Page 20 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

April 3rd, 1814

Wearing a new gown of blue, with ivory lace at her throat, and a bonnet cheerfully adorned in sapphire ribbons and white flowers, Esther sat through the morning services wearing what she hoped to be a peaceful expression. She sat between Diana and the end of the pew, close to the aisle. On the other side of Diana sat Hugh, and their three eldest children. They were on the Fox family bench, which her brother had continued to reserve despite his absence. And at the front of the church, all alone, sat her bridegroom.

She watched the back of Silas’s head through most of the service, noting he appeared to have had a fresh haircut. He wore a fine coat of forest green. The color would look well with his eyes.

Guilt pricked at her heart at last. At least she had someone to sit beside, and had been surrounded by people since their betrothal. The Everlys, her stepbrother’s family. There was always someone at hand to talk to about her marriage, or to distract her from the fact she would soon be a countess.

The sermon was not overlong. Mr. Spratt, the vicar, was getting on in years and preferred to be home in front of his fire rather than making lengthy moral speeches. The people gathered in the church were informed of the wedding, though most already knew all about it. Esther had caught a few snatches of conversation, in which a handful of matrons had postulated how exactly she came to be engaged to their earl.

Hugh rose to escort her to the front of the church, standing in place of Isaac to give her away. If only Isaac were home. Being on his arm would make everything feel better.

“Who gives this woman in marriage?” Mr. Spratt asked, his cadence slow. Yes, it was obviously time for the position to go to a younger man.

“I do.” Hugh bent and kissed her cheek, then gave her hand into Silas’s.

For the first time that day, Esther looked up, bracing herself to take in Silas’s expression. She expected to see trepidation, concern, or most likely, the look of infinite neutrality he always wore.

Instead, Silas greeted her with a compassionate smile. The coat did make his eyes stand out, eyes that conveyed more emotion than she had seen from him since the morning she had rescued him from the statue. A great deal of gentleness, even a touch of humor, swirled in their depths.

Though he did not speak to her, Esther understood the message he wished to convey. Whatever happens next, we are in this together. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and brought her the last step to stand before the vicar.

Esther tried to keep her mind on Mr. Spratt’s recitation of the marriage ceremony. She had always found the wedding sacrament beautiful, almost poetic. Whoever had written the words had understood marriage in a way Esther hoped to one day grasp.

She occasionally glanced at Silas, surprised by the absence of his marble mask. With his earnestness written upon his face for all to see, no one could doubt his sincerity as he spoke his vows. Each of his words, delivered in his strong and lordly manner, rang through the church clearly.

“I, Silas Riley, take you, Esther Fox, to be my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God’s holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.”

What was there for her to do, but make the same vows?

They exchanged rings, then the vicar proclaimed them husband and wife and left a blessing upon their marriage. Esther bowed her head, her hand still resting in Silas’s grasp. The words spoken felt as if they were said for another couple. Nothing the vicar said of love, of companionship, suited her marriage to Silas. He had not even asked her to wed him, due to their circumstances, but proclaimed their betrothal to chase away scandal.

And he would leave her, as soon as possible, to go on about his business.

The ceremony ended, the people behind her standing to sing a hymn, while the vicar gestured for Silas and Esther to follow him to the register tucked into a vestibule. She signed her name, for the last time, as Esther Fox. Silas signed his Christian name, surname, and his titles. Earl of Inglewood. Baron Marham.

The vicar stepped away, leaving them alone together in the small sanctuary for a few moments.

“You are a countess now,” Silas said quietly, tipping his head to one side. She tried not to look at him, listening instead to the congregants finishing their hymn.

“I feel much the same as I did before.” She made her answer simply, her words inviting no conversation on the matter.

His gloved hand reached for hers, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a most familiar manner. “Esther, I promise to be a good husband to you.”

Startled, she raised her eyes to his for the first time since they stood before the vicar together. “You do?”

That earnest look from before remained, his emotions almost readable. “With all that I am. Not because you are anyone’s sister, but because you are my wife. We must make a good life together.” He spoke the words easily enough, yet he had done nothing except fulfill an obligation and dictate her future. That sounded less like making something together and more like giving orders.

She studied him a moment, then took a step back. “We need to go. The wedding breakfast cannot begin without us.”

The Everlys had kindly offered to host that event, too. Then Esther’s belongings would be put into a cart and driven the three miles to Inglewood Keep.

He frowned at her a moment, his brown bent in puzzlement, but then he nodded. His mask returned. The Earl of Stone, as the satirical artists called his caricature, appeared before her once more. “Come, my lady.”

∞∞∞

No matter what Silas said, or how he said it, Esther kept shutting him out. There was little enough time to determine why she did it, or how to get around the barriers she had put up to common civilities, before he went back to London. After he handed her into the closed carriage meant to carry them from the church to the Everlys’ home, he looked up at his driver.

“Take us by way of the mill.” The driver, a good employee if ever there was one, did not even raise his eyebrows at the command. The more circuitous route would add a mile and a quarter to the trip, which would give Silas an extra quarter hour with his bride.