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

but the statement came out as a question. He was in uncharted waters here. “What is the germane issue?”

“My mother.” She flicked the pages with the back of her fingers, holding the letter up before his nose. “She seems to think that the minute my ‘summer of mourning by the sea’ is over, I should hurry back to Haverly Manor because she’s already preparing invitations for a hunting and shooting party. It appears there will be stalking going on outside, but inside as well. She’s listed no less than seven eligible bachelors that she’s inviting for hunting fox, grouse, deer, and spinster daughters.” She stamped her foot and threw the letter onto the floor. As pages floated down like sails ripped from the mast, she subsided onto the bottom stair and fisted her hands on her forehead.

Charles stood still, unsure what to do. Should he commiserate with her? Ask questions? Promise action? She had always behaved with maturity and calm, but at the moment her reaction resembled something more akin to Thea or Betsy.

What he wanted to do was lower himself beside her, take her into his arms, and assure her that everything would be all right.

Before he could tell himself what a terrible idea that was, he had his arm around her, drawing her gently toward his chest and putting his chin on top of her head. And to his surprise, she didn’t shove him away. Instead, she leaned into him.

“Why can’t she understand that I have no desire to fall in love again?”

The words were muffled against his shirtfront, and he closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her hair. She only spoke the truth he already knew, but it still made his heart heavy. It seemed so wrong for someone as vital and vivid as Sophie to chain herself to the past, to a dead man who would not want her to be forever mourning. Rich would have wanted her to live. Not to forget him, but to find happiness once more.

If he had been going to remain at Gateshead, perhaps she could have someday found that happiness with him.

He shoved that thought aside. It was impossible. Not only was he years too old for her and a virtual stranger, but he had contributed to her greatest loss. She might be gracious enough to be civil to him, or even friendly, but she would never fall in love with him.

He was a naval officer. His life was at sea. She deserved someone far better than he. He didn’t want her to fall in love with him, he lied to himself.

Which didn’t stop him from reveling in the pleasure of having her in his arms, even if it was platonic on her part.

He wished she could stay safely at Gateshead forever.

A spark of an idea crashed through his head, and his arms tightened. No, it was unthinkable. A wisp of a notion that in spite of his best efforts took hold. A way he could perhaps make everyone happy?

Was it possible? It was certainly practical, prosaic at best.

But no. The notion was ridiculous, and he didn’t know what made him think it in the first place. He should enjoy this moment, make his plans as he had intended, and let everyone get on with their lives.

At which moment she sat up, smoothing her hair and gifting him a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry. You must think me a complete ninny, making a cake of myself over something so silly.”

“You’re not silly.” He let his arms fall away, turning to face the front door and putting his elbows on his knees. He still held the letter from the Admiralty, his ticket back to the life for which he longed. “Having met your mother, I can see it would be difficult to tell her to mind her own business.”

Sophie gave a shaky laugh. “She thinks everything is her business, especially her family. I know she means well, but dealing with her is like trying to stuff a draft horse in a reticule. Eventually you’re going to give up because it’s impossible.”

He smiled at her analogy. He knew nothing about horses, but the image of the dowager as a headstrong dray horse tickled him. Trying to remain casual, he put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “You’re a strong, capable woman. You’ve got a few weeks breathing room before you have to confront her. Perhaps something will come up.”

“Why are you hugging Sophie?” Thea hopped from one stair to the next, descending toward them.

They leapt up as if stung by hornets.

“Seems everyone’s making calf eyes at each other. Penny and that new boy, Miles, and now you and Sophie.” Thea made a retching sound. “It’s nasty. Seems only Mrs. Chapman and Lady Richardson have any sense around here.”

Sophie stalked along the path, well back from the cliff edge, trying to walk off her temper. With little success.

A house party at Haverly.

With more than half a dozen “suitable” young men.

God, why don’t You stop her? She’s becoming a positive menace. I am not in the least interested in finding a man to marry.

Sophie stopped, looking out across the sea. Afternoon sunshine winked off the waves in diamond points, and a gentle breeze carried the scents of brine and freshness. Daisies danced on slender stems, and grass blew in ripples that mimicked the water far below.

What a beautiful place. She had never thought anywhere could rival Primrose Cottage in her heart, but if there ever was such a place, it would be Gateshead. The house begged for someone to care for it and bring back its former glory. The wide, gentle, grassy slope that led down to the cliffs spoke to her need for a less-structured landscape. She felt as if she could breathe here, without the formality of Haverly House, without all the memories of Primrose.

For the first time in ages, she felt as if she was returning to her former self, before responsibility and grief and loneliness had