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

We shall pack and be away quickly. There is no need for you to seek a pensioner’s lodging for Mamie. She will accompany me.” Sophia hugged Mamie once more. “Come. We’ll gather our things.”

Mustering her dignity, she stood and drew Mamie up with her. They would not be cowed by this uncouth, acquisitive pomp of a man. They would withdraw from the field of battle with grace.

Even as she led Mamie from the room, her heart was breaking. How could she leave Primrose Cottage? All her memories of Rich were here.

Charles resisted the urge to put his fist through Perry Richardson’s supercilious face. Evicting a widow from her home? Tossing a grieving fiancée out of her residence? And so soon after their bereavement? What was the British aristocracy coming to when such a lack of chivalry was openly displayed?

How he longed to be away from these entanglements, aboard a ship, where right was right, wrong was wrong, and order maintained at all costs. It made his teeth clench to think of such a lesser man inheriting Rich’s title and properties. He felt the need to step in, but how and what was the right way?

Mrs. Chapman arrived with a heavy tea tray, and Charles approached her. “Thank you. If you will inform my coachman that he will be needed to carry some baggage outside, I would be most appreciative.” He took the tray—knowing the teapot and cups now belonged to the intruders made him want to drop it from a height onto the low table—and forced himself to place it down gently.

When he joined Lady Sophia in the hall, high color rode her cheeks, and her eyes were bright. Not with tears, but he suspected with anger. And rightly so. This was a cruel blow on top of all she had dealt with. “We would appreciate if you would take us to Haverly Manor. It is but a few miles. We will pack quickly so as not to delay your departure by more than a few hours at most.” Her voice was as bleak as the Baltic Sea in winter.

He thought he understood how she must feel. He, too, had been removed from his home and cast into a foreign place. He had been forced to surrender both command of his ship and the only life he knew.

Mrs. Millicent Richardson swept down the stairs, calling out to her husband even before she entered the drawing room. “Perry, that back garden is a positive thicket. We’re going to have to burn it before it can be properly planted. It’s been allowed to go completely to seed. As for the house, every room will need to be taken down to the plaster. It’s as if nothing’s been changed for half a century. I cannot imagine living in such antiquated surroundings. It’s positively provincial.”

A small cry came from Lady Sophia’s lips, and her hand went to her throat, but she didn’t protest. Instead, she leveled a stricken look at Mamie.

“Well?” Millicent snapped. “Surely Perr—Lord Richardson explained things to you. This is our house, and we have the right to do as we wish with it.”

“Millicent, please, there’s no need to carry on so.” Mamie’s hand fluttered.

“Don’t tell me what I need to do or not do.”

Lady Sophia moved to place herself between Mamie and the rude woman accosting her. “Lady Richardson, you have no need to concern yourself about me or Mamie from this moment on. We’ll be gone from this house before noon. If you can please refrain from gutting the place until we’ve departed, we would be most appreciative. Though perhaps you should confer with my brother, the Duke of Haverly, before you make too many changes to the house. As overlord, it does ultimately belong to him, after all.”

The baroness gaped like a flounder, and it was all Charles could do not to raise his fist and shout, “Huzzah!” Good for Lady Sophia, putting that woman in her place.

Mrs. Chapman, who hovered in the hallway near the kitchen door, raised her apron hem to her chin. “Leaving, milady? Where will you go? Whatever shall I do?”

Lady Sophia took a breath, as if to fortify herself. “For now we’ll go to Haverly Manor. Beyond that, I don’t know. You are welcome to come with us, Mrs. Chapman, or you may stay and work for the new family. You are free to choose.”

“Of course she will stay here. What would we do without a cook and housekeeper?” Millicent put her hands on her hips. “You cannot steal my staff.”

“Steal?” Charles asked, keeping his tone dry. “I do not believe you own Mrs. Chapman, nor anyone else who may live and work here. The housekeeper is free to come and go as she pleases.”

Another crash and thump came from upstairs, accompanied by a yell.

The apron came down, and determination firmed Mrs. Chapman’s crumbling visage. “I’ll not stay in the house with this lot. It won’t take me but a moment to pack.” She glared at Millicent, her chin high, eyes gleaming.

Charles hid a smile. Mrs. Chapman reminded him of a warrant officer. Warrant officers ran the navy, whatever the commissioned officers might think.

With a nod, Lady Sophia guided Lady Richardson toward the stairs. “When you’re finished, Mrs. Chapman, if you’ll help Mamie pack her things, I would be grateful.”

The morning flew by, with Charles carrying boxes and trunks and bags out to the front steps. Lady Sophia maintained her composure throughout. Mamie Richardson put items into crates thoughtfully, as if silently communing with each one.

Mrs. Chapman, on the other hand, stormed about, packed with vigor, and muttered under her breath. Charles had visions of a dragon, fire and smoke exuding, and he did the woman’s bidding with alacrity.

Midmorning, he realized there would be more belongings than his carriage could hold. Time to make an executive decision. He headed for the small stable out back.

“Where is the driver of the baggage wagon that arrived here this morning?” he asked his hired coachman,