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

for them, then? Would he stay here at Gateshead? Or would he take a position with one of the merchant ship companies?

She didn’t know her new husband well enough to predict how he handled disappointment. She had seen him surprised, grieving, and perplexed, but not yet disappointed. Should she give him an opportunity to talk about it? Should she leave him alone?

When he turned from the window, he appeared composed, though lines of strain bracketed his mouth. “How much correspondence is left?”

“Just one. Addressed to the Earl of Rothwell.”

He pulled a stiff card from the envelope. “Hmm. An invitation. For you, me, Lady Richardson, and … Penny.”

“An invitation? To what?” She leaned forward as he turned the card around.

“An assembly in the village. Dancing and refreshment. Four days from now.”

Sophie hadn’t attended a social event in months. “What a nice way to get to know people here. I wonder if there is time to have dresses made? Is there a seamstress in the village?”

Charles didn’t reply, his mind far away. He turned the card in his hands, holding it by opposite points.

“Shall I answer the invitation in the affirmative?” she asked, gathering the letters together and putting them in order of importance for responses.

“I suppose. I hadn’t thought to be here long enough to take part in local events, but it looks like I will have to be.” His tone was flat, accepting but unenthused.

She tried not to take offense, but it hurt to know he was so disappointed to have to remain at Gateshead with her.

Which was silly, because it wasn’t as if theirs was a real marriage with emotional involvement. He had laid out his plans and expectations, and she had agreed to them with little reservation. What exactly did she want?

“I’ll accept the invitation on behalf of all of us, and if you’re called away to duty before then, we’ll make your excuses for you.”

Penny went into predictable raptures at being invited to her very first dance. “Oh, what shall I wear? This will be so much fun. Who will attend? What happens at a country dance?” She clapped her hands to her cheeks and then stacked them atop her head. “Sophie, I don’t know how to dance. What shall I do?”

“Didn’t Miss Fricklin’s curriculum include dance lessons?” What ladies’ academy failed to teach such important things? Sophie sorted through the girls’ clothing in the armoire, comparing what she saw to the lists the girls had made.

“Yes, she offered dancing instruction, but not until a student’s final year. Only the oldest girls got dance lessons, because a dancing master cost so much. Miss Fricklin always pinched pennies where she could. I was supposed to start lessons next term.”

“Well, four days isn’t much time, but you’re a bright girl, and you can learn some basic steps. For now, we need to go to the village and search out a dressmaker. You’ve nothing suitable for a party, and I would love to have a new dress too. Thea and Betsy, you can come along. We can put in a gloriously large order and have the seamstress expedite the party dresses.” Sophie felt a lightness of heart. Having foregone a debut Season in London in favor of becoming engaged to Rich and staying at Primrose to care for Mamie, she had missed out on grand balls. But she loved to dance. It had been one of her favorite classes at school. Teaching Penny to promenade and dance would be a doddle.

When she asked after a seamstress, Miles shrugged. “There’s one in town. I can go and fetch her.”

“Oh, no, we’ll go to her.” I could do with a bit of an outing. I’ve barely been off the estate since I arrived.

“She won’t mind, ma’am. Really.” Miles shifted from foot to foot. “She prefers to go to her clients. I’ll fetch her now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I have quite a list of things I need, and I want to see what fabrics she has on hand and whether we will need to send to a larger town for some things.” Sophie frowned. Miles would need some serious training before he was a proper footman. A proper footman didn’t argue with his mistress, nor should she have to explain her reasoning to him. Sophie always endeavored to be kind and understanding with her employees, but she also maintained discipline when needed.

When the dowager arrived, Miles had better know his responsibilities, or Sophie would never hear the end of it.

“Fetch the carriage.”

Mamie opted to remain at Gateshead. “I have enough dresses, my dear. I’ll wear my black taffeta in any case.” She patted Sophie’s hand. “Now that you’ve married, you can wear pretty colors again. I love you in light colors that match your disposition.”

The town had a quiet charm, with several shops and thatched cottages butted up against one another along the High Street. There was even a stretch of cobbles, unusual in such a small village. The town had maybe three hundred residents? Where had they gathered the money for a cobbled street? Every house looked in good repair, prosperous, and tidy.

As they flashed past the livery, Sophie caught sight of a large, bearded gentleman who reminded her of one of her brother’s employees. But Partridge wouldn’t be in Gateshead. At least not yet. He was either with Marcus on business in Sussex, or Marcus had left him at home to watch over Charlotte. Partridge was invariably kind and polite to Sophie when they crossed paths, but he was a bit of a mystery as well. This man was so like him, they could be brothers. She craned her neck but lost sight of him too quickly for another look.

Eventually, on the far side of town, Miles pulled up before a thatched cottage with a pretty garden out front. “This is Madam Stipple’s. She’s a sailor’s widow, and she makes her living with her needle. Used to be a seamstress in London, I heard. She’ll do you right. Though she won’t be