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

who should beg your pardon … again. I had no desire to reopen your wounds, especially since I bear the blame for them. I will retire to my rooms, and tomorrow I will put out inquiries about cottages for rent. You will recover from your grief much sooner if you aren’t forced to remember through my presence and undisciplined tongue.”

“But what about the girls?”

His hands went behind his back, and he paced slowly, as if each step sent a shaft of pain to his head. “I, too, must make a hard decision in the best interest of someone else. The girls will go to a boarding facility as soon as possible. They will be properly cared for by professionals, and I will resume my naval career knowing they are safe and well looked after.”

Her strength deserted her, and she sank onto the closest chair. How could he even contemplate sending sweet Betsy away? And the ever-moving, ever-inquisitive Thea? And darling Penny, who already had so much responsibility on her young shoulders? A boarding school wasn’t a home.

But how could he possibly understand? He’d never had a home of his own, at least not after the age of twelve.

“And Gateshead? What about your obligations here as the new earl?” She kept her voice as modulated as she could, but a tremor crept in anyway.

“I’ll appoint a trustworthy man to see to the estate in my absence.” He stopped pacing. “I do not believe Grayson is the man for the position, but I would appreciate it if you kept that to yourself until I tell him myself.”

Difficult and unpopular decisions made for the good of … whom? Not for the girls, nor for Mr. Grayson.

No, the difficult and unpopular decisions Captain Charles Wyvern, the Earl of Rothwell, was making were for his own good.

In spite of his lingering headache and lack of sleep, Charles set about his tasks with unwavering determination the next morning. His first was to call Grayson into the study.

The steward slipped through the door like a wraith, hat in hand, shoulders bowed. He barely raised his chin to look at Charles. His entire demeanor confirmed to Charles that he was not the right man for the job of looking after Gateshead without supervision.

Charles paced the area behind his desk. He always thought better when on his feet, especially when faced with an unpleasant or difficult task.

“Grayson, I will do you the courtesy of not beating about the bush. I have decided to hire another man to take the job of steward here at Gateshead. While you have completed a modicum of work keeping the place together in the absence of leadership, your performance lacked the drive I believe the position requires. I think you will be better suited as a second-in-command, as it were, to a new man. It is my intention to continue with my naval career as soon as a new position opens for me, which will mean I will be away from the estate for long periods of time. The man I select for the job needs to be stern, strict, and a good leader of men. He must have an attention to detail and be accustomed to command. I feel the new steward would be better suited to the job if he came from outside the community, thereby being free of any local ties and loyalties that might prevent him from being evenhanded in his judgments.” He paused his pacing to see how Grayson was taking the news.

Anger flared in the man’s eyes, and then a flicker of … fear? He shifted his weight, staring at the rug.

“This will be a terrible blow to my wife.” He tugged on his collar. “Are you putting us off the place then?” His dark eyes were stark at the possibility. “Please say we can stay on. I’ll do any job. Gamekeeper, groom, even field hand if that’s all you think I’m capable of. But Gateshead is my home. Please don’t send me away.” Desperation wrapped his words, and he mauled his hat in his fists.

What was the man afraid of? His wife’s displeasure? Or possibly disappointing her? Or being jobless? Charles could allay at least some of the man’s anxiety. “No. I will reward your loyalty to the old earl. You did your best, such as it was. If you are willing, you may stay on as the under-steward, assisting the head man with his duties. And you are welcome to lodge in the steward’s cottage for the time being.” He would be gracious. It was the Christian thing to do.

For a moment, a flash of calculation lit Grayson’s eyes, and an eager smile split his face. “I see. Thank you for keeping me on.” He bobbed his head again, this time with more vigor. “When will you be hiring the new man, milord? And when will you be returning to the navy?”

Grayson certainly was taking the news better than Charles had anticipated. Which showed how unsuitable for command he was. He accepted everything too meekly. A true leader would push back, demand explanations, fight for his place at the top.

“I’ll fill the position soon. I’m writing to the Admiralty even now.” He gestured to the stationary before him. “There are many newly retired officers currently seeking employment who have, I believe, the temperament and abilities to be good stewards on a property such as Gateshead.”

“Very good, sir. I’m most obliged. The wife will be as well.” Grayson lifted his shoulders, smoothing the brim of his hat.

“Until the new man arrives, you may continue in your current duties. You are dismissed.”

Grayson sidled out of the study. Charles stared at the door, unsure what to make of the man. He appeared in turns inept, obsequious, calculating, sharp. Which was the real Halbert Grayson? Or was Charles merely addled from his blow to the head and ascribing motives where there were none?

He had barely settled back into writing when a tap sounded on the door. Was it