Lord Somerton's Heir (28 page)

She gave Sebastian a last pitying glance and walked away.

Sebastian sank back on the sofa. Had it only been a few hours earlier when he had kissed Isabel and told her he loved her? Only a few hours since his future had a contained a promise of happiness with a woman he loved by his side?

‘Isabel is right,’ Connie said softly. ‘I think we should all go to bed. The world will seem much brighter in the morning.’

She sounded so like her father that Sebastian gave a bitter laugh. The world would be no brighter in the morning. He would still face the grim prospect of a lifetime with Fanny. He wondered if challenging Freddy to a duel would satisfy honour, but it wasn’t Freddy’s honour at stake. It was his, and if he considered himself an honourable man, he had no choice but to marry Fanny. The Lynchs had set a fine trap and he had walked blindly into it.

After seeing Fanny settled into the guest chamber, looking for all the world like a well pleased cat, Isabel sought the sanctuary of her own bedchamber. Shutting the door behind her and turning the key in the lock, she took a deep, shuddering breath.

She gasped as a physical pain gripped her and the breath left her body. Laying a hand against her chest, she put out the other to support herself against the post of her bed.

This
, she told herself,
was what people meant when they talked of a broken heart
.

A little voice inside her cried out,
He said he loved you
.

And I should have said I loved him
, she answered the little voice,
but I didn’t, and now it is too late
.

She had allowed herself to hope. For a few fleeting moments she had imagined a life with Sebastian, and it had seemed like a warm sun on the cold barren plain of her life. In her heart she had already shed her widow’s weeds and bought brightly coloured gowns. She would dance with him, feel her hand gripped in his strong hand. They would have been happy here at Brantstone…a brood of strong, handsome children…

She gave a strangled cry and sank to the floor, leaning her head against her bed and allowing her grief to overwhelm her.

Chapter 22

Isabel stood at her window, looking out at the parkland with dulled eyes. The grey fingers of dawn washed the colour from the landscape and a light fog shrouded the trees, matching her mood. She had hardly slept and her future now appeared as grey and bleak as the weather.

A few deer appeared in silhouette against the grey light of the skyline. They looked up and then started, scattering in all directions as a dark horse, ridden hard, appeared out of the mist. She was not the only early riser.

Isabel stiffened as the horse came to a halt at the gate to the dower house. She pressed a hand to the cold, unforgiving pane of the window and her breath caught in her throat as Sebastian raised his hand in acknowledgment.

She turned abruptly and, stopping only to pull on a pair of shoes and an outdoor coat over her nightdress, ran down the stairs and out of the front door, startling the maid who had risen early to set the fires.

The black horse still stood by the gate but Sebastian had dismounted and waited for her. He put out a hand as she ran toward him. She wanted to throw herself into his arms but the memory of the previous night slowed her footfall. If he touched her she would die. She pulled the coat around her, crossing her arms across her body, and stopped just out of his arm reach.

His hand dropped and he stood looking at her, his face haggard with exhaustion and strain.

‘Isabel, I wanted you to know that I didn’t… They…’

Her chin came up. ‘I know, but it makes no difference what I may think, Sebastian. They have played you for a fool and you must live with the consequences. If I were you, the wedding should take place as soon as practicable if you are to have any hope of salvaging what is left of your reputation.’

‘I don’t give a damn for my reputation,’ he said with ferocity.

‘Well you should. What the world thinks of you affects all of us within your sphere, most particularly your sister.’

His lips tightened and he looked up, over her head. ‘I will find a way out of this.’

She gave a low, humourless laugh and shook her head. ‘There is no way out. It was cleverly planned and expertly executed.’

He brought his gaze back down to meet hers. Seeing the naked despair in his eyes, her resolve weakened and she took a faltering step towards him. She caught her breath and straightened her shoulders.

‘I know one thing: I cannot remain here,’ she said. ‘As soon as this matter is settled, I will remove myself and go to my friend, Lady Ainslie. She will take me in and we will proceed with our plans…somehow…’ She heard her voice take on a high, almost hysterical note.

His hands, by his side, clenched and he looked away.

Every fibre in her being cried out to touch him, to put her hand on his arm, tell him that she was still his friend and she would comfort him. In the darkest hour of the night, she had wondered if she could defy society’s expectations of her and become his mistress, but she knew in her heart that he would not want that. He was a good, honourable man and, once he had made a commitment to another woman, however unwanted, he could never come to her.

His brown eyes met hers. ‘This is your home, Isabel. I will not let a chit like Fanny drive you from it.’

She smiled but did not reply. That ‘chit’ had already driven her from the man she loved. She would not stay. She could not. To do so would be to face daily humiliation.

He turned back toward his horse and leaned his head against the horse’s neck. ‘You must do what you think best,’ he said, his voice heavy with defeat.

He gathered Pharaoh’s reins in his right hand, swinging himself with ease into the saddle.

He looked down at her. ‘Just one thing before I go. Do you recall the saddle you gave Anthony?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. I gave it to him for his birthday. I thought…’ She broke off. It had been a peace offering, a thanks for the few happy months they had enjoyed with the new baby. That had been before William’s death.

‘When Anthony had his accident, did you give an order for the saddle to be destroyed?’

She looked up at him and shook her head. ‘No. I didn’t even think of it. Why? What has happened to it?’

Sebastian shook his head. ‘I’ll explain later. Tell Miss Lynch I will see both her and her brother in the library at noon,’ he said and, without waiting for a reply, he put his heels to the horse.

Pharaoh, obedient to his touch, sprang away, and she watched man and horse until they rounded the bend in the carriageway that ran between the dower house and the big house.

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, feeling that if she didn’t do so, she would shatter into a thousand pieces on the ground.

Sebastian stood in the chaff room looking down at the dusty saddle he had laid on the table. He glanced up as the door opened and Thompson walked in. The man’s gaze fell on saddle.

‘Where did you find that?’ he asked.

Sebastian shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. This is the saddle the last Lord Somerton was using the night he died?’

Thompson crossed to the table and ran a hand across the bow of the saddle with its delicate reproduction of the Somerton arms. ‘Aye. Never seen a saddle like it before or since. His lordship told me it were the best saddle he’d ever used.’

‘Who gave the order for it to be destroyed?’

Thompson frowned. ‘I don’t rightly remember.’

‘Think, man!’

Thompson brightened. ‘Her ladyship.’

Sebastian’s heart sank but Thompson ran a hand through his thinning hair.

‘No, wait. It were Mr Lynch what brought the message. He said her ladyship never wanted to see the saddle again. I told the boy —’ Thompson broke off, his mouth tightening in a grim line. ‘I’ll give him what for when I see him.’

‘No,’ Sebastian said. ‘You will not give him what for. What the boy did was to preserve some very important evidence.’ He held up the cut end of the girth. ‘Look closely and tell me what you see.’

Thompson held up the strap to his eyes. He set it down and looked at Sebastian, the colour draining from his face.

‘It’s been cut.’

Sebastian nodded.

He could almost see Thompson thinking through the ramifications of the discovery.

‘There are stories that Lord Somerton was the father of your daughter’s child,’ Sebastian stated.

Thompson’s eyebrows shot up. ‘No! I mean…are you saying I did this, my lord? I assure you I checked the saddle meself that very afternoon and there was nought wrong with it then.’

Sebastian shook his head. ‘I’m not saying you are involved, Thompson, but what has struck me is that there are two suspicious deaths here at Brantstone within a short time of each other. Your daughter…and Lord Somerton. Is it possible they are related?’

Thompson shook his head. ‘It weren’t Lord Somerton who fathered Amy’s bairn.’

‘And you know that for certain?’

Thompson gave a disgusted snort of laughter. ‘A pretty girl like my Amy wasn’t to his lordship’s taste. I came across his lordship when he weren’t but a boy, sportin’ in the hayloft with one of the young footmen from the house. No, it weren’t Lord Somerton.’

Sebastian looked down at the saddle. Some nagging instinct told him the key to unwinding the tangle lay in this inanimate object. ‘Thompson. I would like you to take this saddle and find a new place to secrete it.’

‘My lord?’

‘And replace an old saddle in that chaff bin.’ He pointed to the bin where Peter had kept the saddle hidden.

Thompson looked mystified but kept his peace. ‘Of course, my lord.’

‘One last thing, Thompson. Did you see Lord Somerton’s body?’

Thompson nodded.

‘What were his injuries?’

‘His neck was broken. That’d be what killed him, but he also had a broken leg and several smashed ribs.’

‘No other wounds?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Like those you saw on your daughter’s body?’

Thompson’s face darkened. ‘No, my lord. Just a snapped neck.’

Sebastian sighed. ‘Thank you, Thompson. I’ll leave this with you now. Hide it well and not a word to anyone.’

Thompson nodded.

Sebastian walked back to the house, feeling the enormity of his predicament settling on his shoulders like a black carrion bird.

Chapter 23

Bragge stood in front of the large table that served as Sebastian’s desk and cleared his throat.

‘I don’t think you will like this, my lord,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ Sebastian enquired.

‘Had I come to you with my report earlier…’ He handed over a sealed document.

Sebastian broke the seal and scanned the contents. ‘Why in God’s sweet name did you not bring me this yesterday?’ he demanded, handing the document to Matt, who stood beside him.

Bragge looked down at his toes. ‘I thought it could wait another day. I didn’t want to disturb you,’ he mumbled.

Sebastian shook his head. Possession of the facts disclosed by Bragge’s report could have changed the whole course of the previous night’s events, but the damage had been done and still needed to be undone.

‘You know what it says?’

Bragge nodded. ‘My informant advises me that, while the late Lord’s mother did indeed have a cousin by the name of Lynch, he can find no record of there being any children of that name. The lady concerned died in her early twenties, unmarried and childless.’

‘So they are imposters?’

‘It would appear so, my lord.’

Matt glanced at Sebastian. ‘So who are they?’

‘And more importantly, what did they have over Anthony that he took them into his home?’ Sebastian wondered aloud.

Bragge shook his head. ‘My informant says only that Frederick Lynch appeared in society circles not long before his late lordship took up with him.’ He paused. ‘What do you intend to do, my lord?’

‘You are my man of business, Bragge, you tell me. Regardless of what I may or may not know about Frederick Lynch and his sister, the fact remains that, before a number of distinguished witnesses, I was caught in the act of dishonouring Miss Lynch.’

Matt leaned on the desk. ‘Damn it, Bas. This proves they were lying about their relationship to your cousin. They are villains, the pair of them. You can’t go through with it.’

Bragge looked uncomfortable. ‘Money, my lord?’

‘Money is really what this is all about, Bragge, but it does not salvage my now irretrievably damaged reputation. Matt, this is not just about me, it is about you and Connie and Lady Somerton. You will all be tarred with the same brush as me, unless I can clear my name properly.’

‘How are you going to do that?’ Matt asked.

Sebastian shook his head. He checked the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘They will be here shortly so, for the time being, I will have to play along with Freddy Lynch’s scheme. Matt, leave this to me and Bragge. I just need to write a note to Harry.’

Matt opened his mouth to protest but one look at his brother’s steely eyes and he left the room.

Obedient to his summons, Freddy, with Fanny on his arm, entered the library on the stroke of midday. The girl leaned against her brother, her face pale and drawn, the picture of outraged innocence. Sebastian, standing by the fireplace, spared her no sympathy. He thought only of the vicious slash that now marred his face, marking him as a boor and degrader of women.

He looked from one to the other. If any of his soldiers had seen him, they would have been in no doubt that trouble would follow. Fanny gave her brother a nervous glance. Freddy, in his turn, raised his chin in a pugnacious fashion but even he could not meet Sebastian’s cold eyes.

As Freddy reached for a chair, Sebastian spoke, employing a tone of voice he had not had cause to use since his Army days.

‘I didn’t say you could sit.’

Freddy stepped back from the chair as if it had burned him.

‘You sent for us, Somerton?’ He produced a handkerchief from his sleeve and patted his upper lip where a few tell-tale beads of sweat had gathered despite the chill of the room.