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

you for being such a rock. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this week without you.”

Her brother pulled her into his embrace, his chest rising on a deep breath. “I wish I could do more. I wish you didn’t have to walk down this path at all, and I wish you wouldn’t insist upon walking it alone. I wish you would come home where I can look after you properly.” He spoke into the top of her bonnet, hugging her as if he would take her pain upon himself if he could.

She chuckled, her laugh shaky. “That’s a lot of wishes.”

“You know you could bring Mamie with you.”

She leaned against him, drawing strength, as she had so often over the years. Before Rich had stolen her heart, Marcus had been the center of her world: brother, best friend, confidant, partner in crime. The two of them, second and third children of the Duke and Duchess of Haverly, had relied upon one another for affection and attention, since little was forthcoming from their parents. Eight years apart, Sophie had needed Marcus more than he did her. When he’d gone to university and then into the military, she had ached with the loss.

Then she had met Rich, the boy who lived next door to the Haverly estate, and in him she had found a kindred spirit. Her loneliness had vanished, and their friendship had blossomed into something more.

Son of a baron, he had not been her mother’s idea of a suitable match for a duke’s daughter, but when Sophie refused to be moved on the subject, the duchess had raised her hands in surrender. Father hadn’t cared much one way or the other, happy enough to have her future settled.

“I shall be fine, Marcus.” She eased out of his embrace, not sure she spoke the truth. “Thank you again for all you’ve done.”

“At least come back to Haverly for one night. Or for luncheon.”

She shook her head. “You will only try to prevail upon me to stay. I do appreciate your offer, but I must be with Mamie at Primrose. It is where she feels most comfortable. It is her home, and now mine too.”

Marcus squeezed her tightly once more and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “You always were a stubborn child.” He cupped her shoulders for a moment and then helped her up into the coach. Closing the door, he rapped on the side, and the coachman put the horses into a walk. It was unseemly for the carriage to hurry under the circumstances.

Sophie leaned back against the squabs and closed her eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired. Yet every time I lie down and close my eyes, my mind won’t let me sleep. There are so many things to see to yet.

“It was a lovely service, wasn’t it? The vicar said such nice things about my boy.” Mamie stared out the open carriage windows, a faraway look in her eyes.

“It was a lovely service. And everyone has been so kind.” Sophie kept her voice even and pleasant so as not to upset sweet Mamie, but she wanted to leap from the slow-moving carriage and run all the way to the haven of Primrose Cottage, where her memories of Rich were the most vivid. She wanted to curl up in her bed and reread his letters, cry when she felt like it, and not have to be strong for anyone.

The coach plodded on. As they approached the cottage, the sound of the horses’ hooves dulled. The gardener had spread straw on the gravel path to deaden the noise.

Mrs. Chapman met them at the door. “I’ve lain on tea in the drawing room.” The housekeeper raised her arm and barely refrained from putting it around Lady Richardson, a breach of protocol that would be unprecedented and probably embarrassing for both parties.

Sometimes Sophie hated protocol. It kept people from being natural with one another.

“Thank you, Mrs. Chapman.” Sophie removed her hat and gave it to the housekeeper. “It was a lovely service.”

“Donnie and I and the girls had a moment of silence when they rang the bells.” She sniffed and touched the corner of her eye with her little finger. Donnie was the gardener, and “the girls” were the laundress and the upstairs maid, who came in daily from the village.

Sophie led Mamie into the drawing room. Everywhere she looked, there were mementos and memories of Rich. His seashell collection, gathered on various holidays to visit his mother’s family on the Devon coast. A cricket ball on the mantel, trophy of his school’s triumph in some match or other. His favorite books. A painting he’d purchased because he had liked the look in the dog’s eyes.

But they were more than possessions. Sophie had worked so hard to keep Rich present for herself and for Mamie while he was deployed, it was as if he were still here. Not a spirit or ghost. Sophie didn’t believe in such things. It was all the memories, the hope of his return, the promises for the future they had made that still seemed current. As if nothing had changed, and yet everything had.

She was both comforted and cast adrift.

Mamie eased into her favorite chair. “Thank you, Sophie, dear.”

“You’re welcome, Mamie, but for what?” Sophie knelt beside the older woman, taking her hand. Had the day been too much for her?

“For taking care of me. For trying to make all this easier for me, which makes it harder for you. You’ve shouldered all the burdens while Rich has been away, and now he’s gone, you’re still carrying the load.” She raised her other hand, soft and plump, and caressed Sophie’s cheek. “I know I am not much help. I can’t always remember …” She frowned. “It’s such a relief to know you are in control of all those matters I can’t look after any longer.”

“You’re no trouble at all, Mamie. I love living with you, and I promise, no matter what happens,