Rescuing Lord Inglewood: A Regency Romance

by Sally Britton

  He assisted her into her chair at one end of the table and he went to the other. It was not the grand table they would use for dinner parties, but it was still long enough that they were far apart. Far enough apart to make conversation almost impossible. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Silas stood at his chair, glaring down at it. Then he looked up to where Esther waited, her dark eyes on him.

  “I should like to sit closer to Lady Inglewood,” he announced to the room. Footmen came at once, whisking his plates, glasses, and cutlery out of position. He started back to where Esther sat, her eyes rounder than the plate on the table. He sat at her right hand and in seconds his place was laid before him again. An arm’s length away from her, Silas plainly saw the blush in her cheeks.

  “You need not be concerned for me, my lord,” she whispered, lowering her gaze to her lap. “I do not wish to make extra work for you or the staff.”

  “It took less than thirty seconds to accomplish this feat, and now I can better enjoy your company during the meal.” Silas grinned at her, but the triumphant feeling faded when her response was a tight nod. Had he done something wrong?

  The first course was served in silence. It was a rich, creamy, purple carrot soup. A dish both sweet and savory, one of his favorites.

  “I do not think I have ever had purple soup,” she ventured to say before trying it. “Mm. This is lovely.”

  As Esther remained content to limit their conversation to the food, Silas kept his own remarks there as well, or else stayed silent. At least the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. The longer they sat together, the more relaxed she appeared. Until the dessert course was served. Esther barely ate two bites before putting her fork down. “My lord, I hope you will excuse me. I am still fatigued from the day and I can feel a headache beginning. If I see to my rest now, I might stave off that particular discomfort.”

  He leaped up and came to her chair before a footman could assist her. “I will escort you to your room.” Wasn’t that what he ought to do, as her husband? Perhaps he should call the doctor, in case this headache was a remnant of her London injury. It had been more than a month since her knock on the head. She ought to be recovered.

  “No,” she said, most abruptly. Wincing, she added, “Please do not trouble yourself on my account.”

  The ebb and flow of her moods and conversation struck him once more. There was a pattern here. They began speaking of light matters, ventured into more personal conversation, and then she pulled back and discussed mundane topics more appropriate to a dinner party of strangers than those intimately acquainted. Finally, she left.

  He let her go with no more than a bow and a wish for her good health. After Esther vanished, Silas found he no longer wished to enjoy the baked fruit dessert. He left the table for his study, to make certain once more he had all he needed to return to London.

  After a few moments of sitting at his desk, however, he had not made a move to search through drawers or stacks of paper. He stared instead at the window. The curtains were drawn back, and the night sky was dark with clouds. He could not get his mind off Esther’s reluctance to speak with him for longer than a few minutes on subjects that mattered. It was as though Esther held a shield and when he came too close, she lifted it before retreating.

  As one who frequently fought to keep the world at bay, Silas well respected her desire to protect herself—but why did she feel the need to defend against him? From the beginning of their re-acquaintance, he had only had her best interests at heart. And she knew him from childhood.

  He tapped his fingers upon the arm of his chair, trying to puzzle out his wife and failing. Her vehement dislike of being left behind must be part of the problem. But they were married. Aside from this small trip to London to finish out the political season, where did she think he would go that she could not?

  Writing her letters may help to form a deeper connection, or at least lay the foundation for one. The idea of leaving her to her own devices, when she was obviously bothered by being alone at the Keep, did not sit well with him. Perhaps he ought to arrange for some company for her, from time to time.

  With a new objective in sight, Silas turned to his desk and pulled two sheets of paper toward him. He would write Jacob and the Everlys, ask them to check up on Esther from time to time. And he would make certain the staff provided her whatever she needed in order to divert herself, including all the painting and drawing supplies they could find in the village.

  It felt a very husbandly thing to do, and by the time Silas took himself to bed, his mind did not weigh on him so heavily as it had. Of course, glancing at the door linking her rooms to his gave him pause. Someday, when they came to a better understanding of one another, he would have to breach that door.

  Knowing what a beautiful, though complex, woman laid sleeping on the other side made that thought not entirely overwhelming.

  Chapter Eleven

  The carriage bearing the earl’s coat of arms waited at the foot of the front steps, while Esther stood at the top. She studied the shield with curiosity, the bright red birds upon the yellow field making her wonder just what it meant to bear her husband’s name and share his title. Silas was inside, settling final matters with the butler as to keeping the house secure and well locked while he was away. Was this a normal conversation when he took his leave from the Keep, or a new one, had because of her presence?

  Then she heard his footstep and she turned, fixing what might pass for a friendly smile upon her face. “I hope the roads stay fine for you, Silas.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her and cocked his head to one side, as though trying to find a deeper meaning in her words. “Thank you. The weather has kept the roads dry enough of late. Esther, I promise to return as swiftly as possible.”

  “So you have said,” she answered with forced lightness. “In the time between now and then, I will give myself a holiday. I shall be lazy, indolent, and good for nothing until you return.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “That is the very thing I should wish. Only do as you please, whether it is work or play. The staff know to heed your every whim, and Mrs. Larry is available should you wish to make any changes to how things are done. This is your Keep now, Esther. I hope you will be happy here.”

  The mention of the housekeeper made her grimace. Oh, Mrs. Larry seemed a fine enough woman, but at least twice Esther’s age. Doubtless the woman would resent an interloper changing the way things were done.

  Silas stepped closer to her, invading her thoughts with his physical presence. He stood over her, and when he spoke again his voice was intimately low. “While our marriage might have been of necessity, I would have you know, I am not at all sorry for it.”

  She had to raise her chin to meet his eyes, hardly believing the sincerity and warmth within them. Did she regret it? There had been precious little time to do so. Of course, with her reputation at stake, there was no other choice. “That is kind of you to say,” she answered, tone as low as his. “I hope I never give you cause for regret.”

  His smile softened, and then he bent closer.

  Esther hardly had time to understand his motive before she felt the soft brush of his lips upon her cheek. It was an unlooked-for token, a surprise gift, which made the day seem hot and sent a swirl of sensation through her middle.

  “A fortnight, Esther,” he whispered, and then he was gone.

  She blinked, trying to make her eyes focus correctly, and watched as he strode down the steps, setting his hat atop his head as he went. She put a hand to her middle and tried to breathe, and after the carriage door shut behind her husband, she lifted her hand in a weak farewell. He waved back and tipped his hat to her, then with a jolt the carriage made its way down the drive.

  Esther watched until the curving road took the conveyance out of sight, both hands wrapped around her middle. She leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, listening to the quiet world around her. Behind her lay the Keep, empty except for servants who would not c
onverse with her. Behind the house, there were gardens, a slope of land, and then the sea, rolling up and down the beach without a care.

  She did not want the Keep, nor the sea, at present. Without bonnet or gloves, she went down the steps and across the green lawn, making for a grove of silver birch trees. Inglewood Keep was known for its trees, and she had spent hours beneath the birch especially. As had Isaac and his set of friends, which included her present husband.

  She passed beneath the first of their shadows at the same moment as a strong breeze, which shook their branches merrily above her. It was perhaps her favorite greeting of the last several days. The trees welcomed her, not caring that she had grown too mature to climb them, or that she had married the man who claimed them. She let her hand brush against a trunk with a wistful smile. Though it had been years since she had come here, the trees looked much the same as ever.

  “I wonder if it is still there?” she murmured, going deeper into the grove, looking for its center. When they had visited the Keep as children, when she was still supposed to be minding her manners in the nursery, Isaac had let her sneak out with him just once. He had brought her to the grove, to show her where he and Silas, the twins, and Jacob Barnes had played all the day long. He must’ve been around ten years old at the time, when such games still held interest for him.

  She emerged into a small clearing, really no more than ten feet wide, and covered her mouth to still a delighted laugh. There, in the center of the grass, sat a very old, weather-worn boat pulled in from the shore by five enterprising children. On one side of the boat, in swirling letters Grace Everly had left behind, were the words, The Silver Birch Society. The five friends had formed a club, and for some reason had created it in a boat that rested among trees rather than shoals.

  As a little girl, the boat being so dreadfully out of place had delighted and enthralled Esther. She had thought it a wonderful secret. Isaac hadn’t allowed her to come and play in it when with his friends, but knowing of its existence had given her contentment. When she was finally old enough to explore the grove on her own, the others had outgrown the playfulness that would lead them there. She was perhaps nine years old, Isaac and Silas were fourteen or fifteen, too important to visit the site of their former playing field.

  Esther stepped in to the boat and gingerly sat down on its seat, doing her best to avoid snagging her dress on any splintered wood. She lifted her face to the sunlight, another breeze stirred the curls hanging about her neck. The birds began to sing in the trees again, where they had been silent as she tramped about below them.

  Perhaps she needed the solitude Silas’s absence had given her. When the world around her was at peace, she felt so herself.

  A branch broke nearby, startling her out of her reverie. Esther stood hastily, the boat shifting slightly beneath her. The boys had used dirt and stone to keep it level when they first brought it to sit beneath the trees, but wind and rain had likely undermined the former stability. She stepped out, casting one last glance around her, then hurried back the way she had come.

  No one knew where she was, and if any harm befell her, help would be long in coming.

  She emerged from the trees and into the full sunlight most gratefully, then chided herself for overreacting. Trees made all sorts of sounds, creaking and bending in the wind, and it could have been no more than a squirrel or deer—

  “Ah, the new Lady Inglewood. Good morning.”

  Or a most unwelcome man on horseback.

  “Lord Neil,” she said, raising a hand to shade her view. “Whatever are you doing on my husband’s land?” She tried not to smirk as she said it, knowing full well how irritated Silas would be to see this particular neighbor. Lord Neil and Silas had never gotten on well. The former seemed to think, all their growing up, that because he was older, he ought to be in charge. Silas had never pulled rank among friends, but he was quick to do so when Lord Neil came to call. At least, from what she remembered, that had been the case.

  “I came to wish you well, of course,” he said, swinging down from his horse. “And offer my congratulations to the earl on securing himself to his heroine. You must admit, your story sounds like something out of a novel that Radcliffe woman wrote.”

  “There is nothing particularly gothic about our tale,” Esther returned, bringing her hand to her side again. “I am afraid the sun was even shining on the day we wed. Not a single cloud in the sky to add melancholy.”

  “Ah, that is a shame.” He approached slowly, leading his horse behind him. Lord Neil was a handsome enough man, with an athletic sort of look to him and the dark blond hair that many a woman might envy. But he always seemed more sly than sincere to Esther. “And where is your husband? I find it odd a newlywed would let his bride so far from his sight the day after exchanging vows.”

  Despite her wishes, Esther’s cheeks bloomed hotly. “I am afraid Lord Inglewood has gone to London on some rather urgent business. But he will be back as soon as he is able.” She gestured to the Keep behind them. “And I am learning my way about the house without him underfoot.” It was a poor way to cover her shame at being left behind, so soon after her wedding. How many brides were immediately left by their new husbands?

  She could not imagine it to be a common occurrence. Silas likely found her an entirely unsuitable choice as a wife. It was the only explanation for hiding her away at an estate so far from London. With his importance in government, his title, he could have married a more eligible woman. A woman he would not be ashamed to have on his arm as he went about in Society.

  Her chest constricted. Silas was ashamed of her. Of how he had acquired such a woman as she for a wife. Really, what other explanation might there be? Why else would he leave her behind?

  “I imagine husbands can be troublesome things,” Lord Neil said, his smirk turning in to an amused grin. “But wives must be the most helpful creatures in the world.” The flattery rolled off his tongue with ease and Esther barely managed to suppress a groan. She needed to get away from him. Needed to examine her thoughts and her husband’s motives.

  “That remains to be seen in my case, my lord. My husband may come back to find I have thrown out all his favorite furnishings, or overturned the staff, or any number of domestic tragedies.” She forced a pleasant expression, though the temptation rose to make all those imagined threats a reality. “I must go back to the Keep now, my lord. I only meant to step out for a moment.” She gestured to her bare head as evidence of her words.

  “Ah, then do let me escort you.” He kept the reins of his horse in one hand and offered his free arm to her. She reluctantly took his arm and hoped he did not sense her mood. Giving offense to one’s neighbors was never a wise idea. “Tell me,” he said once he secured her arm. “How is it to wander about in a place where you played as a child, now mistress of all?”

  “It is rather like a dream.” Esther spoke airily, forcing herself to sound more like a London girl in her first season than a woman married. The man at her side would not take her seriously, no matter what she said or how she acted. She knew his sort quite well. “Every girl dreams of having such a beautiful home.”

  Lord Neil grinned at her and continued speaking, extolling the virtues of living near the sea, of having a large house, strolling in the gardens, and every other inane aspect of such things. If they had not been in the open air, the man’s pompous attitude would have left Esther quite stifled.

  When they arrived at her door, Lord Neil began to hint he wished for an invitation to enter. “I have not been inside this old pile of stones in years. If you would like an opinion as to how to redecorate, I am told I have an exceptional eye for furnishings.” He flashed what was doubtless meant to be a charming smile.

  “That is so kind of you, Lord Neil, but I intend to suit Lord Inglewood’s tastes as much as possible, and I have no desire to change things quite yet. Thank you for your conversation this morning.” She curtsied low enough to avoid offending him, then slipped inside the door withou
t opening it too widely.

  When she shut the door behind her, she leaned heavily against it. The quiet house she had wished to escape had swiftly become a sanctuary.

  Bailey, the butler, appeared from the door that led belowstairs. “My lady,” he said, bowing deeply. “A delivery has come for you and I wondered where you would like it put.”

  Esther’s eyebrows shot upward. “A delivery? I cannot think what it might be. Is it large?”

  The butler hesitated a moment before offering clarification. “It is a large crate from the village. His lordship sent for painting supplies this morning. I believe his words were, ‘Order everything one can use to paint.’ He also instructed Mrs. Larry to conduct a search of the house for anything that the family might already possess. She has gathered her findings in an upstairs sitting room for your use.”

  Silas had done that for her? He had latched onto the idea of her painting with some fervor during their beach walk the day before, but she had not expected him to act on the idea with such swiftness. Despite her earlier misgivings, a tingle of pleasure made her heartbeat’s rhythm increase. “Then we had best take the delivery there as well, so I might sort through everything. Which room did you say?”

  “The eastward facing parlor, my lady. It is a smaller sitting room.” He reminded her of where it was and Esther set off with some confidence of finding her own way. She only opened one wrong door, to what appeared to be a music room, before finding what she sought.

  This particular sitting room had been a favorite among the mothers and guardians of the children who played at Inglewood. It boasted three large windows that stretched from ceiling to floor, allowing an easy view of the gardens below and the blue-gray line of sea beyond. Esther approached the windows slowly, with reverence. She held her breath as she took in the view, from the seabirds hovering in the air to the fishing boats gliding across the horizon.