Page 32 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

“Lady Inglewood.” He bowed before stepping through the ivy-covered arch into her sanctuary. “Might I interest you in a walk? Perhaps here, in the gardens?”

Though the gardens were close to the house, they were terribly secluded with their tall shrubberies. Esther had no wish to be hidden away with this particular man. “Why not a stroll down to the beach?” she asked, coming to his side. “It is low tide presently, is it not? We can search for shells.”

He visibly brightened and her insides squirmed. The man had become more and more obnoxious with his visits. She had tried to puzzle out what he meant to gain from them and could only think he wished to irritate Silas somehow. No one was ever interested in her for herself.

They walked down the path in the gardens leading directly to the beach, each step bringing the crash of the waves and call of the gulls closer. Although the reason for her being placed at Inglewood rankled, Esther could not deny her love for the seaside.

Perhaps today she would paint a picture of a man and woman walking along the beach and send it to her husband. Let him try to figure out that message.

“Why are you smiling, my lady?” Lord Neil asked, his eyes trained on her.

“Merely considering the subject for my next project. I have been sending small pieces of artwork to my husband.” She saw no reason to hide that from him and felt it best to remind him of her married state from time to time.

“Ah, and how is the overly responsible earl? Still in London? I confess, I thought with news of the surrender he would have returned for a holiday.”

“I am afraid the end of the war does not mean the end of Parliament’s session,” she said as breezily as possible. “Lord Inglewood is a most dedicated representative.”

“Indeed.” Lord Neil made the word sound like a question, and a disapproving one at that. The man obviously wished to provoke her, and his next words proved such still further. “It is a pity he is not a dedicated husband as well. I suppose a man can only give his full attention to one thing at a time.”

“Yes, it is a great relief to know men such as he run our government. They let nothing dissuade them from their country’s needs.” She smiled daintily and released his arm as soon as her feet touched the sand. “Oh, look. Is that a crab?”

Esther held her bonnet to her head when a gust of wind blew over the waves, then hurried to where the water lapped at the land. She deftly kept the conversation away from personal topics, all the while wondering what Silas would think of her ability to deflect unwanted discussion of personal matters.

I would not have shamed him in London. I know how to keep sensitive matters to myself. The thought bolstered her, but not for long. If she ever remained at the Keep, Silas would never know how well she might fulfill her role as his wife, how she might offer help to his political career.

Perhaps she would send him a self-portrait, assuming a haughty pose.

“I found you a shell, my lady.” Lord Neil came running toward her, offering up a clam shell with his bare hand.

“Thank you.” She held out her hand, waiting for him to drop it there, and did not remove her glove. The man thought himself subtle, but she had tired of his charade days ago. “That will suffice for my purposes today. Shall we go back?” She did not wait for an answer. A quarter of an hour in Lord Neil’s presence was always more than enough.

Chapter Fifteen

April 19, 1814 - London

With the end of the war, Silas’s fortnight in London began to look more like a month. He had written Esther the day before to apologize, explaining why he must be delayed as many decisions had to be made in regard to bringing the troops home.

Sitting at his desk, his London study lit by candle and lamp, he stared down at the latest drawing arrived from Suffolk. At first, receiving Esther’s artwork had amused him, but he had begun to suspect she was doing more than sending him random sketches and paintings. There was something more to them, and the single words or lines she scrawled along the edge of the paper offered the barest hint to what she intended him to know.

This was another watercolor, in a more simplistic style than he had seen from her thus far. It was a view from inside the house, at the front door, looking outward. Rain appeared to be falling, blurring the outside landscape into nothing more than a wash of color.

Beneath the somewhat melancholy image were the words, “Waiting for Company.”

Was Esther lonely? Had his friends not gone to her as he wished? Jacob had sent him a letter not long ago, announcing they had been found out, but he did not say the visits had ceased.

Whose company did Esther wish for?

Silas had a letter to her started next to the drawing, but he could not bring himself to tell her of any political doings. Would she care? Yet his life consisted of little else. He had been to the club that morning where many a man still toasted the end of the war as if they had contributed personally to that outcome.

He put his elbows on the desk and dropped his face into his hands, exhausted. He had turned away another invitation to a ball. The social events had always been somewhat irritating, but necessary, for him to attend or else risk offending members of his party by offending their wives. As a married man, he had more leeway with invitations, and he had no desire to attend parties without Esther by his side.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to leave her behind. Though he had his reasons, of course, he had begun to doubt them. What would it have hurt to ease her into Society from their London townhouse? Could he really better prepare her over the course of the summer?

Though used to being alone, now that it was not strictly necessary, he caught himself often wondering what Esther would say and do in certain situations. What sort of wife would she be to him? Attentive, coming to see why he was yet awake after two in the morning? Or would she be a silent support, sending the servants with tea to fortify his late evenings? He had no doubt she would be kind. One had only look into her beautiful brown eyes to see her compassionate nature. Sometimes, he supposed with a smirk, he might glimpse her stubbornness, too.

A hasty knock on the door interrupted his musings. It didn’t sound like the butler, or like Arnold.

“Enter,” he said.