Page 39 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

Esther rose swiftly, her thoughts causing her to shake with panic. She tidied their plates, hurrying about to put things away without leaving too large a mess for the servants. “When will you return to London?” she asked without looking at him, moving about while she spoke. “I know your duties are important to you.”

“My duty to my wife currently supersedes my duty to Parliament,” he answered, a sigh underscoring the words.

The sigh jabbed at her heart. Was she such a terrible burden?

“Very well. If you will keep me apprised of your plans, I would be grateful.” She closed the pantry door and turned down the lamp, leaving them with only the candle for their light. “For now, you must see me to my room, and then you must sleep, too. Facing tomorrow will be easier if you have rested.”

Silas stared at her, as though not comprehending her words. Then he stood, albeit slowly, and offered to take her arm. “I will do as you say, my lady.” Would he come to his senses and stop bowing to her demands?

She allowed him to escort her through the halls and up the stairs. They stopped at her chamber door. “Do you need the candle?” she asked.

“No. Thank you. I know my way around my room quite well.” They stood close again, and she peered up at him in the dark. She let her arm slide away from his, then gripped the shawl in front of her. “I will see you in the morning,” he said.

“Yes.” She whispered her agreement, the black hall pressing in around them, reminding her that they must part and mourn alone once more. At least now there would be no more than a door separating them rather than an entire house.

Yet that thought also brought a measure of concern. There was only a door between them. A door easily opened, and the man before her had every right to step through into her bedroom. But not soon. Certainly not this night. She hoped.

“Esther,” he said, his voice low and almost hoarse. Her heart careened against her chest in a most unsuitable manner at the sound of her name. “Thank you for taking care of me this evening.”

Then, before she could think to react, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. It ought not to have been all that different from his hasty goodbye weeks before, yet it was. And it left her tingling from the top of her scalp all the way to her cold, bare toes.

“You are most welcome,” she whispered, then she ran. Not literally. That would have been ridiculous. But she opened her door and slipped inside, shutting it hastily behind her.

Her heart continued to thud against her chest almost indecently.

For one terrible moment, she had even forgotten her brother’s loss as she basked in Silas’s gentle attention.

What was she going to do with him so close? Yet, she longed for him to be there beside her in the coming days. Mourning alone—she could not imagine it. She knew, from the early days of her mother’s death, what it was like to have no one to speak to or confide in. It was painfully lonely, the abyss of sorrow infinitely deeper, without someone with whom to talk. When she and Isaac had their row, for that was what it had taken to break down the barrier they put between each other, they had finally begun to heal.

“Oh, Isaac. Why did you have to go to war?” she whispered to the darkness.

No answer came.

Chapter Eighteen

As sleep hadn’t been expected, it somewhat surprised Silas to wake with a bleary sort of dawn streaming through his window. He sat up in his bed, rubbing at his dry, aching eyes. A weight in his chest, heavy as iron, made breathing somewhat difficult.

Isaac is gone.

His friend had marched away to war and would never return home. There were a handful of people in the world Silas trusted and would swear to loyally stand by through the trials of life. To lose one of them, for it to be his first and closest friend, dropped him into a deep, dark pit of loneliness. Silas closed his eyes, attempting to shut out the bleak despair.

A memory wavered in his mind; a vision in white and green, a glowing candle. Esther. At once his thoughts flooded with her gentle care of him the night before. She had sought him out, like an angel of mercy, though her grief mirrored his own. He had been drawn to her kindness, had made a fool of himself brushing her hand with his at every opportunity, starved as he was for any measure of physical touch to remind him that he and she yet lived.

She had brought light to him through more than a candle. When she entered his study, the heavy weight in his chest lessened, the pain dulled. Esther had brought him out of the worst of it, at the darkest hour of night. How had she known he needed her?

In his exhaustion he hadn’t drawn the curtains closed and gave the sun permission to wake him when it rose. He went to his balcony doors and peered out at the sea. Staring out at the blue waves and white surf, he went over every moment of the night previous.

With a subtle grace he hadn’t realized his wife possessed, she had drawn him into caring for himself by caring for her. Made him eat and nudged him to take his rest. It had taken surprisingly little for her to persuade him to follow directions. Of course, from the moment she entered his study, a candle illuminating her delicate features, he had been captivated by her.

Things he had never taken the time to notice before, things about his wife, distracted him from their mutual loss. Standing near his desk, he had noted she smelled of honey and lavender. Her hand in his, he’d been awed by the softness of her skin—and noticed a few oddly placed callouses. From her holding a paintbrush or pencil, perhaps.

To focus on such details when his emotions already twisted within him made him feel as if he may have gone mad.

Silas pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the doors. Examining all that he felt in the light of day, another thought occurred to him. It was absurd. Perhaps his grief had muddled his feelings and thoughts. Yet he could not dismiss the idea that more than physical attraction played a role in his reaction to the countess. There was a duty there, yes. But duty only bound one to certain deeds, not specific emotions.

What if—could it be possible—that he cared enough for Esther to develop a deeper affection for her? Perhaps fall in love with her?

He warred with himself, pacing away from the balcony and into the shadows where the sunlight did not reach. The timing of such a supposition was all wrong. They had lost Isaac. Coming to Esther to mourn with her and then attempting to explore another emotion entirely was shiftless. Giving her support was the whole point of being by her side.