The Indebted Earl by Erica Vetsch (love letters to the dead TXT) 📕

His future and Lady Sophia’s lay far apart, and try as he might, he would never be able to repay all he owed her.

C

HAPTER

3

WAS SHE READY to open the lid—literally and figuratively—on that part of Rich’s life?

Sophie lay on her side, awakened early, as sunrise filtered into the room and cast a warm glow on the wooden chest. The box sat in the middle of the rug, scarred, dented, the metal latches in need of a polish.

Rich’s sea chest. All that he had taken with him or accumulated in his days at war. His name, rank, and company stenciled on the chest, though faint from wear.

Captain Wyvern had brought the chest to her room last night.

Captain Charles Wyvern.

He was exactly as Rich’s letters described him. Punctilious, proper, and reserved. A man of order and duty. He was well mannered for all that he’d been brought up aboard ships, but he didn’t seem at ease. Of course, how could he be when he carried such burdens?

How was she supposed to feel? Was the captain really at fault? He hadn’t fired the bullet that killed Rich. And if the captain’s telling of events was to be believed, Rich had admitted that he should have been the one to clear the ship of combatants.

If she believed in the sovereignty of God, was there any such thing as an accidental death? Was it God’s will that Rich die?

And how did that fit with her belief that God was good? If God was indeed good and God was sovereign over all, why did bad things happen to His children? Where was justice if good people died for nothing?

She pushed the covers aside and swung her feet out, burying her toes in the rug. She wasn’t ready to work her way through that particular mental maze, and she would also leave the chest unopened for now. The contents belonged to a Rich she hadn’t known well, the military man, the Royal Marine. She would rather hold close the memories of Rich as she knew him, the dashing, handsome neighbor, always laughing, who had loved her and appreciated her and asked her to be his wife. She didn’t want to overlay those memories with whatever the chest contained.

Hefting the handle at one end of the trunk, she pulled it over to the bed and pushed it underneath. She had the long days, months, years here at Primrose to deal with the past. For now she needed to dress and go downstairs to see that breakfast preparations were underway.

Captain Wyvern would be leaving this morning, and she and Mamie would see him off properly—as Rich’s friend. Yesterday’s revelations had been a shock, but she would behave as the gracious hostess she had been trained to be and do her duty by their guest.

Sophie needn’t have worried about breakfast. Mrs. Chapman had everything under control, and the housekeeper shooed her out of the kitchen. “Go and fetch the captain for breakfast. He was away outside nearly an hour hence.”

Reluctantly Sophie ventured out the back door, inhaling the heady scent of wildflowers and dew on the grass. In spite of her heavy heart, the freshness of the morning buoyed her spirits. Though it was most unladylike, she stretched her arms above her head, rolling her neck. More than loosening her muscles, her spirit seemed to stretch and relax a bit.

“It’s more colorful than I imagined from your letters. And wilder.”

The captain strode down the path toward her, his hands in his pockets, hatless. The breeze had tousled his hair, making his visage less severe. His coat was tucked into the crook of his elbow, and the wind fluttered his white shirtsleeves. As if suddenly aware of his casual dress, he shrugged into his navy coat and fastened the buttons.

Part of her resented his venturing into the back garden, her special place. Some of her most precious memories of Rich had been created here, and she didn’t want to share it with anyone, especially Captain Wyvern.

He stopped beside her, looking up the hill at the riotous hues waving and bobbing. “I don’t know the name of a single bloom, but they were friendly enough to greet me anyway.”

He shrugged as if embarrassed to share something so frivolous, but Sophie liked the sentiment, in spite of herself. The flowers were friendly and no respecter of persons. It took nothing away from her to share them. A bit of chagrin tinged her thoughts at being so churlish as to want him away from there.

“I don’t know the names of all of them myself. Mamie is the one you should talk to if you want to be educated about flora. She planted most of these.” Sophie brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “If you are prepared to break your fast, everything is ready.”

He offered her his arm, and she took it, surprised that for such a thin man, he was well muscled. Perhaps wiry was the word? She supposed a life at sea kept one fit.

The table was set for two, and as the captain seated her, she said, “Mamie has a lie-in most mornings, and Mrs. Chapman takes up a tray for her.”

“You take excellent care of Lady Richardson.” The captain cut his ham in precise squares. “You are a credit to Rich.”

“Mamie takes excellent care of me, and it is no trouble to be her companion.”

“Still, not many young women your age would wish to be tethered with the responsibility of an elderly woman. It’s admirable.”

Sophie shook her head. “She’s my family. Though the tie that bound us, that would have made us legally relatives—” She set her toast on her plate. “Though that is no longer possible, we’re still family. I consider her my mother-in-law, and I love her. Duties are not burdens when they are performed out of love.”

The captain nodded, then took a decisive breath, as if making up his mind about something. “Lady Sophia, there’s something I must tell you