“Who gives this woman in marriage?” Mr. Spratt asked, his cadence slow. Yes, it was obviously time for the position to go to a younger man.
“I do.” Hugh bent and kissed her cheek, then gave her hand into Silas’s.
For the first time that day, Esther looked up, bracing herself to take in Silas’s expression. She expected to see trepidation, concern, or most likely, the look of infinite neutrality he always wore.
Instead, Silas greeted her with a compassionate smile. The coat did make his eyes stand out, eyes that conveyed more emotion than she had seen from him since the morning she had rescued him from the statue. A great deal of gentleness, even a touch of humor, swirled in their depths.
Though he did not speak to her, Esther understood the message he wished to convey. Whatever happens next, we are in this together. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and brought her the last step to stand before the vicar.
Esther tried to keep her mind on Mr. Spratt’s recitation of the marriage ceremony. She had always found the wedding sacrament beautiful, almost poetic. Whoever had written the words had understood marriage in a way Esther hoped to one day grasp.
She occasionally glanced at Silas, surprised by the absence of his marble mask. With his earnestness written upon his face for all to see, no one could doubt his sincerity as he spoke his vows. Each of his words, delivered in his strong and lordly manner, rang through the church clearly.
“I, Silas Riley, take you, Esther Fox, to be my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God’s holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.”
What was there for her to do, but make the same vows?
They exchanged rings, then the vicar proclaimed them husband and wife and left a blessing upon their marriage. Esther bowed her head, her hand still resting in Silas’s grasp. The words spoken felt as if they were said for another couple. Nothing the vicar said of love, of companionship, suited her marriage to Silas. He had not even asked her to wed him, due to their circumstances, but proclaimed their betrothal to chase away scandal.
And he would leave her, as soon as possible, to go on about his business.
The ceremony ended, the people behind her standing to sing a hymn, while the vicar gestured for Silas and Esther to follow him to the register tucked into a vestibule. She signed her name, for the last time, as Esther Fox. Silas signed his Christian name, surname, and his titles. Earl of Inglewood. Baron Marham.
The vicar stepped away, leaving them alone together in the small sanctuary for a few moments.
“You are a countess now,” Silas said quietly, tipping his head to one side. She tried not to look at him, listening instead to the congregants finishing their hymn.
“I feel much the same as I did before.” She made her answer simply, her words inviting no conversation on the matter.
His gloved hand reached for hers, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a most familiar manner. “Esther, I promise to be a good husband to you.”
Startled, she raised her eyes to his for the first time since they stood before the vicar together. “You do?”
That earnest look from before remained, his emotions almost readable. “With all that I am. Not because you are anyone’s sister, but because you are my wife. We must make a good life together.” He spoke the words easily enough, yet he had done nothing except fulfill an obligation and dictate her future. That sounded less like making something together and more like giving orders.
She studied him a moment, then took a step back. “We need to go. The wedding breakfast cannot begin without us.”
The Everlys had kindly offered to host that event, too. Then Esther’s belongings would be put into a cart and driven the three miles to Inglewood Keep.
He frowned at her a moment, his brown bent in puzzlement, but then he nodded. His mask returned. The Earl of Stone, as the satirical artists called his caricature, appeared before her once more. “Come, my lady.”
∞∞∞
No matter what Silas said, or how he said it, Esther kept shutting him out. There was little enough time to determine why she did it, or how to get around the barriers she had put up to common civilities, before he went back to London. After he handed her into the closed carriage meant to carry them from the church to the Everlys’ home, he looked up at his driver.
“Take us by way of the mill.” The driver, a good employee if ever there was one, did not even raise his eyebrows at the command. The more circuitous route would add a mile and a quarter to the trip, which would give Silas an extra quarter hour with his bride.
He stepped up into the carriage and sat across from Esther, watching her carefully. She folded her hands in her lap, over the little prayer book she had held during their ceremony. Her lovely gown suited her and the bonnet festooned with ribbons framed her face quite perfectly.
Dare he offer a compliment to her? Thinking back, he had not said enough kind things to her in regard to her person. Everything between them had been hasty, from her moment of rescue to their wedding. Perhaps Esther’s standoffish manner came from marrying a man who had never once attempted to woo her.
“You are most lovely today, Esther,” he said at last. Women appreciated pleasant compliments. He knew that much. Despite his lack of experience in the realm of courtship.
“Thank you,” she said shortly. Her chin tipped up and her head turned to look out the window. “When are you leaving for London?”
She had batted his compliment out of the air with less gentleness than a cat striking at a sparrow. “Tomorrow morning. There is a great deal going on in Parliament, and I must be on hand.”
She said nothing to that; her eyelashes did not even flicker. Had they not been sitting two feet apart, he might have wondered if she heard him. He continued speaking, though he doubted his words breached the distance between them. “Esther, I will return as swiftly as I am able. I promise. The time you have at the Keep without me—well, you should think of it as a holiday.”
One of her eyebrows raised and her nostrils flared. “A holiday?” At last. A reaction.
“Yes. You can begin to learn your duties if you wish, but it is not necessary yet. You can redecorate. Take walks through the woods and on the beaches.” He stretched his memory backward, trying to remember what the school girl had done to pass the time while Isaac and Silas, with Jacob of course, went hunting and sailing. There had been a handful of times, he thought, when she had worn a smock splotched with color.
“Do you still paint?” he asked, hoping he was correct.
Her face turned towards his, her eyebrows pulling down into a V. “You remember that?”
“I do.” Thankfully. He kept his relief from showing by tightening the muscles in his cheeks. “Get all the supplies you need and paint. Take this time as a respite. When I return, we will discuss everything.”
Her expression closed again. “What is there to discuss?”
He shifted in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Our marriage. Your role. Mine. The future.”
“I would assume much goes without saying,” she said quickly, lowering her eyes to her lap. He watched as her cheeks pinked. “We are man and wife. You will tell me what you wish done with your home, in society, and I will comply. Is that not how it goes?” She cleared her throat. “And you will want an heir.”
Heat crawled up his neck and into his ears. His voice betrayed his discomfort with the subject, growing slightly hoarse. “Yes, I hope for an heir. For children. Eventually.”
She made no comment, but he saw her hands tighten around her little book. Guilt made the heat in his body fade. He averted his eyes while he cleared his throat. “We can discuss that later, Esther. Please, do not let it disturb you now.”
Esther nodded, but her posture and grip on her book did not relax. What could he say? What ought he to do to help her begin her new role in life witho
ut anxiety?
“I know this is not the marriage you sought for yourself,” he said slowly, wondering why he felt the need to apologize. His actions had saved her. Saved both of them. And as an earl he claimed a respectable standing in society. Yet, in the moment the words slipped from his lips, he wondered what she had hoped for in a marriage.
Why hadn’t she married yet? At twenty, there must have been some offers. While not a woman from a higher tier in the nobility, Esther’s attractiveness and the size of her dowry ought to have tempted any number of men to her side. Of course, he had never heard of her being out in society. Not really.
“I cannot imagine,” she said, bringing him back to the present concerns, “that this is the marriage you wanted, either. Your grandmother always spoke of great things for you. Marrying the sister of a baronet hardly qualifies.”
His grandmother. He tried not to think on her too often. She had been a cold, calculating woman with a greater interest in his title than his well-being. No. The former dowager countess would not have approved of his marriage to Esther. In fact, she likely would have insisted he cast her aside. She had meant for him to marry a woman with an impeccable family tree, full of lords and ladies who graced the annals of British history.
The thought of thwarting those mercenary plans made him smile.
“Is something amusing?” His new bride peered at him with curiosity. “I cannot say I have seen you smile like that since this drama began.”
His amusement dried up almost at once, and her interest faded with the same speed. She turned away again. The clopping of horseshoes on the road filled the silence between them. His thoughts went back to Esther’s position, and he wondered again if she’d ever had hopes for a different gentleman to make an offer. He had to know.
“Esther,” he said at last, sitting forward slightly. “Did you have any plans for your future? Was there—I never asked—was there any gentleman courting you?”
“It hardly matters now.” Her answer wasn’t an answer, and her profile gave him no indication of her feelings. “You did not ask me anything, if you will recall. I presume that is the way of things for you.”
He sat back, her quiet words condemning him. His desires, his plans, always went the way he wished. If his position did not get him exactly what he wanted, he found other ways, through connection and money. How could he make her understand that he had done what he thought best for both of them?
Perhaps she had loved another. Romantic love had become more sought after than in previous generations. His grandmother always scoffed at the idea. The elite members of society always married for clearly defined purposes. Alliances, land transfers, moving a fortune into one’s own coffers in exchange for a favor when the time was right. Matches were still negotiated in such a way, though the thin veneer of romance covered most, with nights at Almack’s and public courtship fooling the naive into thinking there was more to the joining of two people than the mutual benefits to their families.
Somehow, he doubted Esther wished to discuss the philosophy of marital arrangements. The last time she had shown interest in their conversation had been—
“Painting.” He said it so suddenly, and louder than necessary, that she startled and looked at him with widening eyes. “You will paint while I am gone?”
“Perhaps.” She turned away from him again. “The idea of a holiday after everything that has happened is somewhat appealing, I suppose.”
Good. That was a far better attitude than before. “I promise to come home as quickly as possible.” He tried to speak firmly, to reassure her. "The war is nearly over, and everyone will wish to celebrate after the important decisions are made.”
“We have thought it was over before,” Esther reminded him. “Before Isaac left.” She nibbled at her bottom lip.
Had Silas sat beside her, he might have reached for her hand, or offered a consoling pat on her arm. What sort of husband would he make without offering comfort in her distress? Then he saw her tears. Silas hesitated a moment, long enough for those tears to fall. He sprang across the carriage to her side and put his arm around her.
To his immense relief, she did not shrug him off or turn away. She leaned into him, her back against his chest, and made a lace handkerchief appear from nowhere to dab at her eyes.
“I am sorry he is not here,” Silas said quietly. The back of her bonnet did not entirely obscure her light brown curls, dancing lightly against her long, smooth neck. He started to feel light-headed and it occurred to him he needed to breathe. When Silas discreetly pulled in air, the most delicious scent teased him. His bride. Esther smelled of the spring, of flowers and gentle breezes.
The sister of a baronet might not be viewed as the best choice of bride for an earl, but Silas regretted nothing in those moments of holding her. If all of his vows were so pleasant to fulfill as comforting her, marriage could prove more pleasant than he’d ever hoped.
In time, she collected herself. “A bride should not show up to the wedding breakfast with swollen eyes,” she said, moving away from him. “Is it very noticeable?” she asked, turning her face up to his.
Silas dutifully studied her, but became rather lost in the rich, earthy color of her eyes and her soft round cheeks. What was he supposed to do? Check for evidence of tears. He studied the skin just below her eyes, the tops of her cheeks, the smooth planes of her face down to her chin, and then necessarily her lips. “Everything appears in order, my lady,” he said, somewhat huskily.
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Are you coming down with a cold, Silas?”
He moved as far from her as the carriage seat would allow. “No.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing a little lemonade will not cure.”
She nodded and looked out the window again. “Why are we passing the mill? Everyone will be waiting for us.”
Silas said nothing, watching her. What was happening to him? A few minutes as a married man and he had gone completely weak over a lovely face and the scent of a woman. As someone who had not given a great deal of thought to marriage before, he wondered if this was natural. Esther’s tears had only stirred his desire to protect her. Though he had found her attractive from the moment he found her in his arms in London.
There simply wasn’t time to be distracted by his wife. Even if he had the ability to remain at home, Esther most certainly did not like him at the moment. Giving her time to get used to the situation would be for the best. He would go back to Town, she must necessarily remain behind. He would repair their reputation as a couple, see to his work in Parliament, and return to begin his marriage on the right footing.
Chapter Nine
The crash of the waves reached Esther through the open windows of her new bedroom. The countess’s rooms at Inglewood Keep were spacious and bright. The wooden floors were covered in deep blue carpets, the wallpaper pattern consisting of twisting ivy in the palest green. Her bed was covered in soft blue linens, which matched the curtains. The colors of the ocean and the birch trees surrounding the estate were in the room with her, cradling her in familiar comfort, though she had never stepped into the room before.
Esther walked across her new quarters in wonder, moving the curtains out of her way. A balcony. She had seen it, many times, from outside the estate, but had never realized it was part of the master suite of rooms. She looked to the side and saw the door that must lead to Silas’s chamber. There was a connecting door in their rooms, too, as was to be expected.
Pulling her eyes away from the door, Esther stared out to sea. The rolling blue and gray water raced up to the beach, then crept out again to repeat the exercise. The salty air filled her lungs and Esther began to feel the ache in her chest diminish a fraction.
Somehow, she had gotten through the wedding breakfast. People she barely remembered from childhood wished her well, more familiar neighbors asked her when Isaac might return to resume his place in the neighborhood—a place that had been empty too long. Smiling and attempting to replace her upset with fortitude, Esth
er hoped she had been an example of grace and nobility. That was her duty now, to represent Silas in a manner that would not shame him.
Thankfully, without falling statues or brooks running through the Everlys’ house, she had managed not to create a scene.
The click of a latch alerted her that she was no longer alone on the balcony. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, willing a few more quiet seconds to herself.
“This is my favorite view,” Silas said, shattering the silence.
Esther looked to the sea again. “I can understand why. I hope you will not mind sharing it with me.”
He stayed on his side of the balcony, going to the railing and leaning against it. “Not at all. It belongs to you now, too.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then took a step back. “Excuse me, my lord. I am over-tired from the day’s events. I think a nap is in order.”
His stony composure cracked only enough for him to raise his eyebrows at her. “Of course. Rest well. I will see you at dinner.”
She nodded and departed, closing her balcony door firmly behind her. Mary was bustling about the room, her whole demeanor one of disbelief.
“Beggin’ your pardon, my lady. But are you certain it’s me you want to wait on you? It was all well and good when you lived with the Aubrey family. But now you’re a countess.” She whispered the title reverently, as if she’d encountered the queen herself.
Esther hurried forward and took her maid by the hands. “Mary Howard, I do not want you to ever, ever consider leaving my service. This is a new world for me, too, and I would not feel confident asking anyone else to come and learn with me. I quite depend upon you. There is no one who is so cunning with my hair, or who knows my likes and dislikes so well. And what is more, you are firmly loyal. I need never fear you would gossip about me to others in the household.” She squeezed Mary’s hands gently. “I trust you, Mary. I need you.”
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