‘There you are, cousin Sebastian. Everyone is waiting for you.’ She drew back and looked him up and down. ‘My, you do look fine. Now, do come and let us greet your guests.’
Fanny stepped forward, Isabel moved in close beside Sebastian.
‘Thank you, Fanny,’ she said. ‘It will be my pleasure and duty to affect the introductions.’
Isabel did not miss the flash of annoyance that clouded Fanny’s face for an instant.
The girl turned to Sebastian, her eyelashes fluttering as she said, ‘Cousin Sebastian, I do hope you will take the first dance with me. My card is quite free.’
Sebastian turned and looked at her. ‘My dear Miss Lynch, I told you that I don’t dance.’ He swept a hand towards the ballroom. ‘Besides I can see plenty of young men who would be more than happy to oblige.’
Fanny pulled a face. ‘Oh yes. The war wound.’
Sebastian patted his right thigh. ‘Pains me something fearful if I so much as try a cotillion.’
Fanny glowered, but before she could retort, a young man with a badly pocked face had approached her. Lacking any excuse to decline his offer of the first dance, she took his proffered hand and, with a toss of golden curls, sailed into the ballroom.
‘The war wound doesn’t seem to inconvenience you unduly in other matters,’ Isabel observed with an arched eyebrow.
‘Oh, I could manage a cotillion if forced into it,’ Sebastian admitted with a smile, ‘but not just yet.’
‘Come, you are keeping your guests in the most terrible suspense.’
As they entered the room, a silence spread across the gathering like a blanket across a bed. Glancing up at Sebastian, Isabel felt a surge of pride. His nerves did not show in the confident way in which he stood, allowing the eyes of the assembled company to conduct their evaluation of his worth and person. She could hardly credit that this was the same ragged soldier she had pulled from the fetid hospital in London. His own natural charm and some hard work by Pierce had produced a man who looked as if he had been born to the role.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you for the welcome I have received since my arrival. I apologise that I have not been able to receive you all in person but I hope to get a chance to make your acquaintance this evening.’ He spread a hand across the room in a gesture of munificence. ‘In the meantime, I bid you a warm welcome to my home.’
A smattering of applause met this speech. Sebastian introduced Matt and Connie, who looked delightful in a new gown of green silk, and with Isabel at his elbow to smooth the introductions he moved through the assembly. As he passed, the fans fluttered and Isabel caught snatches of the whispered conversations as the women compared their impressions.
Seeing Harry Dempster standing alone, Sebastian quickened his pace. Harry wore full dress scarlets and Isabel had to admit he looked magnificent. He didn’t have Sebastian’s height and his hair was a lighter brown but he had a litheness and elegance to his carriage and a confidence in his former rank that made him every bit the subject of covert female attention as was his lordship. And he knew it.
Sebastian clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder with an obvious sense of relief.
‘Dempster, so glad you could come.’
Harry bowed to Isabel. ‘Lady Somerton, your servant.’
‘Is your sister here?’ Sebastian enquired.
Harry gestured at the dance floor where Lady Kendall danced with one of the neighbours. She wore a high-waisted dress of deep midnight-blue satin, cut low enough to intrigue the men and scandalise the women, whose fans waved furiously as she passed. A magnificent drop of sapphires hung about her creamy throat and her thick, auburn hair was curled and coiffured around a simple blue ribbon.
As Isabel watched the woman circle the dance floor, the familiar stirrings of the green eye of jealousy tugged at her. Why couldn’t she be more like Georgiana Kendall? So full of life and laughter and easy with all she met.
‘Somerton!’ Sebastian was hailed by a portly man. ‘You must meet Sir John Dawlish. He’s got some radical ideas on farm improvement. Just the sort of thing you were talking about at Lady K’s the other evening.’
With only time to briefly acknowledge Isabel and Harry, Sebastian was hauled away.
‘You look very lovely tonight, Lady Somerton,’ Harry said in a low voice.
Without looking at him, she found her voice. ‘How kind.’
‘Would you consider a dance?’
She looked up into his handsome face and shook her head. ‘I think not. I am still officially in mourning.’
Isabel opened her fan, making a pretence of watching the dancers. She sensed Harry’s presence behind her, his breath on her hair. On the far side of the dance floor, Sebastian bent low to talk to a group of elderly matrons.
‘You haven’t taken your eyes off my old comrade,’ Harry observed.
