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

sloop and headed back up the pier. The door to the boat shed creaked and dragged in an arc along the floor. Shafts of sunlight poked through the holes near the peak of the roof, but the corners and under the eaves remained in shadow. The smell of dank burlap and wet rope greeted him.

So did a pair of yellow eyes. He froze, adjusting to the gloom, trying to make out what it could be that stared at him so intently.

From a perch high in one corner, a large owl studied him. Two tufts of feathers stood up on his head, looking like ears and giving him a decidedly stern visage.

Charles exhaled. He would give the fellow a wide berth. No point in disturbing him. A quick poke around the shed told him that whatever it had been used for in the past, it was empty now. The floor had several wear patterns and grooves, but they were old and filled with sand.

If it weren’t for the owl, he’d have the building torn down. For now, he’d leave it. The bird had clearly been using it as an abode for some time, if the condition of the floor beneath his perch was any indication.

Emerging into the sunshine, he nearly ran over Thea.

“Can I go on the boat? What’s in there? It looks ready to fall over.” She tried to edge around him, but he moved a half step to the side.

“The place is ready to fall down—therefore it isn’t safe for little girls. There’s nothing of interest in there.” He hesitated. “No, that’s not correct. I’ll let you look inside, but you have to be quiet. Not a peep, understood?”

Her brown eyes widened, and she nodded, clamping her lips shut. He guided her to stand in the doorway. Without a word, he pointed to the corner.

The golden eyes blinked, and the bird shifted a bit on his perch, his wings spreading a few inches from his body as he resettled himself.

Thea exhaled silently, her cheeks puffing out. Charles eased her back and shut the door gently, lifting it so it wouldn’t dig along the pier boards.

“That’s the biggest bird I ever saw.” Thea hopped from one foot to the other. “He’s big enough to carry me away.”

“Probably not that big.”

“What kind of bird is it?”

“It’s an owl of some sort. Let’s go see the others. You can tell them about the bird, and you can let them know he’s not to be disturbed.” He started when she put her hand in his, as trusting as … well, as a child, he supposed. The contact felt companionable.

Lady Sophia and Betsy walked, heads down, looking for shells, and Lady Richardson and Penny were well down the sand to where the cliff curved toward the sea, but they were on their way back.

When the group was assembled, Charles produced a handkerchief for the seashells. “You’ll want to boil these for a while. Otherwise, there’s a chance that whatever called it home might still be in there, and they’ll begin to stink. I’ll carry them for you, if you like.”

Sophie handed the shells over, dusting the sand from her hands. “Thank you. I’ve never gathered shells before. It’s a delightful pastime, don’t you think?”

“If you want the best shells, you should come as the first tide goes out in the morning. However”—he raised his voice so everyone could hear—“no one is to come down to the beach without an escort. Girls, you are not to come without an adult. The cliff isn’t stable, the stairs are in need of repair, and while the ocean looks calm and inviting today, it’s nothing with which you should trifle.”

“We’ll stay away from the cliff,” Penny assured him. “And we know how dangerous the sea can be.” Grief flitted across her pretty young features, and he was reminded that their father had been a boatman.

Wherever the Shearwater had gone down, it couldn’t have been too bad a wreck. The boat had been salvaged, repaired, and now looked seaworthy.

“It’s beautiful here. I hope we can come again before we have to leave.” Sophie turned to look at the horizon.

Betsy’s eyes glistened, and she buried her head in Sophie’s side. “I don’t want you to leave. And I don’t want to leave either.” Her arms came around Sophie’s legs. “I like you. Why can’t we all stay?”

Lady Sophia bent and hugged the child. “I like you, too, sweetling.”

She looked up at Charles, and he felt lower than a seabed. He needed to move on with his plans for what should happen with these girls. It wasn’t fair to leave them drifting. He knew what they wanted, but how could he give it to them?

“The tide is coming in. We should return to the house.”

Sophie sent him a troubled look, but she clasped Betsy’s hand, indicating that Lady Richardson and Penny should go first. The ladies trudged up the stairs with much less enthusiasm than they’d gone down. When he would have taken Thea’s hand for the return trip, she avoided him and reached for Sophie’s other hand. Her little back was stiff, and her shoes made a defiant thump on each tread.

Charles lingered to look out to sea, waiting until the girls were on the second landing before he put his foot on the bottom stair. The kerchief of shells dangled from his fingers. There was no way to make everyone happy, and he should let them know his decision sooner rather than later. God had made him a sailor, not a father figure, and it was best everyone understood that. Then he could see to fulfilling his debt to Lady Richardson and Sophie by finding them a nice cottage for the remainder of the summer.

He’d sit the girls down tonight and explain things, and he’d ask Sophie for help drafting letters to send to the best boarding schools. At least he had the money, and now the social standing, to demand the best care and education possible. God had