The other man shook his head. “He left, my lord, before the accident even happened.”
“Give information for contacting that man to—” Silas glanced around and settled on a footman. “To this man. I want his name, address, and place of business if he has one. After you have given the information, you may deal with Lady Sparton.”
He turned to the trembling woman, now being consoled by one of the maids while the other stared at the room where her mistress lay.
“What did Miss Fox do, exactly?”
“We were watching with everyone else, my lord.” She sniffled. “But she made us stand so close.”
“Miss Fox is always daring,” the most agitated maid said. “She was talking about Hermes.”
Silas reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Names, please.” Why did moments of crisis always unhinge people’s rational thought?
"Miss Linton,” the distressed woman said with a nod. “And this is my maid, Sarah. And this is Mary.”
“Mary,” Silas said while the maid dipped a curtsy. “You seem the most composed at the moment. Did you see everything that happened?”
She nodded. “Miss Fox ran out and knocked you out of the way. The statue would’ve hit you otherwise. When the statue hit the ground, pieces flew everywhere.”
The account now fit correctly in Silas’s mind. He owed Isaac’s sister his life. “Very well. The doctor is with her now. I will stay with the young lady and I think it is best she is not moved until the doctor gives other instructions. Miss Linton, I suggest you return to Miss Fox’s family, with the very helpful Mary, and tell them what has happened. I am certain someone will wish to come see to her well-being. Are you far from Miss Fox’s residence?”
“It’s a street over, my lord,” Mary said, bowing her head.
“Then walking will be faster than ordering a carriage.” He pointed to another Sparton footman. “You, lad. Go with them.” He could help the rattled women back and then return with whatever relative came in search of Esther.
Orders given, Silas turned and went back into the room occupied by the wounded young savior. He took in a deep breath as he approached. The doctor knelt beside the couch, and a servant stood against the wall waiting for orders.
“You have had a nasty bump on the head,” the doctor was saying, his voice low. Silas’s eyebrows lifted. Had she wakened? “But it isn’t so bad as it seems. Head injuries bleed excessively, even with the smallest of wounds. Most likely a piece of that statue clipped you as it flew by, causing no lasting damage. You are fortunate, miss.”
The tightness in Silas’s chest eased.
“Where am I?” Esther Fox’s voice, a pleasant alto, asked. From his angle, Silas could not see her face from behind the arm of the couch.
“Lord and Lady Sparton’s home,” the doctor answered. “How does your head feel?”
“As though it has been cleaved with an axe.”
The doctor chuckled, then covered the sound with his fist. He glanced up at Silas and immediately sobered. “I am told it was a stone depiction of Hermes that assaulted you, miss. And that your actions likely saved the life of another.”
She took in a shuddering breath. “The gentleman. Is he all right?” She made as if to move, her skirts rustling and her brown curls lifting above the arm of the couch for a moment before she groaned and laid back down, assisted by the doctor.
“He is perfectly fine, my dear. Please, lie still. I do not think you ought to move for at least an hour. Rest. You will likely have a headache, perhaps some nausea. It is best you do nothing to excite yourself for the rest of the day, perhaps two days, at the very least.” The doctor stood. “I believe you will be well again after some rest. I suggest you clean your hair very carefully, lest you reopen that wound. But you ought not need stitches. Merely time to heal.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Her voice was soft, resigned.
The doctor approached and fixed Silas with a most serious frown. “You heard my direction to the lady. I trust you can ensure she rests peacefully and is returned home with the least possible excitement.”
“Yes, doctor. Thank you.” Silas started to bow but the doctor interrupted the movement with a quick shake of his head.
“That girl saved your life, that is certain, but I am concerned that she will pay for her kindness with more than a nasty bump on the head.”
Silas narrowed his eyes. “I am not sure what you mean, doctor. I will see to it that Miss Fox is granted the rest and care she needs to recover from the ordeal.”
The doctor did not look as though he believed Silas. He pulled gloves from a pocket and put them back on his bare hands. “I will call on the young lady tomorrow morning. Fox, you said?”
Esther’s low voice came from the couch, evidence that she remained awake and alert. “I am staying at the home of my stepbrother, Mr. Aubrey.”
The doctor’s forehead wrinkled. “Then it is there I will call upon you tomorrow, Miss Fox. Good day to you.” He bowed to Silas. “And to you, my lord.” The doctor left the room, so only a servant, Silas, and Esther remained.
Silas let out a slow breath as he moved to the couch. Esther, whose eyes were closed, rested her head on a cushion. He traced her features with his gaze, trying to see the girl he remembered in the lines of her face. Her cheeks were not so round as they’d been, and they lacked the rosiness of her childhood. Her hair had been a lighter brown with golden tips, but now the rich curls tumbling freely down her back were dark. Little Essie had grown into something of a beauty.
And Isaac would have Silas’s head for thinking any untoward thoughts about his sister.
“Esther?” he said aloud, going down to one knee beside the couch.
Her brow furrowed and she opened one eye to look at him, then the other came open as both went wide. “Lord Inglewood.”
Right. They were not children any longer. He saw ample evidence of that in the changes of her features. The fact that she recognized him immediately did not escape him. “Miss Fox. Good morning.” Was it still morning? It felt more like it ought to be evening, or another day entirely.
“Why are you here?” she asked, her lips pursing in puzzlement over the question.
“You do not remember? I am the man you flung yourself at on the walkway.” He tried to grin at her, to adopt the teasing tone from their childhood. It made the experience a little easier to bear, thinking back on those summer days. Esther had followed her brother and his friends wherever they went, whether it was up into trees, the attics of houses, or along sandy beaches. Despite being five years their junior, she was determined to be part of all their doings.
Her color came back into her cheeks, but it faded away again. “Truly? And you are unharmed?” She studied him from the top of his head down to his knees, as though looking him over for injury.
Silas stood and raised his hands then turned in a circle. “It is touching that here you are, injured, and your concern is for me. I am well, Miss Fox.” He lowered his arms and bowed. “Thanks to your quick thinking, I will have no more than a bruise or two.”
“I am glad of that, my lord.” She smiled weakly. “Even if my head does pound rather terribly.”
He pulled one of the chairs in the room closer to her and gestured for the footman to bring his towels and basin nearer. “Perhaps a cool cloth will help with that.” After removing his gloves, he prepared one of the smaller cloths by dipping it in the clean water. The doctor had left a towel beneath Esther’s head, which was spotted with blood—not so much as what was on Silas’s sleeve. How much of her blood had been spilled on his account?
Isaac would have something to say about it, were he present.
Silas folded the cloth over and then carefully laid it upon her forehead. She released a gentle sigh, her blanched lips parting. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Does it pain you to speak?” he asked, gentling his voice to an almost-whisper. “Or for me to speak to you?” Sitting in silence for however long it took someon
e to come for her might be best, but curiosity over his rescuer’s circumstances nipped at him. He had not heard word of Isaac in some time.
“No. I would prefer to talk. It might take my mind off my stomach, if not my head.”
Yes, the doctor said she might feel sick. He looked about for the bucket he had seen before and then pointed to it, catching the eye of the footman. The servant put the basin of water on a table, then fetched the bucket from near the hearth and brought it to Silas’s side before returning to his post against the wall.
That precaution taken, Silas studied the woman before him. She wore a fine gown, and appeared to be in good health, aside from the wound recently acquired for his sake.
His insides twisted with guilt. Why hadn’t he been paying attention to where he walked?
“Do you hear from Isaac often?” he asked. Speaking of her brother might be best, since he hadn’t seen Esther in years.
“His letters come as regularly as the post allows.” She kept her eyes closed, though her expression tightened. “From what I can tell, his duties in the army keep him extremely busy. Thus far, he remains safe.”
Isaac, as a baronet, had no obligation to serve in the British military. Yet he had purchased his own commission and went across the channel three years previous, to fight Bonaparte. Silas had not understood his friend’s need to take up arms, but he respected Isaac for it. “I am glad to hear it. I admit, I think of him every time the idiots in Parliament speak of the war effort.”
“I hope that means you do what you can to aid Isaac from home.” One of her eyes opened again, fixing him with a rather stern gaze. “He will not return until it is all over and done.”
“Which ought to be soon, since we expect France to surrender at any time.” Everyone knew Napoleon’s defeat at the hands of Russia had crippled the French army. The self-proclaimed emperor’s own generals had begun to turn against him. But talk of war likely was not the best way to occupy Esther’s mind. Silas cleared his throat and changed the subject. “How have you amused yourself in your brother’s absence?”
“As anyone in London does. I go to balls and card parties.” Her lips twitched slightly. “And I do my very best not to mortify my stepbrother’s wife. She is determined to see me wed and is forever in despair of failing me.”
Although the activity of seeking husbands for unattached ladies was not a secret, rarely had anyone spoken to Silas so openly of the pursuit. That Esther would, entertained him. “I suppose it is kind of her to take such an interest in you.”
“Mm.” The sound of amused agreement made him relax. “Diana—Mrs. Aubrey that is—promised my brother she would look after me while he was away. She is quite tenacious in keeping that promise.”
“How is your stepbrother?” Silas recalled little of the man. He had already been at school when Esther’s mother, the widow of a baronet, married the senior Mr. Aubrey. From all accounts, the match had been a good one for both families. Isaac had been raised by a good man, though it took the Fox children away from Woodsbridge and entirely out of Suffolk, where they had grown up together.
“He is a harried soul, or so his wife says.” Her lips parted in a grin before she groaned and raised a hand to the cloth.
“Ah, I have neglected your headache. Forgive me.” Silas reached for the cloth, his bare fingers brushed the cool, damp skin of her forehead. He swallowed, somewhat guiltily, as he damped the cloth and wrung it out again. He carefully laid it back upon her brow, arranging it to stay out of her face.
Her gloved hand came up and took one of his in a gentle grasp. Silas made eye contact with her, surprised to see a reassuring expression upon her lovely face.
“This is not your fault, Silas,” she said quietly, his Christian name slipping most naturally from her, causing an odd sort of prickle in his chest. But of course, how often had she shouted at him to slow down, to come back, to stop playing tricks on her? She had always called him Silas, until they had gone away to live with their stepfamily. “I will be fully recovered in next to no time, and I would do it again.”
Caught in her deep brown eyes, Silas did not look away, nor loose his hand from hers. He leaned forward, speaking as though he shared a secret. “If Isaac was here, he would berate me soundly for needing his little Essie to save me.” Her eyebrows raised at the childhood name. “If I had paid attention, none of this would have happened.”
The moment stretched long, until he became aware of the way their breaths had synchronized, quiet and deep. The sunlight filtering in through the tall windows warmed the room, though he thought something else likely caused the heat creeping up his neck and the answering blush on her own.
A loud slam startled him out of the silent exchange. A tightness in his chest, one he hadn’t been aware of, gave one last squeeze before vanishing. Silas stood, ready to investigate the noise, when the rather shrill voice of a woman filled the entry hall beyond the closed door.
“Where is she? Where is my Esther? Is she well? Oh, she is ruined, even if she is well,” the voice loudly proclaimed.
Frowning, Silas looked down at Esther, who appeared paler and more pained than she had the entire time he had been sitting with her.
“Diana,” she whispered, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Good luck, Lord Inglewood.”
Silas did not have time to be disappointed in her use of his title before the door to the parlor opened, another footman scuttling out of the way of a rampaging woman.
Mrs. Aubrey proved to be a formidable looking woman, nearly as tall as Silas. Dressed in deep purples, she put him in mind of an oncoming thunderstorm, sailing into the room with unexpected urgency and bluster.
“Esther,” she shouted, causing even Silas to wince. “Oh, my poor girl, my poor darling child.” She hardly spared a glance at Silas, though he stumbled backward out of her way, before throwing herself on the ground next to the couch. She took up one of Esther’s hands and patted it rather forcefully. Esther had opened her eyes, though she cringed, and attempted to speak several times only to be cut off again by the exuberant Mrs. Aubrey.
“Are you fainted, my dear? Are you able to speak? I have heard the whole of it from that feather-brained Miss Linton, and your maid. You poor darling. What were you thinking? My little heroine.” She abruptly stopped her patting and withdrew a handkerchief directly from her bosom, along with the overwhelming scent of flowery perfume, using it to stop a sudden onslaught of tears.
Silas might have been entertained, had he not seen Esther’s discomfort.
“Mrs. Aubrey,” he said, presuming to forgo an introduction. “Your sister-in-law is injured. The doctor has asked that we keep her from overexcitement.”
The woman’s tears stopped as abruptly as they started, and she rose to her feet with almost an unnatural swiftness. “You,” she said, pointing a gloved finger at Silas’s chest with as much force as one might put into a rapier thrust. “What are you going to do about this?”
Silas, folded his arms defensively, and glared at her. “What do you mean, madam?”
She drew herself up to her rather impressive height, a large silk blossom in her hat waving dangerously. “You have ruined her.”
Chapter Two
Esther drew in a sharp breath, growing cold. “He has what?”
Despite the unfortunate cause leading to their exchange, Esther had rather enjoyed her conversation with Silas. Until Diana barged in with her enthusiastic concern. But the strange accusation, directed at one of Isaac’s oldest friends, and an earl at that, ruined everything. Apparently, the ruination included her.
“Whatever do you mean, Diana?” she asked when Silas continued to stare at her. Preoccupied with her health and his, she had not really analyzed the circumstances that brought them together. Had they done something wrong?
Her attention flicked to the footman still standing against the wall. “We have not been alone for even an instant,” she said, trying to assuage Diana’s concerns.
“Be that as it may,” the
woman said, still glaring at Silas, “practically the whole of society saw you in a most compromising position with Lord Inglewood. That addlepated Miss Linton was beside herself with fear. She was also spouting the most ridiculous notion of you saving a peer’s life as something romantic.”
Diana finally turned away from Silas to cast a most pitying look down at Esther. “All along my way here, people tried to stop me to discuss the matter. I felt I was outrunning their gossip as much as coming to see to you. My poor dear.”
If she was called a poor dear one more time, Esther might well faint from irritation. Could one faint from such a thing?
“I cannot see how such a selfless act could lead to Miss Fox’s ruin,” Silas said, his deep voice slow and most uncertain. Esther, only able to move her eyes, could not see his face. Diana stood squarely between them, but when she rounded once more on the lord, Esther caught a brief glimpse of his darkened expression.
“Can you not?” Diana challenged, spreading her hands wide as though to present to him the situation in its entirety. “On one of the most dignified streets in the kingdom, Esther Fox, sister of a baronet and under my husband’s protection, threw herself into the arms of a well-known peer. With enough force to knock him into the ground. She then remained on the ground, for longer than necessary if Miss Linton is to be believed, on top of that peer. When she was finally moved, she was carried away in your arms, into a house, behind closed doors.”
“Followed by her friend and servants,” he said, sounding most defensive.
Oh dear.
“Anyone who saw what happened could not think it terrible,” Esther said, trying in vain to remember who had been gathered on the walkway. She could not remember if anyone of importance had watched the spectacle. “It will be forgotten in a few days.”
“Is that what you believe as well, my lord?” Diana asked, a note of challenge in her voice. “That such a public display will be forgotten, and Esther’s reputation spared? Because you know how the ton reacts to such things better than I possibly could.” The words did not sound as though she believed them. Rather, Esther thought, it sounded as though Diana mocked the idea.
Rescuing Lord Inglewood: A Regency Romance Page 2
