Page 29 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

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The stiff paper in Silas’s coat pocket pressed against him as he sat in the cushioned chairs of Lords. He was in one of the antechambers, listening to members of his own party debating whether or not to give relief on a particular tax since the end of the war came within sight. Silas had spoken his mind on the subject already and waited for the others to come to a similar conclusion.

He nearly reached into his coat to take out the painting Esther had sent him, an enchanting view of the seaside that had made him inexplicably ache. Though he had not been away from home more than a few days when the paper arrived, he missed his ancestral home fiercely. Or, perhaps, he missed his bride.

Which was preposterous, really. They had hardly spoken in weeks. It was not as though they were close companions, or even friends, though he hoped for that someday.

The voices around him continued to drone on about the benefits of retaining the tax until the troops returned after certain victory. Everyone spoke as if certain the war would end at any moment, as if thousands of men would return home to their shores in a matter of days, looking for employment and ways to spend their hard-earned salaries.

Silas prepared to speak again, ready to bring up the point that many of the returning soldiers may not have funds or employment upon their return, when the door to the chamber burst open.

“It is done! Paris is captured! The Prussian marshal issued a statement to the people and it will run in the papers this evening.” The rather out-of breath-man, whom Silas recognized as a secretary, disappeared as abruptly as he came, doubtless to spread the news further.

Silence hung in the room like a thick curtain, waiting for the right words to draw it back. Though they had all spoken of victory as a certain thing, Silas doubted any of them had expected such news to arrive that very moment. Finally, Silas himself stood from his seat.

“My lords,” he said, bowing slightly to the men. “I move that we table this conversation until tomorrow. Like all of you, I have loved ones who will wish to have this news as soon as possible. It is a momentous day for us all.”

Murmurs of agreement met his words, then hands started shuffling papers, and Silas took his leave as speedily as he could while still remaining decorous. Esther would wish to know everything at once, and it would take time for a paper to reach her. He would hire a messenger and write the news to her himself.

The painting shifted against his breast as he walked and he almost smiled, thinking on the one line she had written at the bottom of her artwork.

Do you find London to be as beautiful as our seaside?

Most assuredly not. And with the news from Paris, he might be able to return home sooner than he thought.

Chapter Thirteen

Silas’s letter, arrived only that morning, contained within an intelligence he shared with Esther alone. She gripped the paper in her hands as she stood out upon the balcony, her heart rising above her troubles as gulls rose above the waves.

With his connections in the Home Office, and the speed of a private messenger, Silas had sent her word of the abdication of Napoleon Bonaparte. On April 6th, only days before, Napoleon had surrendered himself to the will of the French people, who would see him exiled to some far away shore. One man, a man who had inspired a nation to take up arms, had at last finished his reign of terror against other nations.

Isaac would come home at last.

Esther had already dropped to her knees in a prayer of gratitude, though she had not ceased thanking the heavens for ending a conflict that had haunted most of her life. Indeed, every school child knew the date that Britain had declared war against its neighbor across the Channel: May 18, 1803. That date was forever stamped upon her mind, as were the death dates of her parents and the day her brother had left to join the army.

A knock on the door made her turn away from the sight of a storm out at sea. “Enter,” she called.

Mary stepped inside. “If you please, my lady. There is a gentleman here to see you, a Mr. Barnes.”

The good news had only wanted someone to share it with, and here came one of Isaac’s friends who would rejoice with her. “Show him to my painting parlor, at once,” Esther instructed, hurrying out of the room. “And have tea sent to us.”

“Yes, my lady.” Mary curtsied and disappeared to pass along the instructions. The two of them together had finally begun to sort out the hierarchy of servants, with help from Mrs. Larry. Mary had made fewer mistakes than Esther, who hadn’t any idea why they needed a dozen maids for the household but trusted it was necessary.

Esther arrived in her parlor, which had been overrun with her artwork in various stages of completion, and hastily cleared away materials from the sofa and a table for the tea service. She accepted most of her callers in a westward facing room kept much tidier than this, but she could not imagine Jacob Barnes minding the disarray of her personal sanctuary.

The door opened and a footman announced Isaac’s old friend. After the formal greeting was out of the way, Esther practically charged Jacob with the letter outstretched.

“Oh, Mr. Barnes, I am so glad you are come. I have the best of news from Silas and I am aching to share it with someone. Here, please read this.”

“Slow down there, Countess,” he said with both hands raised, then he snatched the letter from her hand with a teasing smile. “A man likes to come more than three steps into a room before being assailed.”

“Oh, Jacob,” she said, flicking a curl over her shoulder. “Please. Let me be Esther rather than ‘Countess.’ You have known me since my infancy.”

“True enough,” he agreed, unfolding the letter and squinting down at it in a most comical manner. “Silas has a most untidy hand.”

“He was in a hurry,” Esther said without thought, defending her absent husband’s handwriting.

Jacob raised his eyebrows at her before continuing to read, then at last he let out a low whistle. “They thwarted the old Frenchie at last, did they? About time. Ludicrous idea, giving the throne to his son. I am glad no one even entertained that notion.”