Page 8 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

“Is that so?” Lady Sparton placed a hand upon her chest and affected a surprised mein. “Then it is indeed fortunate that Miss Fox was at hand to prevent a tragedy.”

Esther looked over the rim of her teacup at Diana, who appeared as unflustered as though talk of saving lives and falling statues was a daily occurrence.

“Indeed. It is such a shame about your statue, my lady. I do hope when next you procure such a masterpiece, the men moving it for you are more competent and cautious.” Diana smiled sweetly and put her cup down. “I am afraid you must excuse us, my lady. I must get my sister-in-law home to rest.” She rose and came to assist Esther to her feet. “Thank you for your kindness in our time of need.” Diana assisted Esther in bending to curtsy.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Lady Sparton glanced about hurriedly and picked up Esther’s ruined bonnet. “You mustn’t forget this.”

Diana held her hand out. “Thank you.”

Lady Sparton handed the bonnet over, and Diana gave it into Esther’s care. The poor thing could never be worn again.

Esther could not say how long it took them to walk home, and though Diana muttered about how she wished a carriage had been offered, Esther was grateful. Travel by carriage rarely agreed with her in the best of circumstances, but feeling as she did, climbing into a box pulled by horses would guarantee further embarrassment.

By the time Esther had gained her bedroom, a line of sweat had broken out across her brow and her stomach rolled again.

The door opened and shut; Mary came inside with a basin of water and a towel. “Mrs. Aubrey has ordered a bath for you.”

The idea of being put into warm water made her head throb. “That is not necessary at the moment, Mary. I prefer to rest.” She put a hand to the back of her head, feeling the matted mess of curls. “Although I suppose I look rather frightful.”

“If you prefer to rest, we shall do our best to clean you up before we put you to bed.” Mary put her hand on Esther’s cheek, looking her over carefully.

Esther sat down in a chair before her dressing table, and Mary began work with a warm cloth and comb to clean Esther’s hair. At least Esther did not cry out in pain, though her eyes filled with tears. Her good deed seemingly continued to punish her, and she tried not to think upon the possibility that the punishment might extend beyond her physical ills into her reputation.

By the time Mary tucked Esther into her bed, exhaustion and a throbbing headache rendered her little desire to do more than sleep. Yet one thought stayed at the forefront of her mind.

Tomorrow, Silas will come. Esther’s stepbrother, Hugh, would have to be part of whatever conversation they had. He was a dutiful guardian, at least. If Isaac wasn’t away at war, what would he say about what had happened? He would praise her rescue of his friend, but what of the consequences of her actions? What if gossip started and she must wed Silas?

He would love furthering a connection to Silas. They were such good friends. She released a sigh into the darkness of her curtained bed. Hopefully, it would not come to that.

Esther harbored no dreams for a love match, but the thought of forcing someone to ask for her hand remained most undesirable. And Silas? The handsome earl, rising quickly in politics and the estimation of society, could not possibly want to marry a little nobody like her. She was the sister of a baronet. A mere miss. Not a lady, not the daughter or granddaughter of anyone important.

Perhaps her relative insignificance would save them from having to make any decision at all. No one knew her name, so they could hardly bandy it about or hurt her reputation. It would likely all be forgotten.

With this comforting thought, Esther at last cleared her mind enough to drift into a restful sleep.

Chapter Three

Silas rose late in the morning, as was his habit. A man needed a clear head and a well of energy to draw from, if he wished to get anything done in London, and that meant sleep was most necessary. Everything of import that happened in Town, whether in the government or in society, happened after two o’clock in the afternoon. Rising at ten in the morning gave him plenty of time to prepare for the day ahead.

As he climbed from his bed, Silas paused and groaned. His tail bone was sore. How had that happened?

He rang for his valet, pulled on a robe, then went to his window. The morning sunlight promised a fine day, with nary a cloud to be seen. He lived in the family’s townhouse during the Season, which commanded an excellent view of Upper Brook Street. The house had come to him through an inheritance, and while not perhaps the most fashionable address, its nearness to Parliament counted as a decided mark in its favor.

Arnold, the valet, arrived with a tray of coffee and the morning post, as well as newspapers and half a dozen invitations. Quietly, the servant went about choosing Silas’s clothes for the day while the earl sorted through his mail.

The routine was simple, and rarely varied. Keeping to a strict schedule ensured Silas never overlooked important matters in a mad rush to begin his day.

A thought plucked at him, trying to make him remember something important, but he brushed it away irritably.

“Are there any changes in your schedule the household ought to be aware of, my lord?” Arnold asked, as he always did.

Finally, Silas recalled the reason for his sore posterior. Esther. The statue.

“Yes.” He glared into his mirror. He needed to look in on her, ensure she was on the mend. Then there was the matter of her frantic sister-in-law, insisting that Esther’s reputation may also need repairing. Seeing to the reputation of the girl must come first, giving him something to report when he went to her stepbrother’s home. “I will need the carriage most of the day. I have several appointments I must keep.”

“Very well, sir. I will see to it the grooms are informed.”

He must go to his club first. If anyone knew of Esther Fox and her relationship to Silas, there was one certain way to check. The betting book at White’s. Silas hurried through the rest of his routine, making it out the door in twice the speed as usual.