He chuckled. ‘I think you will like Connie. She has an independent mind, like yours,’ Sebastian said.
She brought her attention back to him. ‘Well, she is fortunate to have a brother to encourage her in independent thought.’
‘I’m not certain that I encourage her,’ Sebastian said, ‘but if I thought my sister would choose to meekly stay at home keeping house, then I was sorely mistaken. She is a talented artist and has... had...’ Isabel heard the quick change in tense. Whatever future Constance had been making for herself had changed with her brother’s fortunes. ‘ Had begun to make her own way in painting miniature portraits.’
‘And will she take to the life at Brantstone?’
Sebastian looked up at the roof of the coach. ‘I am not sure. It will be hard for her to give away her independence, but you, above all, should understand that.’
Her gaze was drawn to meet his and she struggled to understand what it was in this man that compelled him to protect every living thing he felt some responsibility for. Such a way in this world could only lead to hurt and disappointment.
They stopped frequentlyto rest and change the horses, and Sebastian, frustrated by the slightest delay, was not content to sit quietly in the inn. He paced the stable yards, chivvying the ostlers along while Isabel took refreshment.
They took a hasty supper at a coaching inn, changed horses again, and, with the lanterns lit, travelled on into the night. The roads became increasingly rough and the coach had to slow to a walking pace as the coachman navigated the treacherous potholes in the dark.
Wakeful and impatient, Sebastian gritted his teeth as thecoach plodded on. Across from him, Isabel had nodded off to sleep. She curled in a corner of the darkened coach, her face no more than a pale oval.
Since their discussion of the morning when he had forbidden her to use the dower house as a school, Isabel had fallen into silence responding to his attempts at conversation with monosyllabic responses. Sebastian had not intended to be quite so blunt with her, and he knew he had upset her, but the thought of her selling her services as a teacher, governess, or companion, or whatever it was she had planned, horrified him.
He reflected on what she had told him of her life and thought he could understand her a little better now. There had been precious little love or happiness in her privileged life. Far better, he thought, to be the penniless child of a parson and grow up in a happy home full of laughter and music.
He wanted to support her venture. He admired the idea—if he was honest, he admired Isabel—but he could make no promises until the state of his finances became clearer.
A lock of hair had come loose and fallen across her face. He leaned across and lifted it, gently tucking it behind her ear. She stirred but did not wake and he let his hand linger just above the soft curve of her cheek.
She didn’t have Lady Kendall’s striking beauty, but there was a soft vulnerability in her face that she masked in her waking moments. He sat back in his corner with his arms crossed as he contemplated the sleeping woman. She had known so much hurt and bitterness. His cousin had much to answer for.
The coach lurched, throwing Isabel from her seat. She gave a sharp cry as Sebastian caught her. He held her for a moment. Beneath his hands, she seemed to have the fragility of a bird. She went rigid and pushed away from him.
‘Steady, Lady Somerton,’ he said, and, to his surprise, she stilled in his embrace.
For a moment she seemed to relax and he took a deep breath, drawing in the essence of rosemary and lavender, a scentso different from Lady Kendall’s exotic perfumes. All he needed to do was draw her into his arms and he could kiss her. The thought that he wanted to do just that startled him.
The same notion must have occurred to her, and she stiffened. He released his grip and she fell back into her own place, righting her skirts and patting her hair back into place with muttered apologies for inconveniencing him. Once more, the composed and distant Lady Somerton.
He smiled to himself. For all her outward calm, she sounded breathless and flustered. Perhaps Anthony had not completely killed the romantic girl, and there was hope she could learn to love—and trust – again
He laughed, hoping it would put her back at her ease. ‘No apology necessary. We should be there soon. We’ve made good time.’
She looked out into the dark night. ‘What time is it?’
He shook his head. ‘It must be nearly midnight. I’m sorry. You must be exhausted. I should have let you stop for the night.’
She shook her head. ‘Not at all. I have slept quite well.’
‘I sent a message on ahead at our last stop, so they will be expecting us.’
The coachman knocked on the roof, and Sebastian pulled down the window.
‘Village up ahead, sir.’
He sat back and closed his eyes. He was home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The coach drew to a shuddering halt and Isabel lifted the leather curtain to peer out of the window. In the dark she could make out little except the outline of a small cottage. Lights burned in one of the downstairs windows, and above the front porch, light glimmered between curtains.
The front door opened, and the silhouette of a young man appeared on the threshold. He held up a lamp, illuminating his face, and stared at the magnificent coach with undisguised awe.
