Page 52 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

“That is beautiful.” Esther remained with her cheek pressed near her husband’s heart. His steady heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest with each breath had soothed her as much as the poetry. “Isaac would have loved those words. And approved of them.”

Silas’s arm around her shoulders tightened briefly in the semblance of an embrace. “That is what I thought.” They remained in silent peace for several minutes, which the clock on the mantel counted though Esther gave it little heed.

Her husband spoke again, his chest rumbling beneath her ear with his words. “I wonder, Esther, if you would like to have a service for your brother. And perhaps a marker at the church. I know we cannot bury him properly, but if it would help you…”

Raising her head to look her husband in the eye, Esther considered the offer. “I would like that. It need not be grand. Just a small way to mark his life and his passing.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I will see to it.” Then Silas rose, book in hand. “I am afraid I must take my leave of you now, madam. I have a dinner appointment with a lovely lady. I dare not be late.”

Had the hour grown so late? Esther rose and smoothed her dress. “Tardiness is a sin in courtship. But how will your lady feel about you reading poetry to me all afternoon?” she teased.

Silas chuckled and took her hand, bowing over it to bestow a kiss. “I hope she is terribly jealous.” Then he winked at her and withdrew from the room, leaving Esther’s heart to flutter about her chest like a banner in the breeze, proclaiming to all what she felt for her husband.

Putting her feelings aside as best she could, Esther left the parlor for her room. She had a suitor to impress at dinner and must endeavor to look her best.

Chapter Twenty-two

The benefits of courting one’s own wife outweighed the slight oddity of the situation. Silas did not have to wait for a certain number of days to pass before asking her to accompany him on another walk or ride, nor was he required to have a chaperone present, listening to every word spoken between them. He took Esther for walks, speaking to her of all the things he wished to know about her. Though she had been a fixture in his past, he had not exactly paid much attention to her beyond casual observances.

A week passed, in which he learned his wife admired the great artists of the past, and had made it a practice to study great sculptures. She did not read a great deal of novels, but she had favorites among the modern authors. He also discovered that, when she was particularly happy, one corner of her mouth came up higher than the other. When she was particularly sad, her eyes grew darker. The nuances of her many expressions enchanted him.

Esther’s beauty, which he had noted on the day she rescued him, did not stop at the surface of her skin. She had a depth to her soul that drew him in, though her quick wit surfaced in the next moment to make him laugh.

Silas’s gratitude grew daily for whatever twist of fate or angelic host had put her in his path. Although he had not taken the time to consider what sort of wife he wanted, he had taken it for granted that he would eventually marry. To wake each day knowing Esther occupied the countess’s chambers, that she bore his name, gave his bruised heart a measure of comfort.

The vicar came to see Silas, to discuss placing a memorial plaque within the walls of the parish church. They met in the study, both seated at the front of Silas’s desk.

“Such a shame,” the man said, shaking his head so that the wisps of white hair above his ears flapped. “Sir Isaac was so young. It is a good thing you have married his sister. What would become of her without your support?”

Silas had to raise his voice to answer, as the old vicar had grown somewhat deaf. “You have it backward, Mr. Spratt. Sir Isaac’s loss is a great blow to me. It is the countess who has given the support where it was needed.”

“Good of you to say, my lord.” The vicar sighed ponderously and adjusted the spectacles on his nose. His impending retirement could not come too soon. Jacob would bring new life to the parish when he took up the living.

“Then you will acknowledge Sir Isaac in your sermon on Sunday?” Silas needed to be sure it did not slip the vicar’s mind. There were not many things to be said or done for a person who passed on without leaving behind their mortal frame. A special mention in the sermon, the plaque set into the stone of the church, was the best Silas and the vicar could do.

“Yes, my lord. I have prepared to give a sermon about Lazarus.” The vicar nodded to himself. “Of course, he rose from the dead, but we will all one day be called forth from the tombs where our mortal bones lay.” The old man’s eyes grew distant behind his spectacles. “What a glorious day that shall be.”

There was nothing for Silas to do but acquiesce. What would he give to see his oldest friend again? If he could hear Isaac’s voice one last time, or promise Isaac that his sister would always be cared for, it would ease his heart. But one never knew when the last words would be uttered, the final goodbyes said.

After passing a few more minutes with the vicar, Silas rose to see the elderly man to the door. Silas’s own carriage waited for Mr. Spratt, to take him back to the vicarage.

“Silas?” Esther called to him. “Was that the vicar?”

He turned around, seeing her at the top of the stairs. His breath caught at her loveliness, despite the fact she wore all black. The seamstress must have come and gone with haste. Though she was draped in somber colors, roses remained in Esther’s cheeks.

“Yes, he has just gone away.” Silas approached the stairs without hurry, enjoying the view before him.

“I am sorry I missed him.” She put one of her delicate hands on the rail and came down, graceful as the statues she admired in the family’s gallery. “Of course, that is the third time Mr. Spratt has visited since learning about Isaac.”

“He is attentive. I suppose it makes sense, given his vocation.”

She hesitated on the last step, tilting her head to the side in a way that meant something particularly pleased her. Silas approached, hands behind his back. “Is there anything amiss, my lady? You look most contemplative.” And alluring. Captivating.

“I am only wondering what my suitor has planned for me today. You have not asked for my company on a stroll through Hyde Park, or if I wished to get ices at Gunter’s. It must be the museum today.” One side of her mouth tipped upward.

Silas chuckled and closed the remaining gap between them, raising his hand to touch her cheek. He had dared a few kisses here and there, upon her brow, her hand, her cheeks, but had not pressed his lips to hers since that first afternoon. Would it frighten her if he tried to kiss her again?

“I thought we could attend a musical performance.” His thumb brushed across her sprinkling of freckles, then he tucked a stray curl behind the curve of her ear.