‘Matt!’
Without waiting for the footman, Sebastian flung open the door of the coach, jumped down, and raced towards the door like a schoolboy.
The two men met on the garden path and embraced.
Remembering Isabel, Sebastian turned as the coachman handed her down from the coach. With one arm across his brother’s shoulder, he guided the young man forward.
‘Lady Somerton, allow me to present my brother, Matthew Alder.’
Matthew bowed low over Isabel’s hand.
‘Welcome to Little Benning, Lady Somerton. I only wish it was in better circumstances.’
He smiled at her, and she found herself unable to resist a smile in response. Even in the light of the coach lanterns, she could see he was a good-looking young man, half a head shorter than his brother, his hair a few shades lighter. His eyes crinkled at the edges, and his mouth seemed to be lifted in a permanent smile. If he had not already broken every heart in this village, he soon would.
‘How is Connie?’ Sebastian asked.
The humour drained from Matt’s face, and he shook his head.
‘The doctor’s bled her again this evening but he says if the fever does not break by the morning...’
‘Then let me see her.’ Isabel began walking down the path, removing her gloves.
At the door, an elderly dame who wore the cap and apron of a servant met them. The woman bobbed a curtsey, holding out her hand for Isabel’s hat, cloak, and gloves.
‘Lady Somerton, this is Mrs. Mead, our housekeeper,’ Matthew affected the introduction.
‘Lady Somerton?’ The old woman turned to Sebastian, her expression one of surprise and confusion.
‘ThewidowedLady Somerton.’ Isabel made the correction herself.
Mrs. Mead cast a curious glance at Sebastian, who ducked his head to enter the cottage. He bent to kiss the woman.
‘Mrs. Mead, as I asked in my message, did you arrange the best room for Lady Somerton at the White Swan?’ he asked.
Isabel turned to him with the unspoken question on her lips.
‘There’s no room here and you must be exhausted after the journey,’ Sebastian said, spreading his hand apologetically.
‘The White Swan has no rooms tonight,’ Matt said. ‘But we have made arrangements for Lady Somerton to have my room. I’ll share with you, Bas,’ Matthew said.
‘Thank you, Mr. Alder. Your room will do me fine and I will be more use here than living in splendour at the inn.’
‘You haven’t seen the White Swan,’ Matt murmured under his breath.
‘My lady, we live very simply,’ Mrs. Mead said, a frown creasing her brow.
Isabel held up a hand. ‘Mrs. Mead, I am here to help, not to be entertained. Now, shall we go up? I know Lord Somerton would like to see his sister.’
‘Help? What help is a fine lady like her going to be?’ Isabel heard the old lady whisper to Matthew as they climbed the narrow stairs to the upper storey of the cottage.
Four doors led off the tiny landing. The unmistakable fug of a sickroom permeated the close atmosphere as Sebastian opened one of the doors, again ducking his head to enter the room.
A fire burned fiercely in the hearth, making the room unbearably warm. Obscured by the piles of bedding, a young woman tossed feverishly in the bed. She had thrown the bedding off, and Mrs. Mead, hurried forward, pulling the blankets up again.
‘Leave them,’ Isabel said.
‘Doctor said she had to be kept warm,’ the old woman said.
