Rescuing Lord Inglewood: A Regency Romance

by Sally Britton

  Mortification sank beneath her skin, but Esther tried not to sound disturbed by Diana’s insinuations. “I am certain it will be fine. I am nobody. No one will even know my name well enough to connect it to Lord Inglewood’s.”

  “Mrs. Aubrey, Sir Isaac and his sister are my friends—” Silas’s words were cut off abruptly by Diana’s raised voice.

  “Then you ought to be more concerned for Esther’s reputation.”

  Long, silent seconds passed while Esther attempted to come up with a way to settle Diana’s nerves. Unfortunately, her head had begun to pound in earnest, filling her mind with a thrumming fog she could not think past. Why must everything be complicated? Why could they not forget the whole incident and go about as though nothing had happened?

  Esther had no wish to put Isaac’s friend in a difficult situation. She knew Lord Inglewood’s family well, had grown up playing at their estate. Most of her memories of Silas Riley, the Earl of Inglewood, consisted of being left behind while Silas and Isaac went off with their other friends.

  “You are too little,” had been the refrain to keep her away from their games. “Go back to the nursery.”

  “Mrs. Aubrey, I assure you that I am most concerned for Miss Fox.” Silas’s voice had lowered when Diana’s raised, remaining calm and certain. His voice reverberated through the room, as it must in the chambers of Lords. “If anyone dares to question her reputation, I will put them in their place.”

  “And what makes you think that will be enough?” Diana asked. “Mr. Aubrey is not at home at present, but were he here, I feel certain he would remind you of your duty. The honorable thing would be to make an offer, Lord Inglewood.”

  Esther sucked in a breath and pushed herself up, the room spinning rather horribly. She ignored the way the floor and ceiling tried to switch places and started talking before Silas could speak.

  “Diana, that is hardly necessary. I have no wish to force Lord Inglewood’s hand on this matter. He need not suffer for my actions. Saving his life was not done in order for me to take it away from him at the first opportunity.” She started gasping for air, her stomach rolling.

  Diana turned around, her normally kind and motherly manner replaced with the disposition of a prickly hedgehog. “Do not put yourself down so, Esther. You would be a fine match for any man. Truly, it is what is right and best, for Lord Inglewood to do the honorable thing—”

  “We do not even know that it is necessary to protect my reputation.” The small breakfast Esther had eaten roiled inside her stomach, though she kept swallowing in an attempt to keep it there. She put a hand to her mouth and looked about for the bucket she had seen before.

  “Everyone will be talking about this, especially since you are in Lady Sparton’s house, and the woman is an absolute glutton for rumor.” Diana glared, her eyebrows pulling together. “Esther, you are not looking well.”

  Silas stepped around Diana, practically pushing the woman out of the way, holding a pail and putting it immediately beneath Esther’s face. She spared him one grateful look, too sick to care at what he was about to witness, and grabbed the pail in both hands before casting up her accounts.

  Diana gasped and backed away. “Oh. Oh, my.”

  A warm hand brushed Esther’s hair back from her face. She opened her eyes, peering up through her lashes at Silas. She tried to apologize without saying a word, disgusted with herself now that the deed was done. Silas only smiled, in a commiserating sort of way, before tucking the loose hair on the other side of her face back as well.

  “You need to rest, Miss Fox. I am afraid that will not happen while I am present.” He put the bucket down for her and helped her lie back. Then his expression hardened, not unkindly, but in a most determined manner. He faced Diana, his stance firm.

  “Mrs. Aubrey, the doctor stipulated that Miss Fox remain here for an hour. She has perhaps half of that left to get through. Then she is to be taken home and allowed to rest as much as possible, in as unexcited a manner as possible. I will call upon you and your husband tomorrow afternoon to discuss what, if anything, ought to be done about this rather unique situation. Good day to you both.” He bowed, and Diana seemed to curtsy more out of habit than any desire to be polite. Silas gave Esther one last glance, sharing a grimace that somehow managed to be compassionate.

  “You there,” he said, gesturing to the footman. “Perhaps you could see to it Miss Fox is given a clean bucket.” Then he left the room, the servant hurrying to pick up the pail and follow.

  “I never,” Diana muttered. She looked down at Esther, then where the pail had been a moment before. She turned somewhat green. “I cannot decide if he is the best or worst of gentlemen.”

  “I would venture to guess best.” Esther squeezed her eyes shut. “Isaac has always admired Lord Inglewood.”

  Diana huffed and her footsteps shuffled away. “Your brother is hardly the best judge of societal responsibility, running off to battle when he has an estate and title to maintain.”

  That was a familiar argument, too old now to raise Esther’s ire. She’d given up trying to defend her brother’s decision to her stepbrother or his wife. Instead, she concentrated on breathing slowly, trying to ignore the throbbing in the back of her head. At least her stomach had settled somewhat.

  They passed the remainder of the hour in quiet, then a most contrite Lady Sparton appeared with tea.

  “Lord Inglewood spoke to me again before leaving,” the woman said, handing a cup to Esther. “He is most concerned for your well-being.”

  Esther regarded the woman with some surprise. She had not expected to see the lady of the house, but the woman sat in a chair, dressed as though prepared to receive callers. “I must say,” the lady continued, looking from Esther to Diana, “I have never seen a nobleman give such notice, such attention, to a stranger.”

  Surprise melted into suspicion.

  “Lord Inglewood is an old family friend,” Diana said, her tone almost careless. “He is like a brother to Sir Isaac.”

  Bless Diana, even for all her earlier interference. If Lady Sparton rooted about for a way to turn the events of the day into a more dramatic tale, Diana would throw obstacles in her path. Esther hadn’t the wherewithal to spar verbally. Though, the tea did help to clear her head.

  “Is that so?” Lady Sparton placed a hand upon her chest and affected a surprised mein. “Then it is indeed fortunate that Miss Fox was at hand to prevent a tragedy.”

  Esther looked over the rim of her teacup at Diana, who appeared as unflustered as though talk of saving lives and falling statues was a daily occurrence.

  “Indeed. It is such a shame about your statue, my lady. I do hope when next you procure such a masterpiece, the men moving it for you are more competent and cautious.” Diana smiled sweetly and put her cup down. “I am afraid you must excuse us, my lady. I must get my sister-in-law home to rest.” She rose and came to assist Esther to her feet. “Thank you for your kindness in our time of need.” Diana assisted Esther in bending to curtsy.

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” Lady Sparton glanced about hurriedly and picked up Esther’s ruined bonnet. “You mustn’t forget this.”

  Diana held her hand out. “Thank you.”

  Lady Sparton handed the bonnet over, and Diana gave it into Esther’s care. The poor thing could never be worn again.

  Esther could not say how long it took them to walk home, and though Diana muttered about how she wished a carriage had been offered, Esther was grateful. Travel by carriage rarely agreed with her in the best of circumstances, but feeling as she did, climbing into a box pulled by horses would guarantee further embarrassment.

  By the time Esther had gained her bedroom, a line of sweat had broken out across her brow and her stomach rolled again.

  The door opened and shut; Mary came inside with a basin of water and a towel. “Mrs. Aubrey has ordered a bath for you.”

  The idea of being put into warm water made her head throb. “That is not necessary at the moment, Mar
y. I prefer to rest.” She put a hand to the back of her head, feeling the matted mess of curls. “Although I suppose I look rather frightful.”

  “If you prefer to rest, we shall do our best to clean you up before we put you to bed.” Mary put her hand on Esther’s cheek, looking her over carefully.

  Esther sat down in a chair before her dressing table, and Mary began work with a warm cloth and comb to clean Esther’s hair. At least Esther did not cry out in pain, though her eyes filled with tears. Her good deed seemingly continued to punish her, and she tried not to think upon the possibility that the punishment might extend beyond her physical ills into her reputation.

  By the time Mary tucked Esther into her bed, exhaustion and a throbbing headache rendered her little desire to do more than sleep. Yet one thought stayed at the forefront of her mind.

  Tomorrow, Silas will come. Esther’s stepbrother, Hugh, would have to be part of whatever conversation they had. He was a dutiful guardian, at least. If Isaac wasn’t away at war, what would he say about what had happened? He would praise her rescue of his friend, but what of the consequences of her actions? What if gossip started and she must wed Silas?

  He would love furthering a connection to Silas. They were such good friends. She released a sigh into the darkness of her curtained bed. Hopefully, it would not come to that.

  Esther harbored no dreams for a love match, but the thought of forcing someone to ask for her hand remained most undesirable. And Silas? The handsome earl, rising quickly in politics and the estimation of society, could not possibly want to marry a little nobody like her. She was the sister of a baronet. A mere miss. Not a lady, not the daughter or granddaughter of anyone important.

  Perhaps her relative insignificance would save them from having to make any decision at all. No one knew her name, so they could hardly bandy it about or hurt her reputation. It would likely all be forgotten.

  With this comforting thought, Esther at last cleared her mind enough to drift into a restful sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Silas rose late in the morning, as was his habit. A man needed a clear head and a well of energy to draw from, if he wished to get anything done in London, and that meant sleep was most necessary. Everything of import that happened in Town, whether in the government or in society, happened after two o’clock in the afternoon. Rising at ten in the morning gave him plenty of time to prepare for the day ahead.

  As he climbed from his bed, Silas paused and groaned. His tail bone was sore. How had that happened?

  He rang for his valet, pulled on a robe, then went to his window. The morning sunlight promised a fine day, with nary a cloud to be seen. He lived in the family’s townhouse during the Season, which commanded an excellent view of Upper Brook Street. The house had come to him through an inheritance, and while not perhaps the most fashionable address, its nearness to Parliament counted as a decided mark in its favor.

  Arnold, the valet, arrived with a tray of coffee and the morning post, as well as newspapers and half a dozen invitations. Quietly, the servant went about choosing Silas’s clothes for the day while the earl sorted through his mail.

  The routine was simple, and rarely varied. Keeping to a strict schedule ensured Silas never overlooked important matters in a mad rush to begin his day.

  A thought plucked at him, trying to make him remember something important, but he brushed it away irritably.

  “Are there any changes in your schedule the household ought to be aware of, my lord?” Arnold asked, as he always did.

  Finally, Silas recalled the reason for his sore posterior. Esther. The statue.

  “Yes.” He glared into his mirror. He needed to look in on her, ensure she was on the mend. Then there was the matter of her frantic sister-in-law, insisting that Esther’s reputation may also need repairing. Seeing to the reputation of the girl must come first, giving him something to report when he went to her stepbrother’s home. “I will need the carriage most of the day. I have several appointments I must keep.”

  “Very well, sir. I will see to it the grooms are informed.”

  He must go to his club first. If anyone knew of Esther Fox and her relationship to Silas, there was one certain way to check. The betting book at White’s. Silas hurried through the rest of his routine, making it out the door in twice the speed as usual.

  The ride to White’s took time, but Silas capitalized on the slow progress of the carriage by reading the newspaper. Nothing of note appeared in the articles of rumor and gossip, and he found little of importance in the way of politics. The most interesting information, of course, involved the war, which everyone knew neared its end.

  Silas stepped out of his carriage, into the bright sunlight flooding St. James Street, and squared his shoulders. His image, carefully cultivated since his days at Eton, required his constant attention.

  A recent publication featuring the caricature of several prominent members of Lords had circulated. While several of his peers chortled and groaned at their depictions as stuffed shirts, drunkards, and debtors, the worst the artist could do to him was make it look as though he had been carved from stone. It was almost flattering.

  “Ah, Lord Inglewood. Good morning to you.” Another lord coming down the steps paused to greet him.

  “Lord Allerton.” Silas gave the requisite nod, as Allerton ranked far below him as a baron. His father-in-law was a duke, however, which gave Allerton more privileges than most of the lower-level nobility. “I must say, I appreciated your support on my stand against increasing wheat taxes.”

  “As someone with more than a few tenant farms, I well understand the impact such a tax would have upon our agricultural market.” Allerton shifted, tugging on a glove. He looked back at the club door, then at Silas. “Make sure you have your armor on today, Inglewood. There are a few inside prepared to lob their fiery darts.” The baron bowed and continued on his way.

  Silas did not even blink. Nor did he hesitate. He walked into his club as though nothing in the world troubled him. Fretting over something he did not yet know the particulars of would be ridiculous.

  He went upstairs to the coffee room. He nodded to a few acquaintances, but he noticed their gazes lingered upon him, almost suspiciously.

  After seating himself, Silas waited for a servant to bring him coffee and his usual newspapers.

  Lord Neil Duncan found him first. “Lord Inglewood. Dear me, what a surprise. Most of us suspected you would be home today. Recovering from your incident.” Lord Neil, third son of an earl, settled in the chair across from Silas without invitation.

  Silas kept his face devoid of expression. Showing any amount of interest in Lord Neil’s person or conversation only led to annoyance. They had, most unfortunately, been neighbors in childhood.

  “I would hardly qualify what happened as an incident,” Silas said, his tone even. “I speak in the House of Lords on occasion.” There. Willfully misunderstanding the man might at least wipe the smug smirk off his face.

  “Did you speak yesterday? I hadn’t heard.” Lord Neil leaned back in his chair, affecting a wide-eyed look of surprise. “Dear fellow, I am referring to your near demise at the hands of a Greek god. Everyone is talking about it, you know.”

  Silas glanced to where a knot of gentlemen sat together, finding several pairs of eyes upon his table. The gossip-loving members of the peerage were looking on, it seemed. Blast. Pretending nothing had happened appeared to be out of the question.

  How he played his hand now might determine the course of his and Esther’s future. He owed it to her brother, Isaac, to protect Esther Fox from wagging tongues. Unfortunately, he did have a few political enemies likely rejoicing over even the slightest whiff of gossip attached to his name.

  “Indeed? It must be a slow sort of day if speaking of a broken piece of statuary consumes the ton.” A servant appeared, putting down a cup of coffee and a paper, then disappeared without a word. Silas lifted the cup, more for something to do than the desire to drink it. “As
you see, I am well enough to have forgotten it.”

  The wastrel tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Silas in a most insubordinate manner. Though he was Silas’s senior by a handful of years, he was decidedly a social inferior. The man ought to take a hint and be gone, but he pretended their acquaintance was more than it was merely due to the proximity of their family estates.

  “I can see you are well enough,” Lord Neil said, that smirk reappearing. “But what of the lady who threw herself so passionately to your rescue? It is said she sustained a horrific injury and may never be the same again.”

  Silas’s stomach clenched. Esther could not be worse off than when he saw her last, could she? He did not allow his concern to color his words.

  “Oh, I doubt that. She seemed to have recovered well when I left her in the care of her sister-in-law. Acting as a heroine ought not to do her any lasting harm. It was a most selfless performance.” Silas lifted his cup to his lips and mentally calculated how soon he might leave to go and check on Esther himself.

  “A very selfless performance. A mere miss, risking her life to save a peer.” Lord Neil’s knowing look changed, his lips turning down and his eyes darkening. As a third son, he ought to have joined the law or the clergy, but Silas thought him more suited to the stage. “Of course, you have known your heroine all her life.”

  The hair on the back of Silas’s neck stood on end. Generally, ladies’ names were not spoken of in the club. Especially unmarried ladies from respectable families. He replaced his cup on the table and sighed. “Lord Neil, I have come to the club to find a respite before continuing my business for the day. Is there something in particular you wish for me to say regarding yesterday? Or something you wish to say? I find the topic most tiresome.”

  Lord Neil’s eyes glittered as they narrowed. “Tiresome? That is callous, even for you. Had an unattached woman thrown herself upon my body, shielding me from danger with her physical being as well as her tenuous reputation, I would hardly find it tiresome. Perhaps what they say is true; you are made of stone.” The man stood and made a show of adjusting his coat lapels. “But this does help me determine where to place my wager on the matter. Good day, Lord Inglewood.”