The Indebted Earl

by Erica Vetsch

  She shook her head. “Marry you?” His proposal had crashed down from a clear blue sky. What could she say? Was this what Rich had wanted Charles to do when he elicited his last promise? How could she marry Charles when she still loved Rich?

  Comprehension smoothed the lines of Charles’s face, and he gave a rueful chuckle. “I’ve botched this entire enterprise, haven’t I? My dear, I intend our marriage to be in name only. I know your feelings for Rich, and you know my feelings about going to sea as soon as possible. Our union would be for the sake of the girls, the estate, and my debt to Major Richardson. You would have a home and safe place for Lady Richardson, and a way out of any marriage plans your mother might concoct.”

  “A marriage of convenience.” She tried to organize her scattered wits.

  “Yes, that’s it. What do you say?”

  What could she say? Would marrying in such a manner be disloyal to Rich’s memory? What would Marcus think? And her mother?

  She stared out to sea, pressing her lips together. Not ten minutes prior she had been crying out to God for a way out of her situation, for a clear path that would allow her to look after the girls and stay at Gateshead, at least through the summer. And here she was being offered a permanent place.

  Once, when she was young, she heard a preacher say that God’s children should pray so specifically that when the prayer was answered, they would know it was God who had done it and not coincidence.

  Peace dropped into her heart. This must be God’s answer to her specific prayer, though she never would have imagined a proposal of marriage.

  The captain waited, standing almost at attention, his hands once more clasped behind him.

  “Lord Rothwell, I accept your proposal and your terms. I will marry you and stay on as the mistress of Gateshead and co-guardian of your wards.”

  He relaxed, a slight smile touching his lips. He reached for her hand and, to her surprise, placed a chaste kiss upon her cheek. “I do think it would be proper for you to call me Charles now. My dear, you’ve made me most happy.”

  And oddly enough, she felt happy too. Perhaps that boded well for their future. Her fingers touched the place his lips had made contact with her cheek, and for a moment she wished he had given her a proper kiss on the lips to seal their agreement.

  CHAPTER 9

  “YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED?” Penny leapt up from the rug where she had been leafing through a book of fashion drawings from twenty years ago. “Oh, that’s the most romantic thing ever.” She hugged Sophie. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride. I’ve never been to a wedding before.” Looking down at her plain muslin dress, she made a face. “I wish I had something elegant to wear.”

  “Why? Why are you getting married?” Betsy tugged on Sophie’s dress. “Do you have to? Are you sad? What does married mean?”

  Sophie knelt and hugged Betsy. “Girls, I hope you’ll be happy about the news. It means you can all stay here at Gateshead with us. No boarding school, no orphanage. Lord Rothwell will continue as your guardian. And yes, Betsy, I’m quite happy to be getting married. It means that the earl and I …” How did one describe marriage to a child as young as Betsy?

  “It means they promise to love only each other and live together forever.” Penny clasped her hands under her chin and swayed, as if overcome by the romance of it all.

  Sophie tugged her bottom lip. She wasn’t marrying for love but for expediency. But that was the business of herself and the captain, no one else. It was essentially what her mother was goading her to do. Sophie had just taken the decision out of the dowager’s hands.

  Thea sat up on the bed, then bounced to her feet and jumped on the mattress. “Yes! No more place like Miss Fricklin’s.” Hop, hop, hop, squeaking the bedsprings. “No more stupid rules, no more oatmeal every morning, and no more boring lessons.”

  Sophie hurried over and took Thea’s arm. “You’ll wind up needing a new bed if you continue. I agree, no more boarding school, but you will have lessons, both academic and social. Someone needs to keep you from becoming a complete hoyden.”

  Thea scowled and plopped onto her backside on the rumpled coverlet. She shrugged. “Lessons here have to be better than lessons at Miss Fricklin’s.”

  Sophie grinned at the girl’s philosophical approach to life. Dorothea Pembroke would go far in this world.

  “When are you getting married? Will the banns be read tomorrow at church?” Penny asked.

  “No, the earl has decided we should marry quickly. Neither of us wants a large wedding. We’ll marry in the small chapel here on the property this Wednesday morning. We’ll have a picnic wedding breakfast near the cliff, and then we’ll take a quick sail on the Shearwater to celebrate.”

  “Oh, won’t that be nice?” A dreamy look drifted into Penny’s eyes. “Are we all invited? To go sailing, I mean.”

  “You just want to see Miles again.” Thea snorted.

  Sophie studied the girl. Penny was only a handful of years younger than she, and here Sophie was, stepping in to act the role of mother. How did one guide a boy-crazed girl through adolescence and see her safely launched into adulthood?

  “What did Miss Mamie say?” Thea asked, dangling her feet over the edge of the bed and kicking randomly.

  “I’m going to tell her now.” Sophie’s stomach muscles tightened. She hoped Mamie would understand and not be offended. It was only a quarter year since Rich had passed away. “I’d like you girls to make a list of your belongings, your clothes and shoes and the like. Write it neatly in columns, and bring it to the parlor when you’re finished, all right?”

  She left them dragging dresses and nightgowns out of the wardrobe and headed to the parlor.

  “Hello, darling Mamie. What are you making there?”

  Mamie tugged a length of fine wool from the ball in her knitting basket. “Stockings for Rich. The air is so damp at sea, I worry about his feet getting cold and him falling ill.” She sighed, but her needles never stopped.

  Sophie’s heart sank into her slippers. Mamie had been having such a good day. She knelt before the older woman and put her hands atop the knitting. “Mamie, dear, you know that Rich is dead, right?”

  Mamie’s lips trembled, and doubts crept into her faded-blue eyes. “Of course. I would know whether my son was alive or not.” She looked at her hands, then back to Sophie.

  “I’ve come to tell you some exciting news, and I hope you’ll be happy.” She sat beside Mamie, taking her hand. “Captain Wyvern, Earl Rothwell … Charles …” She almost laughed, trying to sort out what she should call him to help Mamie understand. “Charles has asked me to marry him, and I’ve said yes. You and I are going to stay here at Gateshead and make this our home. You will get to live by the sea forever, and the girls will stay here with us. Isn’t that wonderful news?”

  Please, God, help her comprehend, and help her not to be upset.

  “Married. To the captain?”

  “Yes. And soon. This Wednesday. There’s no need to wait.”

  “But, my dear, what about Rich? He’s coming home soon. Won’t he be upset if he finds you married to another man?”

  Tears burned the backs of Sophie’s eyes. “Mamie, darling, Rich isn’t coming home. He died, remember? He’s buried in Portugal. We had his memorial service, and the captain came and brought Rich’s things?” Things Sophie had yet to unpack.

  “He’s dead. He’s not coming home.”

  “That’s right, darling. I’m so sorry.”

  “You loved him.”

  “Yes, and I always will, just like you always will.”

  “But you’re marrying Captain Wyvern?”

  “Yes.”

  Mamie patted Sophie’s cheek. “You’re a good girl, Sophie. Always looking after everyone else. I hope you remember to look after yourself.”

  “I’ll do my part in looking after her as well.” Charles spoke from the doorway. He came in and pulled a chair alongside Mamie’s knitting basket. “You’ll always have a hom
e here with Sophie and me.” He took Mamie’s other hand between his. “You’ll be revered, as a mother should be.”

  Mamie looked long into his face. “Do you care for Sophie?”

  His eyes met Sophie’s. “Yes, I do. I have long had a fine regard for her, first through her letters and Rich’s stories, and then meeting her myself. She’s a woman of rare beauty, inside and out.”

  Warmth spread through Sophie at his words and his intent look. She knew he was only trying to reassure an old woman of delicate mind, but the words sounded so nice, she half wanted to believe them.

  “And, Sophie, dear, do you care for the captain?”

  Aware that Charles listened intently, Sophie told the truth. “I have a great respect for the captain. He’s a good man, and he’s doing a good thing making sure we’re all taken care of. I am most happy to accept his proposal.”

  Mamie assessed Sophie, and she tried to stay still under the scrutiny. She hadn’t exactly declared an eternal love for Charles. Was that what Mamie wanted?

  Finally, Mamie released her hand from Sophie’s clasp and patted Charles’s knee. “Then I give you my blessing. Treat her well.”

  Sophie exhaled slowly, meeting Charles’s eyes over Mamie’s head. The look there made her heart race.

  Sunday morning saw them climbing into the estate carriage, a fine vehicle with the Rothwell crest on its door, to attend church in the village. Betsy sat on Penny’s lap to ease the crush of seven occupants. Sophie gave up trying not to lean into Charles on every turn, and he raised his arm and put it around her shoulders to make more room.

  “I suppose someday I’m going to have to break down and learn to ride a horse.” His breath tickled as he whispered in her ear. “Either that or I’ll need to buy an omnibus to get this crew from here to there without packing us in like salt cod in a barrel.”

  “You don’t ride?” Sophie winced when she realized how loudly her question had been posed. The girls, Mamie, and Mrs. Chapman all stared, and Charles shifted on the plush seat. But it was odd, a grown man not having such a basic skill. Sophie had been given riding lessons as a matter of course, as had every other young person of her acquaintance.

  “I don’t know how to ride either.” Betsy leaned forward and patted his knee.

  “There isn’t much call for equestrian prowess aboard a ship.”

  “But you’re not on a ship anymore. You live at Gateshead now,” Thea pointed out. She looked angelic. Sophie had helped style her hair, crossing her braids atop her head and pinning them into a coronet.

  “For the moment. When my new commission comes in, I’ll be aboard ship with no horses to ride and no place to ride them.”

  Thea struggled to sit forward. “You’re still leaving us?” Her eyes narrowed from shock to mistrust. “But I thought you were marrying Sophie.”

  “I am marrying Sophie. You don’t need to worry. You will remain with her at Gateshead, even when I’m away at sea.”

  “I thought married people wanted to be together all the time.” Thea crossed her arms over her thin chest. “If you leave, who will look after all of us?”

  Charles didn’t have to answer, because the carriage pulled to a stop at the church steps. He was out before Grayson could climb from the driver’s seat and open the door. The poor captain. His life aboard ship had not prepared him for being trapped in a carriage with six women.

  The beadle escorted them to their pew and unlocked the gate with one of the keys on his belt. The seats were right up front, and the Rothwell crest had been carved into the gate. Sophie felt all eyes upon them, but she forced herself not to turn around. Her bonnet shielded her face, but she could still hear the whispers.

  When the vicar took the pulpit, satisfaction shone from his expression when he looked down at the Rothwell pew. Sophie folded her hands in her lap, eager to hear. It had been far too long since she had been to church, and her soul needed feeding.

  “Hear the word of the Lord from Ephesians. ‘And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit; Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord; Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ; Submitting yourselves one to another in the fear of God.’”

  His voice reached the back of the church, and his eyes were so intent, he appeared to be speaking to someone personally.

  “When a man gets drunk and becomes belligerent, he does a disservice to those around him. When he demands his own way and doesn’t submit himself to what is best for the collective, he puts his own petty wants ahead of others.”

  A stir went through the congregation, and Sophie looked at Charles. He raised his eyebrows. Everyone in the sanctuary seemed to understand the pointed remarks and to whom they were directed.

  Perhaps, after she got to know the villagers, she would understand too. But even then it would be uncomfortable if the reverend continued to use his sermons as a public admonishment of a specific parishioner. She hoped this was an isolated incident.

  After the service, at which the girls had behaved beautifully—even Thea had managed to sit still for the entire hour—there were many new people to meet.

  “Lord Rothwell, so nice of you to come.” A bookish man with gold-rimmed glasses perched on his narrow nose extended his hand. “Will Owens. Local solicitor. I understand from Reverend Dunhill that you’re looking for a new steward?”

  Charles nodded. “I am. Dunhill put your name forth for the position. I’m still weighing my options and have sent word to London.” They moved away, heads bent.

  “Pleased, Lady Sophia. It’s all over the village that you’re marrying the earl.” A blowsy woman with frizzled gray hair and a considerable bosom greeted them. “Grayson was talking about it in the pub last night. Oh, I’m Nan Barker. My husband owns the public house. We hope you’ll be happy at Gateshead.”

  Mamie studied the woman’s dress, which was far finer than one might expect from a publican’s wife. “That’s very lovely lace. I haven’t seen the like for years. Where did you get it?” She reached out for Mrs. Barker’s sleeve, and the woman’s face hardened. She jerked away before Mamie could touch her.

  Sophie’s protective instincts went on alert. Had Grayson spread any rumors about Mamie and her memory difficulties when he was chatting in the pub last night? People could be so odd about such things. If Mrs. Barker said anything mean to sweet Mamie—

  But Mrs. Barker relaxed and laughed, self-consciously stroking the trim at her wrist. “It was on a dress my mother had years ago, and I reused it.”

  Mamie nodded. “That explains it. French lace is so hard to come by, isn’t it? What with the trade embargo going on for years. Still, now that the war has ended, perhaps we’ll be seeing more European goods coming to Britain again.”

  “Perhaps,” Mrs. Barker said cautiously. “I understand the new earl isn’t planning on staying at Gateshead long. Will you and your wards remain, or will you go back to where you came from?”

  Villages like Gateshead were certainly hotbeds of gossip. Mrs. Barker seemed to know as much about Charles and Sophie’s plans as they did.

  “We haven’t decided all the details yet.”

  “Understandable. I suppose the wedding is all that’s on your mind right now.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Snagging an earl. Still, I guess, as the daughter of a duke, that’s not reaching too high.”

  They really did know a lot about what was going on at Gateshead. She didn’t recall people being so inquisitive about Haverly Manor. She rubbed her arms to quell a shiver. Still, as long as it was mere curiosity, there was no harm in it, she supposed.

  The day of his wedding. Who could have imagined he would go from bachelor to betrothed to married in less than a week?

  Charles stood before the mirror in his dressing room. He wore his naval uniform, which had been carefully brushed by Mrs. Chapman.

  Mrs. Chapman. He smiled as he used his
cuff to buff the brass buttons on his coat. When she had received the news that Lady Sophia and Lady Richardson would be staying on at Gateshead permanently, she had accepted the role of housekeeper and told him she would see to hiring the help she needed. Not a single histrionic or ruffled feather to be seen.

  If he had a ship’s worth of Mrs. Chapmans, he would rule the waves.

  He smoothed his coat, his hand hitting something hard. Dipping into his pocket, he withdrew—oh no!

  The miniature of Sophie. He’d meant to return it to her, and he’d forgotten about it. He cast his mind back, remembering the invasion of the new Baron Richardson and his wild brood that had interrupted Charles’s carefully rehearsed apology. He had told himself to return it at the next opportunity, but he’d let it languish in his pocket.

  What to do with it now? This long after the fact, he couldn’t claim it was a mistake. It hadn’t been a mistake. It had been a deliberate act.

  A knock sounded. “My lord, the vicar is here.”

  Charles opened the top drawer of his bureau and buried the miniature beneath his stockings and handkerchiefs. He’d deal with it later.

  “Thank you, Miles.” The young man had proven quite helpful. “I’ll be down directly.”

  He stared once more into the mirror. “You’re doing the right thing. Rich would approve.” Charles only hoped it was true. He was certain Rich’s plea that Charles look after Sophie hadn’t included marrying her, even if in name only.

  Dunhill bowed as Charles hurried down the stairs. “Your lordship. Are you ready?”

  “As I ever will be.” The grimness in his voice startled him, and he tried to smile. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. While it might not be the epitome of romance, neither was this marriage of convenience a death sentence. He was marrying Lady Sophia Haverly. Many a man would trample him over to get the chance. She was beautiful, kind, sweet of nature, and companionable. A treasure.