Lord Somerton's Heir by Alison Stuart Read Free Book Online Page B

doorway, carrying Sebastian’s battered campaign trunk. ‘He don’t need a valet. I’ve been his batman these fifteen years past.’
    ‘And I have been valet to the last two Lord Somertons.’ Pierce looked down his nose at the interloper into his kingdom.
    Sebastian turned to Isabel and she read the look of mute appeal in his eyes. ‘I think for the moment — Pierce, Bennet — we should all leave Lord Somerton to get some rest. And might I suggest, Pierce, that his lordship takes supper in his rooms tonight?’
    ‘Very good, m’lady. I shall tell the kitchen.’ Pierce bowed and made off at a stately pace.
    Isabel excused herself and closed the door behind her.
    Returning to the parlour, she found Freddy and Fanny engaged in a game of Piquet. Freddy suggested a game of Pope Joan, but she declined, picking up her embroidery frame.
    ‘Oh, my dear Isabel,’ Freddy said, without moving his eyes from his cards, ‘we will have our work cut out with our new Lord Somerton.’
    Isabel looked up. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘My dear, the way he talks. And his clothes! He has no idea, does he?’
    Isabel stiffened. ‘I think he will soon adapt, Freddy, and if I may make an observation, I do not think he will take kindly to any instruction from you.’
    Freddy swivelled on his chair to look at her. He placed a hand on his chest. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘He is no kin of yours, Freddy. You would be advised to start looking to your own future.’
    ‘Oh, he wouldn’t throw us out, would he?’ Fanny declared, her blue eyes wide.
    Isabel stabbed the needle into the cloth. ‘It is not for me to say what Lord Somerton will do.’
    Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the quick look that passed between the siblings. Was it fear?
    ***
    Obadiah Bennet took the cup proffered by Mrs Fletcher, the housekeeper, and stretched out his legs. He had been invited to take a chair beside the fire, which burned for the unseasonable cool of the evening, and to take tea with Mrs Fletcher and Mr Pierce.
    It had not taken batman and valet long to settle their differences. At the age of seventy-five, Pierce told Bennet he would be pleased to teach the younger man the fine art of being a ‘gentleman’s gentleman’ and Bennet had agreed with alacrity. He had his fill of soldiering and the new turn of events gave him great hope for a comfortable future. No more flea-ridden billets and starvation rations. A comfy bed and three meals a day for the rest of his life. Bennet was a truly happy man.
    ‘That’s a fine cuppa,’ Bennet told the housekeeper, who acknowledged the praise with a small bob of her head.
    ‘It is just a relief to have Lord Somerton here at last, isn’t it, Mr Pierce?’ she said. ‘He seems like a steady sort of man.’ She leaned forward. ‘So tell me, Mr Bennet, is he a single gentleman?’
    Bennet hesitated. ‘He is, Mrs Fletcher.’
    ‘Oh, but he’s a fine looking man,’ she persisted. ‘Surely there’s been a woman in his life?’
    Before Bennet could respond, Pierce cleared his throat. ‘My dear Bennet, you hear and see things as valet. The first lesson is: discretion.’ He tapped his nose. ‘One does not question or gossip about one’s master.’
    ‘Of course,’ Bennet agreed. The terrible fate of Mrs Alder, as he liked to think of her, was no one’s business but his Captain’s, and he, Bennet, would carry it to his grave. Mrs Fletcher sat back in her chair, clearly disappointed.
    ‘The late Lord Somerton was not easy,’ she said with a heavy sigh. ‘Never knew his comings and goings.’
    ‘Not an ‘appy man,’ Pierce conceded, apparently contravening his own first rule. ‘Lovely wife, estates, money and still not ‘appy.’ He shrugged.
    ‘It was the child’s death,’ Mrs Fletcher said.
    Bennet pricked up his ears. ‘Child?’
    Mrs Fletcher sighed. ‘Aye, such a bonny boy he was too. Nursemaid found him dead in his cradle just over a year ago. Broke her ladyship’s heart. She’s