Page 9 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

The ride to White’s took time, but Silas capitalized on the slow progress of the carriage by reading the newspaper. Nothing of note appeared in the articles of rumor and gossip, and he found little of importance in the way of politics. The most interesting information, of course, involved the war, which everyone knew neared its end.

Silas stepped out of his carriage, into the bright sunlight flooding St. James Street, and squared his shoulders. His image, carefully cultivated since his days at Eton, required his constant attention.

A recent publication featuring the caricature of several prominent members of Lords had circulated. While several of his peers chortled and groaned at their depictions as stuffed shirts, drunkards, and debtors, the worst the artist could do to him was make it look as though he had been carved from stone. It was almost flattering.

“Ah, Lord Inglewood. Good morning to you.” Another lord coming down the steps paused to greet him.

“Lord Allerton.” Silas gave the requisite nod, as Allerton ranked far below him as a baron. His father-in-law was a duke, however, which gave Allerton more privileges than most of the lower-level nobility. “I must say, I appreciated your support on my stand against increasing wheat taxes.”

“As someone with more than a few tenant farms, I well understand the impact such a tax would have upon our agricultural market.” Allerton shifted, tugging on a glove. He looked back at the club door, then at Silas. “Make sure you have your armor on today, Inglewood. There are a few inside prepared to lob their fiery darts.” The baron bowed and continued on his way.

Silas did not even blink. Nor did he hesitate. He walked into his club as though nothing in the world troubled him. Fretting over something he did not yet know the particulars of would be ridiculous.

He went upstairs to the coffee room. He nodded to a few acquaintances, but he noticed their gazes lingered upon him, almost suspiciously.

After seating himself, Silas waited for a servant to bring him coffee and his usual newspapers.

Lord Neil Duncan found him first. “Lord Inglewood. Dear me, what a surprise. Most of us suspected you would be home today. Recovering from your incident.” Lord Neil, third son of an earl, settled in the chair across from Silas without invitation.

Silas kept his face devoid of expression. Showing any amount of interest in Lord Neil’s person or conversation only led to annoyance. They had, most unfortunately, been neighbors in childhood.

“I would hardly qualify what happened as an incident,” Silas said, his tone even. “I speak in the House of Lords on occasion.” There. Willfully misunderstanding the man might at least wipe the smug smirk off his face.

“Did you speak yesterday? I hadn’t heard.” Lord Neil leaned back in his chair, affecting a wide-eyed look of surprise. “Dear fellow, I am referring to your near demise at the hands of a Greek god. Everyone is talking about it, you know.”

Silas glanced to where a knot of gentlemen sat together, finding several pairs of eyes upon his table. The gossip-loving members of the peerage were looking on, it seemed. Blast. Pretending nothing had happened appeared to be out of the question.

How he played his hand now might determine the course of his and Esther’s future. He owed it to her brother, Isaac, to protect Esther Fox from wagging tongues. Unfortunately, he did have a few political enemies likely rejoicing over even the slightest whiff of gossip attached to his name.

“Indeed? It must be a slow sort of day if speaking of a broken piece of statuary consumes the ton.” A servant appeared, putting down a cup of coffee and a paper, then disappeared without a word. Silas lifted the cup, more for something to do than the desire to drink it. “As you see, I am well enough to have forgotten it.”

The wastrel tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Silas in a most insubordinate manner. Though he was Silas’s senior by a handful of years, he was decidedly a social inferior. The man ought to take a hint and be gone, but he pretended their acquaintance was more than it was merely due to the proximity of their family estates.

“I can see you are well enough,” Lord Neil said, that smirk reappearing. “But what of the lady who threw herself so passionately to your rescue? It is said she sustained a horrific injury and may never be the same again.”

Silas’s stomach clenched. Esther could not be worse off than when he saw her last, could she? He did not allow his concern to color his words.

“Oh, I doubt that. She seemed to have recovered well when I left her in the care of her sister-in-law. Acting as a heroine ought not to do her any lasting harm. It was a most selfless performance.” Silas lifted his cup to his lips and mentally calculated how soon he might leave to go and check on Esther himself.

“A very selfless performance. A mere miss, risking her life to save a peer.” Lord Neil’s knowing look changed, his lips turning down and his eyes darkening. As a third son, he ought to have joined the law or the clergy, but Silas thought him more suited to the stage. “Of course, you have known your heroine all her life.”

The hair on the back of Silas’s neck stood on end. Generally, ladies’ names were not spoken of in the club. Especially unmarried ladies from respectable families. He replaced his cup on the table and sighed. “Lord Neil, I have come to the club to find a respite before continuing my business for the day. Is there something in particular you wish for me to say regarding yesterday? Or something you wish to say? I find the topic most tiresome.”

Lord Neil’s eyes glittered as they narrowed. “Tiresome? That is callous, even for you. Had an unattached woman thrown herself upon my body, shielding me from danger with her physical being as well as her tenuous reputation, I would hardly find it tiresome. Perhaps what they say is true; you are made of stone.” The man stood and made a show of adjusting his coat lapels. “But this does help me determine where to place my wager on the matter. Good day, Lord Inglewood.”

Silas tipped his head but had already lifted his newspaper. A quarter of an hour. He must spend at least that long in his chair before leaving. Lord Neil’s remark about a wager told Silas all he needed to know. His name and Miss Fox’s had been put into the betting book. Her reputation was not as safe as he had hoped.

Chapter Four

The rest the doctor ordered did not come easily. Esther’s inability to have a moment of peace almost drove her away from her stepbrother’s home. She had made the mistake of leaving her bedchamber after breakfast, dressed comfortably, to sit in the morning room overlooking the park.

Diana, finding Esther contentedly reclining on a couch, had stayed nearby. In fact, she only left Esther’s side when callers were announced. She insisted on going to speak to each person herself, rather than have the butler turn them away.

“I simply must do my part to end the rumors before they start,” she had said the first time she scuttled from the room. As soon as she returned, she reported on who had come and what they had said.

“It was that dreadful Mrs. Linton with her flighty daughter. Why you thought to befriend that girl, I will never know. She nearly fainted in our entry, describing your wound.” That Diana conveniently forgot that she was the one who suggested Esther visit Miss Linton made Esther smile.

Then later, “It was that Mr. Garrick. I had such hopes for him. But he made it clear he did not appreciate your heroism. Dreadful man.” Each visitor and their motives for coming were speculated over all the morning and afternoon long.