Page 40 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

Unless…

That word dangled before him, tempting him to follow it, to see where it might lead. Silas hesitated, looking over his shoulder at the door linking their rooms.

Unless the time they spent together mourning a lost brother might also be a time of healing. If they helped each other as they had the night before, sharing strength, most likely they would grow closer to each other, develop a deeper understanding and affection for one another.

Could love come from loss?

Silas turned to study the sunbeams streaming through his balcony doors. The idea of winning Esther’s heart pierced through his grief like morning light through fog.

Isaac’s ready grin appeared in Silas’s memory, and that was all the encouragement Silas needed. Together they would grieve for Isaac, and in time they would heal.

Without another thought on the matter, Silas rang for a servant to attend him. His valet might arrive this afternoon, but a footman would do for now. It was early yet, and hopefully Esther still slept, but he must see about his duties. There was a tailor and seamstress to send for, to order the proper mourning attire. They would not stir from their property until it was prepared. His friends would come this afternoon, as he had asked in messages sent the day before, and then the news would spread through the neighborhood. Visitors would come soon after.

Before he worried about any of it, he would take his wife for a walk. From that moment forward, Esther must come first in his thoughts and in his heart.

The idea of being with her lightened the weight upon his chest still more. With purpose, Silas could face the day ahead.

∞∞∞

Not a single dream disturbed Esther’s sleep. She awoke slowly, reluctantly, knowing there was something she must face when she began the day that she had rather forget about. And then it came upon her again, like a wave crashing against her and sweeping her legs out from under her. Drenched in sorrow, Esther rolled into her pillow and cried anew for her lost brother.

It did not take long for her tears to dry up and her head to ache. She rose and went to her washbasin, peering into the mirror hanging above it. Her room was dim, yet she knew she was paler than normal. After splashing water upon her face, she rang for Mary.

There would be work to do, and she must make certain the earl ate breakfast rather than continue starving himself. That meant no tray, and no hiding in her room. But that was for the best, as she had determined the previous night. Silas did not know the first thing about mourning. He had been barely a child when he lost his grandmother and Esther knew of no other grief in his life.

Mary came into the room at a slow, almost reverential pace, keeping her eyes to the floor.

Was this to be how everyone acted around Esther? As though they walked through a tomb instead of a house? She would not allow herself to break from this loss, though she had been bruised by it. Isaac had always left her behind, told her she was not old enough to play at his games or converse with his friends. In death he left her behind again, but as a woman fully capable of seeing to all that needed to be done.

“I am going down to breakfast,” she decreed, then looked to the clock upon her dressing table. If it were noon, her proclamation would be somewhat silly. It was only nine o’clock in the morning. “Has his lordship woken yet?”

“Yes, my lady. He’s been downstairs since the sun came up. I’m supposed to bring a note up from him with your tray. But with no tray—” The maid broke off and reached into her apron pocket, withdrawing a folded sheet of paper. She offered it to Esther with a curtsy.

“Thank you. Please lay out my things while I read. I know I haven’t any black, but there is a dark blue that will do for today.” Esther lowered herself to her dressing table while Mary threw back the rest of the curtains, then bustled around to lay out Esther’s things.

Unfolding the note, Esther did not know what she expected. Instructions to remain abed? Something of a more serious nature? Maybe he wished to thank her for the previous night’s meal. She peered down at his tidy writing, familiar after all the letters she had received from him in the time he had been away. A letter a day.

Esther, it began, which was already quite different. Normally he addressed her as my lady in writing. Will you do me the honor of accompanying me on a walk? If the weather holds. He signed it with his name, written without the flourish he used when signing his title.

She read the words over again, trying to make sense of the request. Answering him with a note of her own seemed rather silly when she might just find him and agree.

Mary came to help with her hair, styling it simply, leaving no limp strands but not taking the time to curl it with tongs. It was all piled and tucked artfully at the top of her head, then framed by a black ribbon Mary had found. After seeing to the necessary tasks of hair and clothing, Esther opened the drawer at the top of her bureau and tucked Silas’s note away with all of his letters. Why she had kept them all, she did not entirely know.

To see them all there, folded neatly, each bearing his writing and most with his seal, Esther had to smile. If nothing else, the man she married was a faithful correspondent. What had he thought of her artwork? Had it entertained or irritated him? She supposed she might ask, since the two of them were under the same roof once more.

She left her room and took a few steps down the hall when she realized she wanted to respond to her husband’s note in the usual manner. Why shouldn’t she? They may as well make a tradition out of it. Changing course, she went down the long halls from the family wing to her sitting room full of her work and supplies.

When Esther opened the door, she froze momentarily. Her eyes went at once to the spot where she had stood when Silas told her the news of Isaac’s death. Grief, in its mysterious way, washed over her again. It pulled her deeper. She turned away toward the couch, where Silas had held her as she cried, that pulled her out and reminded her of why she had entered the room in the first place.

A walk. That was what Silas wanted. She had the answer already painted, in layers and layers of color. The path leading to the birch trees, shimmering with a gentle glow she had imagined rather than seen in truth. The light was from the spring of her childhood, not the dull gray skies hanging overhead of late. The painting was too large to fold, nor did she particularly want to harm it with creases. Esther rolled it instead, then looked about to find something to secure it.

Ah. A bit of blue ribbon was in a book she had been reading. Without a thought, she slid the ribbon from between the pages and used it to tie up her painting instead. Esther glanced about her hideaway, at the many half-finished projects, the containers of brushes and colors, and sighed. A sitting room really was no place for all the mess she had dragged inside of it.

Withdrawing from the room, Esther retraced her steps to the main stairway again. She passed a footman in the hall and stopped him. “Peters? Will you take this to the earl?”

“Yes, my lady.” He accepted the rolled paper without hesitation and went on his way, likely to the servant’s staircase, which was really more ideally situated than the grand steps she used on a daily basis.

Esther rubbed at her eyes, wishing they would stop aching and filling with tears alternatively. Then she went down the ornate staircase and to the dining room. Word must have travelled to the kitchen through Mary during her trip to secure her reply to Silas. The buffet, though not laden as heavily as normal, had a selection of tempting foods upon it. Including her favorite jams and rolls. The thoughtfulness of the staff with so small a thing, when they knew how her heart must ache, touched her.