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

I will take care of you.” She rose and kissed Mamie’s gray curls. “Have your tea, and don’t worry your head about anything.”

Later, when Mamie was in her room resting, Sophie slipped outside to the back garden. Daisies bobbed in the breeze, butterflies flitted amongst the nigella, and bees bumped and buzzed through the scented stock. Color ran riot on the slope behind the house, and Sophie wandered to her favorite spot. Surrounded by dahlias and sweet peas, she sank onto the open square of grass, wrapping her arms around her knees and lowering her head.

Lord, why? Why did You have to take him from me? You could have kept him safe, could have healed him from his wounds, but You didn’t. All my plans are in ruins, and You seem very far away. How could this be Your will? This isn’t fair.

Tears wouldn’t fall. Somehow the sorrow was too deep. On this spot, just over three years ago, Rich had taken her into his arms and asked her to marry him.

He could have surrendered his commission and stayed in Oxfordshire, but he hadn’t. Just a little longer, he’d promised. The Royal Marines needed him; his men needed him. When he’d made that promise, he couldn’t have known how long it would be and that he would never return.

Mother had suggested … commanded … because of the whirlwind nature of their courtship and betrothal, that they wait until Rich returned from his next stretch of duty before they wed. Sophie hadn’t wanted to wait, and neither had Rich, but when the duke, her father, had waded in, they had acquiesced. They had their whole lives ahead to spend together. A few months or even a year wouldn’t matter much. They would honor her parents by giving in to their request.

How joyful Sophie had been to be loved by Rich, and proud of him in his uniform, proud of his sense of duty and honor. Of course she would wait for him—forever if necessary. Of course she would move to Primrose Cottage and care for Mamie until he fulfilled his duty.

And now it was all ruined. He wouldn’t be coming home to claim her as his own. They had put off their happiness for three long years, and now none of their plans would come to fruition.

She had been able to bear the loneliness when she thought there would be a happy ending someday, but how would she endure it now?

Everything she had thought was God’s will had been dumped on its head. All the promises made were fallen to bits. She had no idea what to do next.

The sobs finally came, and her carefully constructed house of whist cards blew away on the storm of tears.

C

HAPTER

2

CHARLES HAD NEVER seen so many epaulettes and bicorns all in one place. His heart sank like the barometer before a storm. He had known it would be challenging, but these odds were decidedly longer than he had anticipated.

He ascended the steps into the Admiralty, removing his cover as he passed through the doors and tucking it properly under his arm. Officers crowded the halls, their voices low. Each set of eyes that met his were troubled.

These men had a head start on him, for they had not languished in a hospital in Portugal for nearly three months. When peace had been declared, they had been cast upon the shore to make their case to the Admiralty for a new command, while he had been stuck on the Peninsula.

Charles edged through the officers until he reached the department he sought. The small foyer was standing-room only, with enough gold braid to gild a church altar.

“Excuse me.” He waited for a narrow opening to form as men jostled to create space for him.

“No good butting in. You’ll have to wait your turn like the rest of us,” one man muttered. “Who do you think you are?”

Charles didn’t answer. The man had a right to be testy. Peacetime could be trying to a battle-hardened sailor. He reached the clerk’s desk.

“The back of the line, sir.” Without looking up from the papers on his small table, the clerk raised his hand in the direction of the far end of the hall. His voice dripped with boredom. Half a meat pie lay on a greasy paper on the corner of the desk, and the man’s collar was unfastened. The papers before him weren’t personnel records but a rather lurid-looking broadsheet. What had the navy come to that slackers like this were employed at the Admiralty?

“Sailor.” Charles used his “command voice,” the one he employed on high seas when the crew needed guidance.

The man’s head snapped up, and several others turned as the sound echoed off the groined ceiling.

“On your feet, man.”

The clerk jumped up, gulping, and organized himself to attention.

“When was the last time you were aboard a ship?” Charles’s stare pinned him in place as he took a sounding of the man’s depth.

Charles made a circle in the air with his forefinger to take in the occupants of the crowded anteroom. “Sailor, every one of these men has served bravely for more years and more battles than you can count. They have endured hardship, peril, inclement weather, and privation all in the name of the Royal Navy. While you have been growing calluses on your haunches, clerking for an admiral, these men kept Old Boney from marching up Pall Mall and planting the French flag at St. James’s Palace. It would behoove you to show a modicum of respect, for these men, for the Royal Navy, whose uniform you wear, and for Admiral Barrington, whom you serve.”

“Charles, are you scolding my staff?” The voice came from the office doorway, and everyone snapped to attention. Admiral Barrington flicked a glance at his aide and then around the crowded room. “I can’t say that it isn’t warranted. Seaman Phipps, Captain Wyvern has an appointment, if you will check your ledger, and he’s exactly on time. While