Page 18 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

“…believe it. I am doing exactly the best thing.”

“For who? You or Esther?” It was one of the twins. Likely Grace, given the gentleness of the question.

“He doesn’t know.” The skeptical tone revealed Hope was present, too. “Esther has been batted about by everyone like a shuttlecock. You cannot keep doing that to her. It gives her no sort of permanence.”

“The position of Countess of Inglewood ought to be permanence enough,” Silas said, sounding exasperated.

“A title does not make a person happy,” Grace’s soft voice said, barely loud enough for Esther to hear.

Was everyone going to discuss her future with Silas except for her? She looked down at the paving stones a moment, gathering her courage, then raised her head to call out, “Lord Inglewood? Are you here?”

She heard Hope hiss, “For once in your life, think of something other than your standing in Society.”

“We are here, Esther,” Grace called.

Esther walked around the last hedge hiding their position. The twins rose from the bench they occupied as she approached, while Silas remained standing near a small fountain, his back to her. Hope came forward first, putting her hands upon Esther’s arms.

“You look lovely, Esther. You will be a perfect bride tomorrow.” She kissed Esther’s cheek and stepped aside.

Grace came forward and embraced her. “Do not stay out too long. It will be dark soon.” Then the twins left through the same break in the garden hedges Esther had entered.

Esther waited a moment, studying Silas’s figure. He stood as tall as ever, his posture ramrod straight, though his hands were clasped behind his back. His dark hair appeared almost blue in the dimming light. No one could deny he was handsome, and from what she knew of his work in Parliament, he was clever, too. How could a man such as he even think of taking someone like her to wife?

“Did you wish to speak to me, my lord?” she asked, refusing to step any closer to him. Their lives had turned upside down, their future joined in a most uncertain path. He had every right to be angry with her.

“I think we are past the formalities, Esther,” he said, his shoulders momentarily falling as he sighed. Then he turned to look at her. His expression, stony and firm as ever, did not hide the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Call me Silas.”

She had applied powder under her own just that morning in an attempt to hide the evidence of her disturbed sleep. For a moment, her heart went to him in sympathy. Their engagement had not been easy upon him, either.

“Very well,” she said, keeping her tone low. Indifferent. “Silas. Why have you sought me out?”

His brows pulled together, betraying his puzzlement, before he raised his hand to his forehead as if to smooth out the evidence of his thoughts. “We are to marry tomorrow. I thought it important we speak. There are things you may wish to know, concerning what happens after.”

“Diana and Hugh have kept me informed,” Esther said. “They seemed to think it appropriate to share the contents of your letters with me. We will wed at the church, have a breakfast at Everly Respite, and then you will leave.” Again.

“I must finish some political business in London. War business, actually.” He rubbed at his forehead again, then dropped his hand back to his side. “I hope to return the second week in April.”

“I see. That does sound important.” A thread of satire made its way into her words. “Too important to have me along with you in London. I suppose it is best that I remain at the Keep.”

Silas stared at her, then he took a step in her direction. “I will be back before you know it, and you will have time to adjust yourself to your position.”

“Time, but no guidance. Silas, I do not know the first thing about being a countess.” Her voice rose and she swiftly bit her tongue, reminding herself she had promised to show no more emotion than he did. How did he hide everything so well? The drawings depicting him as a marble statue, still being carved as he stood in Lords, were startling in their accuracy.

“You are an intelligent woman,” he said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “And you know the house already. It will be fine, Essie.”

Her words came out clipped and hot. “Do not call me that.”

He jerked his head back. Was that what it took to reveal what was behind his marble facade? Shock from her falling into a stream, surprise when she stood up for herself?

“That is not my name,” she said, tone quieter.

“It is what Isaac called you,” Silas said, stepping forward again, peering at her closely. “What he always called you.”

“Especially when he was leaving me behind. ‘Essie, you are a baby. Go back to the nursery. Essie, you are too little to come. Essie, I am going to fight the French.’” She wrapped her arms protectively about herself. “It is what my father called me before he died, what my mother whispered the last time I saw her, and I am done with it. Trimming my name from Esther to Essie does not make me smaller, or sweeter, or more understanding of people forever abandoning me. Go to London tomorrow. Directly after breakfast. Then stay as long as you wish.” She whirled around, ignoring when he called out to her.

Guilt tried to creep into her heart, but she thrust it out. Tomorrow, though she had never wished for such a thing, she would be a countess. Countesses ought not feel guilty over standing their ground and speaking their minds.

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