Page 28 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

Esther contemplated writing him back as she chewed her toast, but a better idea struck her. After she dressed and retired to the room filled with all the necessary things for her painting, including an old carpet spread upon the floor in case she spilled oils, watercolors, or turpentine, Esther found the thickest piece of paper available to her.

With watercolors in hands, as they were truly her preferred medium, she made a quick rendering of the view out her window. Gray clouds loomed in the distance, but the sky in her painting she depicted as blue and clear. The sand stretched in either direction, and two boats were visible near the shore.

Satisfied with the simple rendering, Esther layered in more colors to provide depth to the curls of the waves and the oncoming clouds. She left it after that, to fully dry. At dinner time she entered the room again with pencil in hand, wrote a single line on the bottom of her painting and signed it with a flourish. It would be sent to him in London, folded up like a common letter.

The next morning, her offering went away from the house while another of his letters appeared on her tray. The tone of this letter was much like the first; conversational, light, and written as though they were very good friends. He wrote of his arrival in London, how much he disliked travelling by coach, and described who he had already seen upon his arrival. She smiled to herself as she read, pleased he had thought to write to her again.

The storm from the day before washed through sea and land, and the morning had an odd yellow sheen to it from the remaining clouds. Esther packed up as many things as she could carry, enlisting Mary’s help, and transported the necessary tools to the edge of the gardens, where the land started sloping away to the beach. Once Mary had been dismissed, after fussing about Esther’s wide-brimmed straw hat, the new countess set to mixing her colors.

The breeze kept teasing her as she worked, tickling her nose with her bonnet’s ribbons and making the brim flap down into her vision. Without more than the tiniest prick of guilt, Esther removed the irritating hat and anchored it to the ground with one of her easel’s legs.

She ignored when the wind disturbed her hair, attempting to loosen it from her pins.

The sun warmed the top of her head, the bridge of her nose, and her cheeks. Esther ignored that, too.

Perhaps a quarter of an hour passed before an interruption. “Ah, my lady, what are you about today?” It was Lord Neil, whom she could not ignore.

Wincing, Esther turned to face the man who stood behind her and wondered how long he had stood there before speaking. The idea that he had watched her for any length of time unsettled her.

“Lord Neil. I see you make it a habit to traipse across my husband’s property.” She raised her eyebrows delicately.

He grinned in a most unrepentant manner and came closer. “It is the most beautiful land in the county, and so near the sea. I cannot help myself.” He peered over her shoulder at her work. “I did not take you for an artist, Lady Inglewood.”

I certainly take you for a scoundrel. Esther bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from speaking aloud. She did not turn away from him. She had the feeling that might show some sign of weakness he might enjoy. “I am not an artist, my lord, but I do enjoy painting. It passes the time in a pleasant way and produces a lovely outcome. Much like embroidery or music.”

“Do you claim to be accomplished in those areas as well?” he asked lightly, folding his arms over his chest and bending slightly toward her. The condescension in his tone further irritated her.

“I claim nothing, except that this pursuit makes me happier than the others.” She lifted the edge of the apron she wore and wiped her brush upon it. “Is there anything I might do for you, my lord? As you continue to trespass, I must continue to play hostess.” If only he would take the hint and leave.

“Ah, yes. It is fortunate that I came upon you, my lady. I have found out only this morning about an assembly ball. A small affair, of course, but one which might prove entertaining as well as an excellent way to reacquaint yourself with the neighborhood. Should you like to attend?” Had he stepped closer somehow? The man was less than an arm’s reach away.

Esther stepped back slightly. “That is kind of you, Lord Neil, but no. I have no wish to attend social functions yet. I have had my bridal visitors, of course, and that is sufficient for me at present. When my husband returns, I am certain we will appear together at any number of local functions. That was considerate of you to alert me to it, of course.”

“I had hoped to escort you there,” he admitted, his bottom lip protruding in a most unmanly pout. Was he trying to be charming or humorous?

“Again, I thank you, but I must decline.” Esther dropped her brush into the basket at her feet.

“You are not finished with your artistry, my lady?” he asked, stepping closer again as if to look at her painting.

“Indeed, I am.” She took a step around him in the direction of the house. Normally, she would see to her own things, but the idea of sending footmen to bring in her work appealed to her more at that moment. “As you see, I am without my bonnet once more and the sun must not be permitted more time to damage my complexion.” Vanity was always an acceptable excuse for the nobility to do anything.

“What a shame, my lady. Perhaps I shall see you another time.”

Esther forced a smile. “Perhaps. Good day to you, Lord Neil.” She barely listened for his farewell, turning instead to hurry into the house.

What was the man’s game, seeking her out as he did? Why was he always upon Silas’s land? Had they become friends since leaving their school days behind? Esther somehow doubted that. His ridiculous manner struck her as almost flirtatious. Whatever his purpose in coming was, she wanted no part in it.

After sending servants to retrieve her things, Esther went up to her room to change. One look in the glass above her dressing table told her she ought to have come in sooner, had her complexion truly been a concern. Her nose and cheeks, as well as her forehead, were quite pink.

Would her hair show evidence of being out in the sun as well? In her youth, the sun had left streaks of gold in her dark curls, which her mother had by turns despaired of and admired, depending on how Esther wore her hair.

Oh, Mother. What would you say to all of this? Esther had asked herself the same question over and over again, since the day of the fateful picnic. Her mother would doubtless be horrified by Esther’s behavior, but she would never object to Silas as a son-in-law. As often as their family had visited Inglewood, Silas had also visited their smaller estate to spend time with Isaac. The baronetess had enjoyed having Silas in their home. She had referred to him, more than once, as the brother Isaac ought to have had.

Apparently, a sister did not fulfill a companionship role well at all.

After changing, Esther left her room in search of the housekeeper. If she could not go about the grounds without being assaulted by Sir Neil’s presence, she ought to find another way to occupy herself.

It was high time to get to know the house and staff. As much as the idea of a holiday appealed to her, spending her time in idleness lost its draw the more she thought of her mother, her brother, and Silas’s letters. Painting distracted her, but a different sort of work would do the trick better.