Page 47 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

He stepped away from the door, listening intently. If he heard another sound, he would knock. She could then choose to answer him or not, let him in or not.

No further noise came from Esther’s room.

She had accused him of treating her like a child, of not valuing her. As he carefully sat on the edge of the bed, he thought back on how things had been between them since the incident with the statue. Everything he had done, each action taken, had been for her benefit. Yet he had never stopped, even once, to ask Esther what she wanted or if she approved of his plans. He wrote letters to her guardian, he gave commands to the servants, requested things of his friends, and told Esther to remain behind without explaining why he thought it for the best.

Used to doing as he pleased, accustomed to being obeyed, Silas had not considered that Esther might have objections or see things differently than he did. And until that afternoon, she had held herself to his high standards, acted with dignity befitting her position as countess and wife. Even then, as Jacob had said, people grieved in different ways. She had not been childish. Pain governed her actions. Remorse filled his heart. While he might know how to be an earl, he had no practical knowledge of how to be a good husband. Esther had put up with his arrogance long enough. He ought to give her tenderness and understanding, and he needed to ask her forgiveness.

Silas found it impossible to fall asleep, continuing to listen, in the event she needed him after all.

Chapter Twenty

In Silas’s boyhood, he used the size of Inglewood Keep to his advantage in avoiding his grandmother. He had slipped from one room into another when he heard her step or ducked into a hallway or servants’ stairway when he knew she sent someone looking for him. As a man in search of his wife, he cursed the size of his ancestral home.

Esther had not come down to breakfast, and when he asked, he learned she had left her room. Waiting an hour at the table, in hopes she might come looking for him, proved fruitless.

It seemed he must go on the hunt for the missing countess. Her sitting room was empty except for her forlorn and rejected paintings. He checked every common room and then decided to search the gardens. Though the skies were gray, no rain had fallen yet. Perhaps she had even walked in the direction of the beach. Hadn’t she told him she enjoyed walking along the sand?

He took the time to pop a hat upon his head and pull on gloves, then he went out of doors with the singular purpose of finding his wife. That afternoon the seamstress was to come and measure Esther for mourning gowns, and he had determined to find her and speak with her before then.

Halfway down the garden path leading to the beach, the breeze brought a snatch of conversation to him.

“…know how you must be feeling.”

His hackles rose. Silas knew Lord Neil’s voice well, having been exposed to its taunts and sneering commentary for most of his life. His mind reached back to the day he had arrived home, finding Lord Neil with his wife in the library. He had never bothered asking what the younger son of a peer was doing in their house. He had nearly forgotten the matter altogether.

Apparently, Lord Neil made it something of a habit to visit Silas’s wife.

Grinding his teeth together, Silas turned in the direction of the words he had heard, listening for more.

“Thank you for your condolences, Lord Neil,” Esther’s voice said, almost a whisper on the wind. “You are a most attentive neighbor.”

Attentive? Silas’s fists clenched as he turned around another hedge. Just how attentive had the offensive lord been to Esther since her arrival?

“My lady, we have known each other so long. Please, do call me Neil.”

The slimy eel! What was he doing, attempting to put himself on familiar terms with another man’s wife? Silas stopped walking, surprise at his own temper freezing him in place. He barely heard Esther’s reply over the sudden rush of blood in his ears.

Esther’s tone was firm, her words clipped. “That is too familiar, my lord.”

The relief that filled him was irrational, but Silas discarded that thought and instead took the last steps around the hedge obscuring his wife, the interloper, and the garden’s largest fountain from view.

“Esther,” he said, relishing the use of her name perhaps more than necessary. “Here you are. I have been looking for you to ask if you wished to take a walk with me.” His eyes flicked briefly to Lord Neil and then back to his wife. “But I see you are already enjoying the fresh air.”

Though she did not appear precisely glad to see him, Esther did cross the little courtyard to his side at a quick pace. “Thank you, my lord. But I have had my fill of the outdoors this morning. I think I shall retire to the library for a time.” Her eyes briefly met his, then she passed by him, leaving the scent of mint and flowers behind her.

Silas watched her until she went around the hedge, disappearing from view. Then he met Lord Neil’s haughty stare, but he did not say a word, listening as Esther’s steps faded away on the paving stones. When he could no longer hear her, and Lord Neil’s smirk grew too wide, Silas spoke at last.

“Lord Neil. I will speak bluntly, and I ask you do not mistake my meaning. I have never liked you. Not as a boy, and not as a man. Truthfully, you remind me of an eel. Slippery, slimy, and always on the hunt to make trouble for those around you. So understand me when I say this: you are never to set foot upon my land or in my home again.”

The irritating lord drew back, almost as though Silas had thrown a punch rather than words in his direction. A sneer curled the man’s lips.

The earl gave him no time to answer. “And furthermore, if I ever hear of you speaking to my wife again, even if it is so innocuous a subject as the weather, I will call you out. Do I make myself clear?”

Lord Neil stared, his face pale, for a long moment. Then he put his nose in the air and squared his shoulders. “Abundantly. Though I think your wife is capable of finding her own friends.”

Silas stepped forward and it pleased him when Lord Neil flinched at the movement. “Oh, the countess is immensely capable and certain to find friends wherever she may go. But we both know, Lord Neil, that is not your intention here. I will not see her hurt, by you or anyone else. Now. Get off my land.”

After a brief hesitation, Lord Neil backed away, not daring to look away from Silas. He exited the fountain’s courtyard.