Her breath caught and Esther leaned forward, a question slipping from her lips almost without her permission. “Why didn’t you?” Was it as she suspected? Did he fear she would cause damage to his standing in Society?
He let out a puff of air and leaned against the couch, stretching one arm across its back toward her. “Because I did not want to expose you to the cats of the ton. Our marriage came so swiftly after the gossip and rumors, I knew there would be slights offered you and people attempting to expose you to all of Society as something you were not. I could not let them get to you, Esther. I wanted to protect you until the interest surrounding our unusual arrangement died down.” He met her eyes, his earnestness tugging at her heart. “But I did not explain this to you, nor ask what you thought of that course of action. I am sorry, my dear Esther. I think of all the times I should have discussed things with you…” His words trailed away and he shook his head, his expression turning contrite.
He lifted his arm from the couch and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, the gesture sweet and gentle. Esther leaned into it ever so slightly, her heart aching for more. She had been so rarely touched, even before the day she rescued Silas, in any way that denoted affection. No one embraced her, held her hand, or anything else that spoke of familiarity. The Everlys had offered small tokens of affection, but it was Silas’s touch she craved. It was soothing, yet it stirred something in her that had been dormant for a very long time.
His hand fell back to the couch, but a gleam of interest appeared in his eyes. Had he noticed her moment of neediness? How terribly embarrassing.
“Why are you blushing?” he asked, his tone somewhat intimate. “I have only seen that happen a handful of times.”
Esther turned away, a trembling laugh escaping her. “It is nonsense, Silas. Do not trouble yourself. I am a very silly woman, I am afraid. I will try to be better. Thank you for explaining your decision about London. I can understand it now.”
It had been another attempt to protect her.
He shifted on the couch, coming closer to her. “Esther. I will discuss things with you more plainly from now on, if you wish it. You are my wife, and a countess. I want the two of us to do more than brush along as acquaintances.”
Feeling rather daring, Esther lifted her eyes only to immediately look away. He was so close. For a moment her mind lost the words he had spoken. Somehow, she recovered them and quickly formed a response. “What is it you want, Silas? I have agreed to be your wife, and I will do my best as countess. But what—?”
His hand was on her cheek again, then his fingers slid beneath her chin, gently guiding her to look upward again. “Esther, I have been alone most of my life,” he said quietly. “My friends have been my only companions, the people I have trusted with myself. But they all leave at the end of a visit, going to their own homes and families. You are different.”
His thumb caressed her cheek, and she could hardly believe she heard his words over the loud pounding of her heart. “Am I?” she whispered.
“You are my wife,” he said. “The companion of my life, for however long it may be. You are my countess, a woman wielding my authority and my reputation. We are the beginning of a new family.” He swallowed and she saw his attention lower to her lips momentarily. “With our marriage, you became the dearest person in the world to me. I am sorry I did not make that clearer from the beginning. You matter more to me than anyone, as a wife should to a husband.”
His words soothed her heart, but at the same moment, she felt the lack in them. He had not given her his heart, not really. He spoke of a connection between them, of course, that was sacred and permanent. Marriage. But not love.
Esther should have rejoiced that he left love out of it, given how much risk her heart would face should that word ever rise between them. But it was already too late. How could she resist loving him? And one day, she would lose him. That was the nature of life.
Her heart ached at the idea, and she could not face it. Not when she was already bruised from Isaac’s loss. For now, she would focus on what she had. On what her husband was offering her. Companionship. Trust. The end of loneliness.
She leaned closer to him, tipping her chin up and gazing at him in what she hoped was an inviting manner. “Silas.” She spoke his name with all the tenderness she could not express.
It was enough. The hand at her jaw cupped her cheek and he closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in an ardent kiss. Esther’s whole being felt simultaneously like she might float away, yet anchored to her husband. His other arm came around her waist, pulling her to him. Yet she fell, as she had once fallen into the sea from a dock, her feelings closing in around her as the water had, pressing upon her until she thought she might drown.
She came away from the kiss, pulling in a deep breath laced with his scent of cinnamon and pine. He leaned his forehead to rest against hers, his breathing as ragged in her ears as her own.
He brushed another kiss against her lips, briefly, and then cradled her against him. Esther moved into his arms instinctively, though her mind shouted at her to put distance between them.
It was too late for her. Esther was falling in love with her husband. She had admired him in her childhood, so perhaps this deeper devotion had grown naturally from her youth.
Silas Riley, Earl of Inglewood, would soon possess her heart. Even if he did not know it.
Chapter Twenty-one
Nothing had ever felt as right, as wonderful, as holding Esther. His wife. A beautiful, vivacious woman with a knack of surprising him with her spontaneity and her temper. After kissing her in the library, feeling at least a new physical connection with her, it surprised him when she withdrew further into herself. He had expected something more in line with what one read about in novels or saw in plays. He hoped that single, blissful moment might pull down whatever walls still prevented them from coming to an understanding with one another.
Instead, Esther grew quieter. When the seamstress had arrived to take her measurements, Esther disappeared with hardly a word, not to be seen again for the rest of the afternoon.
Had he offended her? She had seemed so willing, so eager for his kiss.
She joined him for dinner, darting quick glances at him and blushing madly every time. Her sudden shy behavior put him in mind of the girls in London during their first Season—the girls too shy and modest to make spectacles of themselves. The girls who had never been courted, but stood at the edges of ballrooms watching the proceedings with wide eyes and hope someone might notice them.
Silas had once made it his duty to escort such ladies through a dance at least once, but soon realized women with that particular nature found him intimidating.
Perhaps his wife faced a similar problem. Going from acquaintances, to married, to what he hoped would prove an affectionate relationship, all within the space of a month, would rattle anyone. The course of their relationship was quite backward. In nearly every respect. And there was the gloom of Isaac’s loss hanging heavily on both their hearts.
Silas cleared his throat, setting down his fork and staring intently at his wife.
He saw her throat tighten with a swallow, her cheeks pinking again.
“Are you finished, my lady?” he asked. They needed to speak in private and the footmen lining the walls of the dining room were not conducive to such a thing.
“Yes.” No witty phrase accompanied her answer.
“Good. Would you care to enjoy the fire in the upstairs parlor with me?” He stood and held out his hand, waiting for her to take it, watching her every movement intently.
“Of course. Thank you.” She placed her hand in his and allowed him to sweep her out of the room and down the darkened halls. Her gloved hand did not tremble in his, but nor did it fit comfortably with how stiffly she held herself.
Had kissing her been a serious misstep?
They entered the formal parlor, a room that perhaps represented neutral territory, as neither of them see
med to spend much time inside of it. He could see no sign of Esther’s hand in this room. It looked much as it had for years.
It had been one of his grandmother’s favorite places to hold court.
“We ought to redecorate,” he said, looking around with a frown.
Esther’s hand slipped from his as she walked to the fireplace. He had asked for it to be lit just before dinner, along with a few candles. The dim lighting painted her in a warm glow, casting shadows behind her in a way that emphasized her fine figure.
“If you wish,” she said, going to the mantel to trail her finger along its edge, facing away from him. “I have not made many changes to the furnishing. I do not know your tastes very well.”
He hadn’t brought her into the room to discuss the decor. “Esther, will you sit with me?” he asked, gesturing to the couch.
She looked at the seat made for two and then back at him, the whites of her eyes showing again.
“Just to talk,” he said hastily, the tips of his ears going warm. She must think he wanted to reenact their interlude in the library. “Please.”
Esther nodded and went to her seat, avoiding looking directly at him by smoothing out her skirts. “What do you wish to talk about?” she asked, her voice soft. He remained standing in an attempt to put her at ease.
“I wanted you to know—I have no intention of rushing things between us more than we already have.” She lifted her head, staring at him incredulously. “What I mean to say,” he hastened to add, “is that I wish to court you properly. You were robbed of that experience due to the nature of our engagement. I mean to make it up to you now. And as we are not expected to resume our public duties for a time, I think it would be the perfect use of our time alone together here at the Keep.”
What was wrong with him? He could give a speech for a quarter of an hour in Lords but felt like a schoolboy attempting a poorly rehearsed recitation speaking to his own wife.
“Court me?” she asked. “That is rather backward, is it not?” A little of her usual humor tinted her words.
No one could accuse Silas of speaking delicately about anything. He often said exactly what he meant, with complete honesty. Yet this situation demanded something different from him. “Nothing about our marriage is adhering to the rules of society, it would seem.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, watching her all the while. “But I want to give you this experience, Esther, as much as I want to take it for myself. I have never courted a woman. There was never time, and I never met the right person.”
Those dark eyes studied him most seriously. “And now you have a woman who flings herself in the way of falling statues to appease.” Her ready wit was returning at last.
“Precisely. And you have an earl who is rather used to getting his way asking this odd thing from you.” He took a step closer, watching her for any sign of discomfort. “We can start tomorrow. Will you join me for a ride? We will remain on our property. There will be nothing improper about it.”
They could hardly go for pleasure rides about the country so soon after entering mourning.
The same thought seemed to occur to her, too. Her expression immediately sobered. “Do you think it wrong? Given that Isaac—”
He took the last step and carefully sat on the cushion next to her. “Esther, you knew your brother well. How would he wish you to mark his passing? By sitting in gloom? I hardly think so, given what I understood of his nature.”
Her smile was less sad and more wistful. “He would want us to remember him, certainly, but I can only imagine how amused he would be to see the two of us trying to get on. And he did so love amusement.”
Silas gathered her hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. “My thoughts precisely. I will see you after breakfast tomorrow, at the stables.”
This close to her, even in the dim light, he saw her cheeks darken and she stiffened. “We will not see each other until then?” she asked, almost tentatively.
It was as he suspected; Esther had interpreted their kisses to be the first step to his claim upon her as a husband. He had no intention of rushing her on that account. Her kiss had given him enough hope that when the time came for such things, they would do well enough. For now, he would treat Isaac’s sister with all the respect and admiration of a courting gentleman. She deserved nothing less.
“Not a minute sooner.” He lifted one of her gloved hands to his lips, laying a kiss across the back of her hand he hoped she felt through her glove. “Though I will anticipate our ride every moment we are apart.”
A soft giggle met his words, and she raised her free hand to cover her mouth. For an instant she looked quite horrified that such a sound had come from her, but when he grinned back she matched his expression.
They made a most absurd pair.
∞∞∞
The horseback ride merely began a week full of courtship rituals. Esther had never been the object of such focused attention, and while it started out as amusing, she quickly saw the appeal to such traditions. On their first outing, Silas showed her their land and explained the workings of the farms and orchards in such detail that she could not help feeling honored to be included.
After their ride, he disappeared for a time to work in his study. Esther avoided her sitting room and its paints, opting instead to see to her household business with the servants. At dinner that evening, Silas asked if she would accompany him on a walk the next day, weather permitting. She accepted.
But when Mary woke her by drawing back the curtains, she was not as pleased by the cloudless sky as she was the vase of blooms upon her dressing table. Silas had even gone the extra step, staying true to the idea of courtship, and tucked a card between the stems. They were flowers from the gardens, of course, and that made the gesture sweeter.
I look forward to seeing you today.
-S-
She covered her grin with her hand, though no one but Mary was there to see.
The walk was followed by taking tea together, then he left for his work while she kept another appointment with the seamstress. The lengths of black fabric brought in by the woman sobered Esther for a time. When everything was whisked back into trunks by the seamstress and her apprentice, Esther was left with a hollow feeling in her belly and her eyes burned with tears.
Silas found her that way, almost as though he had been waiting for such a moment to appear at her side. He brought her a gift. It was a book from their library, full of John Donne’s poetry. He offered to read it for her, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“I cannot say I have read anything penned by him,” Esther said, taking a seat in the parlor where she had seen the seamstress. Silas sat beside her, one arm stretched on the back of the couch while he held the book out in front of him.
“As you were sent to a respectable finishing school, I imagine not.” He grinned wickedly and then proceeded to read to her verses that were both shocking and quite humorous.
“Where,” she asked, laughing after Silas recited a ribald poem criticizing other poets, “did you find these? I cannot imagine such verses being encouraged at Cambridge.”
The way Silas shrugged and turned another page, reading rather than answering her question, would have been infuriating had he not made her laugh again. She laughed until her sides ached.
Silas snapped the book closed and pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket, offering it to her. “I am thoroughly relieved that you find Donne as diverting as I do. You know, in later life, he became a priest.” Silas waggled his eyebrows at her, a crooked smile in place.
“Oh, do stop. A priest?” Esther dabbed at her eyes. Even the handkerchief’s black border did little to dim her merriment. “Did he repent of his poetry?”
“No, he wrote more. Just of a religious nature.” Silas leaned back against the couch, leaning his head back. “That is actually how I came across this volume this morning. I was trying to remember a few verses I read many years ago. From one of his more serious pieces.”
&nb
sp; Esther leaned back as well, though it was hardly proper to allow her posture to sag so. “And did you find the poem you sought?” she asked, matching her tone to his.
“I did.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye, then removed his arm from the back of the couch to rest upon her shoulders. “I cannot say it is the sort of poem one should repeat to the lady he is courting.”
“We are an unusual case, my lord,” she said, laying her head upon his chest. “I should like to hear it.”
“Very well.” He rested his cheek upon her hair, and when he spoke again she could feel his breath tickling her ear. But the words… The words were stirring and beautiful.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
…
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Esther stilled, letting his voice and words from centuries past wash over her soul. She could well imagine a priest writing such words. It seemed the poet Donne had overcome whatever mischievous muse had guided his earlier work.
“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.”
Rescuing Lord Inglewood: A Regency Romance Page 19