The coach,’ he repeated and ran a hand across his eyes. ‘I forgot that I own a coach.’
‘I shall order it to be brought around to the front door in an hour. That will give me enough time to pack a few things myself,’ Isabel continued.
