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.
Her words came out in an almost-whisper. “Oh? The concert halls then?” Esther had made a game of likening whatever simple thing they did together to the grandest of affairs in London. Given her imaginative and creative nature, it was quite natural and he fell happily into her world of amusement.
“Indeed. I thought I might exhibit myself.” He had the satisfaction of watching the surprise appear on her face. “I play the pianoforte, you know,” he said. “I thought you must, given that I was forced to practice even during your visits.”
“I vaguely recall… You did not let Isaac listen. That was when he would come to find me, or the others.” Esther’s expression brightened, her curiosity sparked. “Why ever would your grandmother insist on such a pastime for a young earl? And why have you not played for me before now?”
“I am terribly out of practice,” he admitted. “I haven’t played since Parliament convened.” He offered her his arm, preparing to lead her back up the stairs to the music room. “And if you will swear to keep a secret, I will tell you why it was important that I played the pianoforte.”
On the landing, Esther removed her hand from his arm to cover her heart. “I solemnly promise never to reveal your secrets, Silas.” Though the words were spoken with amusement, she meant what she said.
“Very well.” Silas made a show of looking behind them in the hall, then down the staircase. “You see, my dear, I actually enjoy playing.”
/> Esther made a show of covering a gasp. “No!”
“Alas, it is true. I insisted on lessons, so my grandmother insisted that I attend to them even when my friends were about.” He felt the heat rising up the back of his neck. “I am not a musical genius, you must understand. I enjoy the challenge of learning a new piece, of playing it over and over until I feel I understand it. So, if you can stand an amateur performance, I would like to play for you.”
Her dainty hand reached for his, their fingers twining together in a way that had become natural only a few days past. “I cannot think of anything I would enjoy more.”
His heart thrummed happily and his blush receded. “Perhaps after, you will paint for me?” he asked, somewhat hopefully. Though they did not spend every moment in each other’s company, he knew well enough she had not returned to her painting or drawing. Not yet. Something about the practice may have given her greater pain than comfort.
“Perhaps.” Esther lowered her gaze to their entwined fingers. “I cannot say I have wished to paint of late. But—” She stopped speaking, raising her head to look toward the doorway with a frown. “Is that a carriage?”
Silas gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Probably more neighbors. If you like, you can escape now and I will do my best to join you in the music room shortly.” They had received many calls from neighbors of both the kind and the curious varieties. It was to be expected, and many of their visitors had offered sincere sympathies. Most had experienced their own losses of loved ones.
“I will not leave you entirely.” Esther took a step back. “I will wait right here. If it is a guest, I will come straight away down and stand by you. I believe that is my rightful place as countess.” She lifted her chin imperiously, causing him to chuckle.
He stooped just enough to kiss her cheek at the same moment someone knocked upon the door. Then he sighed and started down the stairs, hoping whoever it was had no intention of staying above a quarter of an hour.
The butler opened the door, as proper as ever, but after that moment nothing made sense.
Old Bailey fell back a step, a curse that sounded more like an exclamation escaping him before he stumbled back further. Silas rushed forward. Had the old man suffered a stroke?
Someone pushed the door open all the way before stepping inside. Silas froze.
The stranger wore Isaac’s face.
But that could not be.
Isaac had died. Been killed in France.
The man stood as tall as Isaac, wearing a military uniform similar to what Isaac had worn before leaving. And he had Isaac’s brown hair and crooked smile. However, the man’s appearance was more haggard, his cheeks almost gaunt.
“Bailey,” the man said. “Are you all right?”
A ghost. That was the only explanation for how the being before him could sound exactly like his old friend.
“Isaac,” Silas said, the name tearing from his throat almost painfully. “You are alive?”
The familiar brown eyes, similar in hue and shape to Esther’s, flickered to Silas. A wide grin spread across the man’s face. “Alive? Of course I’m alive. Just barely, though.”
A sound half shriek and half sob startled Silas enough that he turned away from his friend the ghost. Esther came running down the steps, nearly taking a tumble in her hurry before she remembered to lift her skirts out of the way.
“Isaac! It cannot be—” She flung herself across the entryway, her arms going around her brother’s neck while she eagerly took in his face. “It is you. But how? Oh, Isaac.” And then she was sobbing into his chest, as hard and as violently as she had into Silas’s arms when he brought her the news of her brother’s death.
The presumed dead man had the audacity to appear bewildered as he lifted one arm to loop around his sister’s waist, looking over her head to Silas with a question in his eyes.
“You were reported killed at Toulouse,” Silas said somewhat weakly. “First by letter, then in the lists.”
Isaac’s face went pale beneath the tan he had doubtless earned upon the battlefields of Europe. “Killed? I was in a bad way for a time. And Toulouse. That was ages ago. All this time, you have been mourning me?” He stepped back as much as Esther would let him, her tears subsiding into sniffles.
“Yes, you horrid man.” She raised her face to study his, the joy in her expression surprising Silas. He had never seen her look that way. Like a saint looking toward heaven itself. “We are even putting a plaque in the church, in your honor.”
The slightest smile teased at Isaac’s mouth. “Really? I cannot wait to see it.”
Bailey recovered at last, and he came forward slowly. “I beg your pardon, Sir Isaac. My lord.” He bowed and held out his hands. “May I take your things, Sir Isaac?”
“Yes, please. And I suppose my trunk ought to be brought in, though I had intended to go to London tomorrow. I can stay here now, since Esther is visiting.” He stepped to the side, gently using one arm to disentangle himself from his sister. He took off his hat, then put his hand to his mouth to tug his glove off with his teeth.
That was when Silas saw it. Esther’s sharp gasp indicated she noticed at last, too.
Isaac had to use his teeth, because he lacked his left hand. Judging from the way his sleeve was pinned up, most of the arm was gone.
The butler paled, but he took the hat and glove without comment and stepped away. It seemed giving in to hysterics more than once in a day was too much for the servant. He walked away quickly.
“Can we sit down?” Isaac asked, his voice deceptively light. “I am a returned war hero, you know.”
“Yes.” Esther’s hand trembled as she gestured to the study door. “This way.” She turned and hurried before them almost as if outrunning what she had seen. But she stopped at the door when a footman opened it and turned back, her eyes large and her lips pressed together.
Silas walked behind Isaac, unable to think of a single thing to say. Had he not been thinking, only that morning, of how much he would give just to have one more word with Isaac? The man had appeared, miraculously, and Silas’s tongue refused to work in tandem with his thoughts. He had a plethora of questions. One of which was why Isaac thought Esther ought to have been in London.
Isaac slowed when he came to his sister standing in the doorway. He reached up to squeeze her arm with his right hand. “Essie, come now. It isn’t so bad as all that. I promise.” Then he brushed past her into the room.
Esther’s eyes, wild with confusion, sought Silas’s. He stopped next to her, too, but he did not pass her by. Silas guided her hand through the crook of his arm. “It will be all right, my dear. He is home. How can we be anything but grateful?”
Her quick nod and pale face did little to reassure him. Having one’s brother come back from the dead, no matter how incredible and joyous such must be, was still something of a shock.
∞∞∞
Esther had to remind herself to breathe when she stepped into the study and Isaac stood inside the room, warming himself by the fire. He stood with the posture of a soldier, his hand stretched to the blaze and his back to them.
Alive. Her brother, the last of her family, alive before her. Did it matter so much that he had not returned whole? Not when the alternative had left her in a state of deep sorrow. Not when it meant he could be here with her instead of never being seen again.
“I am assuming it is all right for me to stay the night?” Isaac said turning to glance back at them with a mirthless smile. The dark shadows beneath his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks testified of his weariness. “You ought to know, the doctor said I had not yet recovered sufficiently for travel.”
Her throat closed up with regret and she looked up at Silas, her heart aching for her brother. They had not moved since closing the door behind them. Standing together, at the edge of the room, it seemed all they could do was marvel at the miracle before them.
The muscles in Silas’s jaws appeared to relax. “You are always welcome in my hom
e, Isaac.” Then he drew Esther forward with him, escorting her to the couch. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as she settled into the cushions.
Clenching her hands together, Esther stared with fixed attention at her brother, afraid if she looked away he might vanish.
Isaac left the fire to sit next to her, placing his hand over hers. “All is well, Essie. I am alive. Had I known you were misinformed, I would have crawled back from France the very moment I knew of it.”
“These have almost been the worst weeks of my life,” she admitted, then drew a steadying breath. “To have you home—it is a miracle, Isaac.” He released her hands and wrapped his arm around her shoulders instead, pulling her close. Esther studied the lines of his face, the new wrinkles around his eyes, the physical changes jarring her image of him. She had last seen him standing tall in his uniform, stiff and proud, a confident twist to his lips.
“I need never leave you again,” he said firmly. Then he seemed to recall something and looked up at Silas, then back to Esther. “But where are Hugh and Diana? Are you—are you not chaperoned?” When he directed his look at his sister, his tone changed to something more stern, she laughed in relief. Although never overly protective of her, Isaac had made it clear that he was her defender.
“It is worse than that,” Silas said as he took the chair nearest Esther’s side of the couch. He did not wear his emotions openly. It seemed he had retreated behind his mask of marble in light of their shocking good news. “Your sister and I are married.”
Isaac’s head jerked back, his gaze shooting to Esther’s. It would have been comical to see his eyes widen and his jaw hang slack had her circumstances not been the reason for his obvious shock. “Married?” he asked. “I had no idea—how long have you been courting? Why was I not informed?” He released Esther and pushed himself, wincing as he did, back to his feet. “What is going on?”
Did he not approve? Esther’s stomach turned over and she stared at the carpet. How much less would he approve when he learned why they had married?
Rescuing Lord Inglewood: A Regency Romance Page 20