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

at a wild angle. “Everybody off!” Charles picked up Thea and made for the dory.

They had rowed partway back to the cutter when the Shearwater capsized. Her hull didn’t disappear completely, being stuck on the shoal, but the wood cracked and splintered under the fury of the waves, and the cargo, so carefully hoarded by the smugglers, bobbed and wobbled, breaking open and sinking.

When they reached the cutter, Charles turned Thea over to a weeping Sophie, and resisting the urge to gather them both into his arms, he made his way to the helm.

“Come about,” Charles called. The wind and rain had slackened somewhat. As the cutter turned back toward Gateshead, streaks of moonlight broke through the thinning clouds.

He’d nearly lost her. How Thea had managed to escape her captors’ control and wreak such havoc on the Shearwater was baffling. If he had thought about it at all, he would have assumed that a girl in those circumstances would have cowered in fear until someone came to rescue her.

But not his Thea. She was as brave as any sailor he’d ever commanded.

And stubborn. If she hadn’t been out of her room and down at the dock, none of this would have happened.

His hand tightened on the rail.

They would have a reckoning once they got home.

He paused. Never in his adult life had he called a house a home. His home was the sea and whatever ship he happened to be aboard.

But if it was true that home was where the heart was, then his was firmly at Gateshead with Sophie and his girls.

C

HAPTER

17

CHARLES PUT SOPHIE and Thea into the capable hands of Mamie and Mrs. Chapman. They were soaked through and shivering, but there were things to tend to before he could deal with Thea’s disobedience.

He hurried through putting on dry clothes and made his way downstairs. The prisoners had been left aboard the cutter, to be turned over to the authorities when the boat returned to Portsmouth. All was quiet on the ground floor, and only Marcus occupied the parlor. His longish hair was still damp, but he warmed himself in front of the fireplace.

“It’s been quite a night, hasn’t it?” His brother-in-law moved to a sofa and collapsed on it in a most un-aristocratic sprawl.

Charles could see where Sophie got some of the insouciance that vexed their mother so much.

“Everything went exactly to plan, except for Thea.” Charles subsided in the chair opposite. He scrubbed his hands down his face.

“Have you noticed that the inclusion of the female of the species in any endeavor is fraught with complications?” Marcus chuckled. “I had my entire life planned out pretty well, before God knocked all my plans into a cocked hat. I actually thought I could consign my wife to the margins of my life and go about my business as if nothing had changed.”

Charles studied his hands. He had thought the same. He had laid out his future and expected God to just go along with his plans. He had laid out his plans with and for Sophie and the girls, and he had thought they would cooperate just as well.

What a fool he was.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you and Sophie, but it’s clear as crystal that you’re pulling against each other. You need to talk. If Charlotte and I had talked, we wouldn’t have wasted so much time at cross-purposes. Don’t sail away without resolving your differences. Nothing gets better with neglect.” Marcus straightened, his eyes kind. “Sophie deserves some happiness, and so do you. I think you can find that with one another.”

Nodding, Charles looked away. Marcus was a good man, and he was only trying to help, but he didn’t know what Charles knew.

Charles was in love with his wife. His wife was in love with a dead man.

The admiral entered, his hands cupping a mug. “That housekeeper of yours is worth her weight in Spanish gold. She brews coffee the navy way, with salt.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Now I remember why I like being posted to the Admiralty. There’s something about a storm at sea that seems colder than anything else. The chill goes right to my marrow. I’m surprised you want to go back to that life, Charles, after being given all this.” He waved to encompass the room.

Charles nodded. He should be jubilant. His name had been cleared, they had broken the smuggling ring, and the Dogged was waiting to whisk him across the ocean. Here he was on the cusp of getting everything he had wanted, of accomplishing his goal of returning to command at sea, and he could barely muster any enthusiasm for the prospect.

Well, he wouldn’t be the first man to take to the sea to get over a broken heart.

The door opened, and Sophie ushered Thea in. The men all rose to their feet.

“Admiral, I believe there are some orts left from the dinner we didn’t get to finish. Suppose we launch a raid on the larder?” Marcus headed toward the hall, with the admiral in tow.

Thea had her head down. She looked fragile and vulnerable in her nightgown and wrapper, with a towel over her shoulders to keep her wet hair off her clothes. Freckles stood out like pepper flakes on her pale face. He readied himself for her apology, taking his seat and reminding himself not to be too harsh.

Then she raised her chin. Instead of repentance and remorse, her eyes blazed hot.

“Thea,” Sophie warned. “Say what you need to say.”

She started to cross her arms, but one glance at Sophie had her dropping them to her sides. Sophie seated herself and drew Thea onto the sofa beside her. Thea tucked her chin into her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you.” Charles stood and moved around the chair to pace. He put his hands behind his back. “I don’t believe you are truly sorry.” He glanced at her mutinous little face. “A person who is truly sorry does not