Page 37 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

Chapter Seventeen

The man Esther married had no use for her. Except to command her, as he did all the people in his life. Or perhaps he still saw her as a child, dependent upon him and his care. Yet she had plainly seen, once she looked for it, all the marks of grief heavily upon him. Why could he not understand that it should not be a matter of him caring for her, but the two of them helping each other? She had lost her brother. Silas had lost his closest friend.

She did not leave her room again that day, alternately crying into her pillow or pacing near the window. She stared out the balcony doors at the sea, but never stepped foot outside. The rain had come to stay, falling in sheets all around Inglewood Keep.

Losing Isaac had always been a possibility; the moment he declared he was going to war she had known it might happen. Loss had touched everyone she knew. Some no longer had brothers, such as she, others had lost friends, cousins, and lovers. Every battle had its casualties, and the news of the victories and defeats always went to London first.

Then they would wait, the whole of the country, with bated breath. Wait for the lists of the dead and wounded. Wait for a letter from a loved one to prove they yet lived. The whole kingdom knew loss by now; an entire generation had been born to expect it.

She had no appetite, but Esther took a tray in her room for dinner, requesting only broth and tea. Having mourned before, she knew the dangers of growing weak in sorrow. Did Silas? Was he caring for himself at all?

Esther was abed by the time the sun went down; if the sun still existed beyond the clouds filling the sky and sea. She laid in the darkness with her body curled tightly around a pillow. She cried again, a rip in her heart refusing to let her sleep.

Never would she see her brother walk through another doorway or stroll with him upon the beach. He had always made her laugh with his antics. Silas teased, but Isaac found joy and mirth in everyday occurrences.

Isaac had never even written back to say what he thought about her marriage to his closest friend. He had not blessed the union nor lectured her for her foolishness, though she had anticipated that letter and concocted a dozen responses to it in her mind. Her words would remain unwritten and unsaid.

At some point, she realized Silas had not gone to bed. Not having meant to listen for him, the sudden awareness that he had never entered his own room surprised her. Her ears had been listening for his footfall for some time, or for the sound of the door in the hall to have opened and shut, without her realizing it.

How she had paid attention to anything other than her own sorrow, she could not be sure.

Esther rose and felt about for her robe. Finding none, she took up the shawl she had left on the chair near the fireplace. Once wrapped in the elegant warmth of the cloth, she lit a candle and exited her bedroom. The house was still and silent, as it had been all day. There was no one about to ask after Silas. A small clock on a hall table showed the time—a quarter past midnight.

She bit the insides of her cheeks, her bare feet hesitating on the cold wood floor. Her husband had proclaimed he would take care of her, and not the other way around. Yet she could not, in good conscience, leave him to his own devices if he neglected his health.

I am a countess, she told herself firmly. Pressing her lips together and throwing her shoulders back, Esther walked down the hall to the stairs. There were only a few rooms in the house she could imagine Silas using as places of refuge; the library, his study, and perhaps the parlor adjacent the dining room.

She did not enter the parlor, as no light appeared under the door. She stepped into the library but withdrew when she saw no fire in the hearth. Then she went to Silas’s study, a room she had never stepped into before. Even on her tour of the house. Here she at last saw light under the door, a sure sign of life within.

Briefly Esther hesitated before the door, her fingers hovering over the handle. Silas did not want her to trouble herself over any of the necessary details of mourning and saw it as his duty to care for her. As though she were a child.

“If I am ever to be more than that, he must see me as capable,” she whispered to the door, as though it might impart the wisdom she needed to prove herself to her husband.

Esther pushed the door open and stepped inside, striving to maintain a noble bearing without knowing exactly what that meant. She kept her chin tilted at a confident angle and pretended the study was a ballroom. Her eyes swept over the room, noting the dark furnishings, the tall bookshelves, and a large fireplace glowing dimly, illuminating very little.

She stepped further into the room, her brows pinching together when she did not see her husband at once. “Silas?” she called, keeping her tone low so as not to startle him. The crackle of the fire answered her, but there was no other sound. Perhaps he slept on the sofa pulled near the hearth—

A dark form moved away from the window, causing her to catch her breath. Silas stepped into the light, his face pale and his hair practically standing on end as though he’d ridden through a windstorm. He wore no coat, and his cravat had gone missing as well.

For a moment, Esther worried he might be inebriated. Isaac had gotten roaring drunk at the news of their mother’s death, a thing which she had reprimanded him for with all the righteous indignation a girl of fifteen could muster.

Silas’s eyes met hers in an exhausted, sorrowful gaze and her body relaxed. The man was not drunk but overcome in another manner entirely.

“You should be sleeping,” he said, his voice barely carrying across the room to where Esther stood.

“I cannot. Not with you down here, all alone.” She relocated her attention to the hollow of his throat, exposed along with a triangular patch of skin beneath his neck. She had seen her brother thus before, had seen all the boys without their coats and even shirts when they snuck off to go swimming, many summers before.

She averted her eyes; Silas wasn’t a boy any longer and he certainly wasn’t a brother. She went to the desk, resting her candle to its surface.

“Esther, I am well enough. I am trying to take care of you.” He came across the room, slowly, to stand directly next to her. “I know this is tearing you apart.” The atmosphere in the room changed when he stood close, her every sense heightening and the skin on the back of her neck tingling with sudden awareness.

“For the moment,” she said, her fingertips brushing the polished surface of the desk, “my sorrow is at rest. That is the way with mourning. It is like a thunderstorm, drenching you one moment and the next turning into a misty fog.”

His hand reached out, large and strong, covering one of hers. “I haven’t much experience with it, to be honest. These last two days I have not been myself. If I have done anything wrong—”

She shook her head, staring down at their joined hands. “You have done perfectly. But this isn’t something that either of us should do alone, and sending me off to my rooms only makes me somewhat anxious for your well-being. Have you eaten anything today?” She forced herself to look up again, taking in the haggard expression he wore. She saw a dark shadow along his jawline, too. He still hadn’t taken the time to shave.

“I think I had coffee.” He let her keep one hand and used the other to rub at his eyes. “I couldn’t stay awake otherwise.”