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

firmly, the cards would tumble and flutter away. Since learning of Rich’s death, she concentrated nearly every minute of every day on not letting the cards tip.

The rest of the mourners filed out behind her, Mother and Cilla, Marcus and Charlotte, and Mamie. Each dressed somberly, careful of what they said so as not to cause more pain.

Sophie didn’t know if more pain was possible.

Mother stalked forward and embraced Sophie awkwardly. She was not one to show physical affection, but Sophie appreciated the attempt.

“I hope you’ll soon give up this nonsense about staying on at Primrose.” Mother stepped back, adjusting her veil to frame the gray curls clustered around her face. “There’s no need to continue living there when you have a family to look after you.”

“Thank you, Mother. I am content where I am for now.” Sophie couched her refusal as kindly as possible.

With a concerned frown, Mother turned to her carriage. Cilla sent Sophie a compassionate look and a small wave before following her mother-in-law.

Charlotte was next, and she hugged Sophie tight, a gesture that nearly did Sophie in. “I’ll call tomorrow. Try to rest.” Charlotte’s jade-green eyes were full of words she wanted to say, but she was kind enough not to let them out just now. Sophie squeezed her fingers and nodded, blinking hard.

She took Mamie’s hand, tucking it into her elbow, and walked toward the carriage her brother had provided for the day. Black paint gleamed, the horses’ black hides too, and the ostrich feathers fastened to their bridles were black as ink. And yet the sun shone and the wind rustled the leaves overhead. Water splashed in the distance, where it tumbled over the mill wheel. How could the rest of the world go on when hers felt like it had ended?

“I remember when we brought him here for the first time.” Mamie, her shoulders bowed under her shawl, took small steps, and Sophie shortened hers to match. “The baby I thought I would never have. I was well past forty, after all. But then God answered my prayers, and there I was, old enough to be a grandmother, bringing my newborn son to this chapel for his christening.” Her voice held no sorrow, only memory. “It was a warm day, like this. Warm enough it rained in the afternoon, and all the guests scurried inside the house like chickens into a coop.”

Her soft lips twitched, and her blue eyes, faded now but reminiscent of Rich’s, sparkled. “I wasn’t sorry Lady Gainsford was the last into the house. Her hat was properly destroyed by the rain. She kept asking all day, wasn’t I just mortified to be having a child at my age and didn’t I think it a bit irresponsible of me? The woman hadn’t an inkling how long I had prayed for a baby of my own, and how I had given up hope of ever being a mother. That woman always had something spiteful to say, though she phrased it as concern.”

Sophie squeezed Mamie’s hand. “How could anyone be spiteful to you, pet? And thank you for telling me about Rich’s christening. I hadn’t realized it had taken place here. Mine did too, you know. Not that I remember it.” She smiled, though she didn’t want to. She carefully raised her heavy veil—provided by her mother for the occasion—and draped it back over her bonnet and away from her face. She took a deep breath. Or at least she tried to. It seemed she hadn’t been able to breathe properly for days.

When the news had come—brought by her brother, Marcus, the Duke of Haverly—Sophie had known before he spoke what he would say. The look in his eyes was enough. Her tears had started before a word was said. Marcus had taken her into his arms and held her tight, his chin resting on her head. Rich would not come home. All their plans were shattered, as was her heart.

Over the past few days, Mamie had fluttered and gripped Sophie’s hands until they hurt, staring into her eyes, searching for reassurance and clarity. She spent much time in silent grief, remembering, and some retelling stories of Rich’s childhood. Sophie worried the sorrow would have her retreating from reality into those shadowy places where she couldn’t remember the present and lived solely in the past.

As a result, Sophie determined to carry her sorrow inside, to not let Mamie see her distress. She would allow Mamie to relive her happy times, and she would carry her own grief quietly. Sophie had promised Rich she would take care of his mother, and she intended to keep her promise. Her responsibility didn’t end with Rich’s death. If anything, it was greater now.

The gravel crunched behind them, and Marcus caught them up as they reached the carriages. “Are you going to insist upon returning to Primrose Cottage?” Brotherly concern laced his words.

“We’ve been through this, Marcus. I don’t know who is more strident on the matter, you or Mother.” Sophie kept her tone patient and calm.

He raised one eyebrow, tilting his head in mock censure. “There’s no need to go that far, comparing me to Mother. I am aware we’ve discussed this several times, and yet you still remain obstinate. Your rooms are ready at Haverly, and Charlotte wants you to come to us.” He spread his hands in appeal. “How can I convince you? Tell me what to say to make my argument, and I will say it.”

“You’re a dear, Marcus, but my place is with Mamie, and Mamie’s place is at Primrose. I gave my word. You must understand that.”

Mamie’s head came up at the mention of her name, and her eyes, so innocent and childlike, searched for Sophie’s.

Sophie patted Mamie’s arm gently and nodded to the footman who stood ready to help her into the carriage. “Why don’t you get in, and I’ll join you shortly.”

Sophie turned back to her brother, tucking her arm through Marcus’s, pressing his elbow into her side. “Thank