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

right, dear. I can see the benefits, but it feels wrong to let her go when she’s in such a fragile state of heart. I know she won’t go alone, but I don’t like it.”

The captain pretended not to hear, for which she was thankful.

A footman held the door, and when they went outside, the captain put on his hat and offered his elbow.

He had gentlemanly manners, which should appeal to her mother.

“I feel as if I’m about to face a court martial.” He looked up at the blue sky, as if testing for incoming weather. “You expect your mother to strongly oppose the journey then? Is she so formidable then?”

“Marcus says if the War Secretary would only have put Mother in charge of the military, Napoleon would’ve been routed in a fortnight.” The gravel crunched beneath their feet, and the scent of roses drifted from the parterre garden like a beautiful memory. “But I wouldn’t have you think ill of her. She has very definite ideas about things and isn’t short of speaking her mind, but she does care, and she has a kind heart underneath all the posturing and pontificating.” And dealing with the dowager had become much easier when Sophie realized that a lot of her mother’s blustering came because she cared so much about everything. “She loves pomp and being important and having something to occupy her mind. Like all of us, I suppose she just wants to be needed and thought important to someone.”

“I shall endeavor to be my most austere. I hope you are not too discomfited by my offer to accompany you on your trip. I shall attempt not to intrude.” He walked almost as if at attention.

Did he ever truly relax? Somehow she couldn’t see him lounging on the grass at a picnic or sprawled on a settee with the daily papers strewn about. Was he only comfortable when on board a ship?

Though she did remember him yesterday morning in his shirtsleeves striding down the back garden slope. Of course he’d hurried into his jacket and returned to his formal ways quickly.

“I should have thanked you for your offer straightaway. I’m afraid I got caught up in the moment and overlooked your generosity.” Casting back, her response had been rather abrupt and ungrateful.

“Perhaps this, in some small way, will begin to repay my debt.” He stared straight ahead, his voice bleak.

The man was positively fixated upon this supposed debt, though she had tried to disabuse his mind of the notion. Did he think a few gestures of generosity would make up for the loss of her beloved Rich? It would be easier if he would cease reminding her of the past.

They made the rest of the short trip to the dower house in silence. As they reached the stone structure, a happy laugh caught Sophie’s attention. Cilla had Honora Mary on a blanket under the trees at the north end of the house, and the baby’s giggles were undeniable.

Even the captain chuckled. The occurrence softened his features for a moment.

Cilla spied them, scooped up the baby, and came to the edge of the drive. “Good morning. I hadn’t thought to see you again, Captain. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but I understood you were to depart today. Has something come up to change your mind?” She looked at Sophie.

Honora Mary leaned out of Cilla’s embrace, holding up her arms to Captain Wyvern. The captain backed up a step, puzzlement in his eyes. Honora Mary’s face crumpled, and her lower lip quivered.

“Honestly, she’s never met a stranger.” Cilla moved closer and handed the baby to the captain, who took her as if she were a bomb with a lit fuse.

The baby hung in his hands, his arms straight out, her face split with an adorable smile. A gout of spittle rushed over her lower lip as she squealed and kicked.

“She appears to have sprung a leak.” Furrows lined the captain’s brow beneath the forepeak of his bicorn.

Cilla laughed and dabbed at the baby’s chin. “She’s teething.”

“She won’t break, will she?” he asked. “I’ve never done this before.”

Sophie smiled. “You look as if you’re the one about to shatter. Let her sit on your arm, and hold her against your chest so she doesn’t fall.” She helped him, but even with Honora Mary on his arm, he still looked as if he were holding an explosive. The man had lived through war, and he was flummoxed by a tiny girl.

Sophie wanted to laugh, the first such impulse in a long time. Something in her chest eased a bit, like the moment when you first took off your stays at night and drew a deep, unfettered breath.

The captain cleared his throat, his hand cradling Honora Mary’s back. “I know nothing of children, especially girl children, and certainly not one as young as this. I’ve never actually held a baby, and I suspect I’m doing it all wrong.”

“All it takes is a little practice,” Cilla said. “Have you come to see the dowager? She’s writing letters.”

When they entered the morning room a few moments later, Mother was indeed at her writing desk. Head bent studiously, her pen flowed over the paper. A small stack of cards and envelopes stood along the edge of the desk, evidence of her morning’s work.

“Mother, I hope we’re not interrupting?” Sophie went forward to place the customary kiss on her cheek. “What are you working on? Are those invitations?”

Mother wiped her pen and placed it in the holder. “They are. I’m having a small dinner party for some neighbors. A chance for the new help to practice serving during social functions. The girls are coming along, though they require quite a bit of guidance. I’m inviting the vicar, the magistrate, the Bellows, and the Fotheringhams. And of course your brother and Charlotte. I suppose it’s no use asking you to attend. You never want to come to my parties.”

Sophie tried to ignore the martyrdom in Mother’s voice and put a