The Indebted Earl

by Erica Vetsch

“I understand the bridal party will meet us at the chapel. Shall we go?” Dunhill indicated the door.

  Miles spoke from the top of the stairs. “I’ll fetch the ladies and walk them over.”

  The estate chapel stood in the fold of a hill about two hundred yards from the main house. A small lych-gate guarded the family cemetery, and ivy grew on the fence.

  Charles stepped into the little church, and the scent of flowers greeted him.

  “The parish women wanted to do something nice for the happy couple. They’ve cleaned and decorated the chapel.” Reverend Dunhill followed him inside. “From the looks of things, they plundered every flower patch in the district.”

  The altar was a bower of greenery and blossoms.

  Flowers.

  He should have sent a bouquet to Sophie. What a dolt he was.

  The sound of footsteps on the gravel path outside preceded the arrival of Thea. She wore a dress of sea blue, and silk ribbons fluttered with her movements. She panted, and a fine sheen broke out on her forehead, dampening the wispy red hair. “I ran all the way.”

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  She frowned. “No. I just wanted to run.”

  He found himself laughing. Thea was as mercurial as a mermaid.

  Penny and Betsy followed at a much more sedate pace, and Miles slipped in behind them, taking up a post in the back corner of the little chapel. Lady Richardson was next, and Charles found his chest going tight.

  There was no music, and yet his heart lilted as if someone were playing Handel on a pipe organ.

  Lady Sophia stepped into the church, her eyes alight, color in her cheeks. Her dress was pale gold, and she wore a bonnet that framed her face perfectly.

  He needn’t have worried about the bouquet. She carried flowers that matched those in the church. The parish ladies had come up trumps where he had failed.

  With little ceremony, she walked up the aisle and put her hand on his arm. She looked serene, as if nerves were no such thing.

  He wondered if his buttons were jumping, his heart beat so hard.

  Dunhill moved to stand before them, and in what felt like an indecently short time, it was done. He had promised to love, honor, and cherish. Sophie had promised to love, honor, and obey. They had pledged that from this moment forward, they belonged solely to one another.

  Dunhill recited from his Book of Common Prayer. “I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  They stood at the altar, hands clasped, looking at one another. Did she feel as stunned and sober as he? They were now married, in the sight of God and the church.

  There was no going back now. The enormity of what they had done hit him square in the chest.

  Lady Sophia Haverly—now Wyvern—was his wife.

  His collar felt unbearably tight.

  “Are you going to kiss her?” Thea’s voice ricocheted through the sanctuary, and the tension was broken. Everyone laughed, and Sophie blushed delightfully.

  Charles raised his hand and touched her cheek, marveling at how soft her skin felt against his palm. Delicate as a rose petal. He raised his brows, silently asking for permission.

  She bit her bottom lip briefly and nodded.

  His heart clattering like a pebble in a bucket, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. The scent of the flowers surrounded them, but as he inhaled, he caught a brief snatch of her lemon verbena perfume. He felt that no matter where he went in the world after this, the mere whiff of lemon would remind him of this moment.

  He stepped back, and she gifted him with a smile.

  “Can we have our picnic now?” Betsy slid off the front pew and came to take Sophie’s hand. “Are we done getting married?”

  “Yes, we are, sweetling.” Sophie brushed her fingers over Betsy’s curls. “Let’s have our picnic.”

  Mrs. Chapman and Miles had prepared everything ahead of time, carrying baskets of food and cutlery down to the flat area near the staircase to the beach, and spreading a pair of blankets on the grass. Reverend Dunhill joined them. He carried a green bottle with a tight cork.

  “To toast your happiness.”

  Probably some ratafia or local ale.

  Sophie helped Mamie ease down onto the blanket, and Mrs. Chapman and Miles offered pillows. Penny stole shy glances at Miles every chance she got, and Thea peeked into the baskets. Betsy popped up and picked daisies in anticipation of another chain-making session with Mamie.

  They were acting like a family. His family.

  God, You move in mysterious ways. Never did I envision having a family, much less one stitched together like this. Three orphan girls, my best friend’s fiancée, and his elderly mother. Thank You, God, and help me be worthy of them.

  “What are you thinking about?” Sophie took a seat beside him. She twisted the gold circle on her finger.

  “I was just telling God how mysterious His ways are to me.” Charles leaned back on his palms and crossed his boots. Sunshine streamed down, and the wind, while fresh, wasn’t too brisk.

  She nodded, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She had beautiful ears, shell-like, small, and perfect.

  “Mysterious, to be sure. But if He is sovereign and He is good, then what He brings about must be for our good and His glory, should it not? I try to hold on to that truth no matter what.”

  He nodded, contemplating her words. Did that account for the peace and serenity she displayed lately?

  “A fine day for a sail.”

  Miles tore his attention away from filling a plate for Penny. “The Shearwater’s ready, sir.”

  Charles accepted a plate from Mrs. Chapman, but his mind drifted to the sailing trip. If he was honest, he would admit he was looking forward to being back in his element, to show Sophie—and the girls—that he was capable. His pride had taken a bit of a battering, not knowing how to run an estate and being teased about not knowing how to ride a horse. But aboard ship, any ship, he would excel.

  “May I be the first to toast the happy couple?” The vicar lifted his bottle, and Mrs. Chapman reached for glasses.

  Instead of ratafia or ale, Dunhill poured champagne. Charles accepted his glass, puzzled. Where had the reverend managed to procure champagne? Not only was it expensive, but with the embargo on French goods, it was impossible to get.

  “You wouldn’t believe it. When I first came here, nearly five years ago now, the parsonage had been empty for a long time. The church had been making do with a circuit-riding preacher. So the house needed quite a thorough cleaning before I could move in. And what did we find belowstairs but a wine cellar? Jugs and bottles of French wines. The previous parson had been something of a collector, I gathered.” He held up the gently fizzing drink. “I gave some to each of the parishioners, and I saved a bit back for special occasions. The marriage of the Earl of Rothwell seemed an appropriate circumstance for bringing out the last bottle.”

  “We’re honored.” Charles raised his glass before taking a sip. He refrained from grimacing. He had never cared for champagne.

  Thea finished her meal first and bounced up to explore.

  “Stay away from the cliff edge,” Charles warned.

  “I will. You don’t have to tell me every time.” Her words drifted back over her shoulder as she ran through the tall grass.

  “Someone is going to have to take her in hand.” He pursed his lips. “I suppose that task will fall mostly upon you now.”

  Sophie touched her lips with her handkerchief. With the breeze teasing her hair and fluttering the ribbons on her bonnet, she looked much too young for such burdens. Was he putting too much on her slender shoulders, placing her in charge of the girls and Gateshead?

  “She’s got an independent streak, but she’s not really willful and certainly not wicked. Just high spirited. I know how she feels. My mother likes to remind me often that I was quite a hoyden in my youth. There’s time enough for her to settle down.”
r />   “I find it hard to believe you were ever a hoyden.”

  The gamine grin that flashed across her face negated what he thought. “Actually, I was, until quite recently.” She sobered, twisting the ring. “When word came of Rich being wounded, I sort of drew in on myself. Marcus used to tease me that I could talk the leg off a table when I was younger, but somehow I didn’t seem to have much to say during that time.”

  “The letters you sent to the hospital were still as bright as brass fittings though.”

  She checked on Thea, the girl’s dress a splash of color against the grass. “I forget sometimes that you read my letters. I tried not to let on to Rich that anything was amiss at home. Tried to be breezy and light and interesting.”

  “You accomplished that and more. All the crew, myself included, enjoyed the bits he read to us.” He put his hand on hers on the grass. “I don’t want you to think you can’t mention Rich. He was dear to both of us.”

  Her hand moved under his, but as she nodded her understanding, a frown crossed her face. “What’s she found now?”

  Thea ran toward them, streaming a long piece of cloth from her hand. “Look at this.” She twirled, making the narrow strip of fabric coil around her. “I found it stuck in the bushes down there.”

  “Let me see.” Charles held out his hand, and Thea gave him the … flag? The cloth was white canvas. About a foot of one end had been dyed or painted bright blue with a red X, and the same amount on the other end was vivid red with a blue X. “What on earth?”

  The vicar chuckled. “That’s one of the homemade buntings from our celebration. The village threw a bit of a party when we heard the war was over. The ladies made at least a dozen of these, hanging them from their windows.”

  Odd that it had wound up out here.

  “There was quite a storm the night of the celebration. I suppose the wind caught one of the sashes and carried it along until it caught on the brush.” The vicar wasn’t looking at Charles when he spoke. “I’ll take it for you. Perhaps Miles can dispose of it.”

  Miles snapped into action. “Of course, sir.” He took the cloth, wadding it into a ball.

  A feather of unease flicked across Charles’s mind at the sharpness of the vicar’s tone, but he shrugged it away. It was time to go sailing.

  Sophie held Betsy’s hand until Charles reached across the small gap of water from the boat deck to the pier and lifted the child aboard the Shearwater. Thea hadn’t waited for help, leaping aboard like a cat coming home. Sophie tried not to let on how nervous she was. She’d never been sailing before, and the thought of all that water around and under her made her apprehensive.

  Which was silly. The boat was sound, and the weather couldn’t be lovelier. They were under the command of a naval captain and an able boatman. Nothing bad would happen.

  Penny allowed herself to be aided by Miles, and Reverend Dunhill helped Mamie. Then Charles, instead of holding out his hand to Sophie, leaned over and bracketed her waist. Her hands went to his shoulders to brace herself, and his muscles bunched beneath her palms. He swung her aboard in a smooth arc, keeping hold of her until he was certain she had found her footing.

  Being held by him made her feel both secure and uneasy. It was as if she stood on solid ground but on the edge of a precipice. Was the fact that she was now his wife, even if in name only, what caused her to be so very aware of his touch?

  “Can we go now?” Thea stood with her feet braced apart, rocking with the slight bob of the boat. “Can we go fast?”

  “We’ll go as fast as the wind will take us. Find a seat. Miles, let’s shove off.” The lines on Charles’s face had smoothed out, and he looked eager and happy and younger somehow.

  She tried to get her stomach muscles to relax.

  “Are you sure you won’t join us, Reverend?” Charles asked.

  “Thank you, no. I have some visitations to make before it gets dark. Enjoy your voyage. Miles, perhaps you’d like to head up toward Lyme Regis? Show them the cliffs there?”

  “I thought we’d head west, this first time aboard.” Charles reached across the gap to shake the vicar’s hand. “Anyway, the majority of Gateshead’s coastline is to the west, and I’d like to see it from the water.”

  Mamie took a seat near the back of the boat and tucked her arm through Penny’s.

  “Can I sit right up front?” Thea asked. “There’s a little bench there.”

  Sophie wanted to tell her no, that she needed to stay close to an adult at all times, but Charles got in first. “As long as you don’t mind a bit of spray in your face.”

  The vicar helped Miles loosen the mooring lines, and using his boot, pushed the Shearwater away from the pier. With the tide going out, the boat was soon bobbing away from shore.

  “Sir,” Miles said, “the wind’s running east. The sailing will be easier that way. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to take the ladies to see Lyme Regis? The cliffs will look nice in the afternoon sunshine.”

  “I’m sure. It might require some tacking to head west, but the return trip will be quicker. Look lively now.”

  Sophie dropped onto the bench beside Mamie, and Betsy climbed into her lap.

  “Enys, raise the mainsail.” Charles wended toward the stern and took hold of the tiller.

  Miles untied the lines holding the sail along a spar, then hauled on a rope. With each tug, the large triangle of canvas inched toward the top of the mast. With a few luffs of breeze, the sail filled and bellied out.

  “Raise the jib,” Charles called.

  Miles headed forward and unfurled another sail.

  “What’s that called?” Betsy asked, pointing to the long spar along the bottom edge of the sail.

  “That’s the boom,” Charles answered. “It controls the angle of the sail. The tiller and the angle of the boom direct the ship.”

  They sailed west, and once they were out of the shelter of the cove, the waves increased in size. Sophie half stood to check on Thea. The girl knelt in the bow, hands braced on the gunwales, her hair streaming out behind her, loose from its braids. She looked like a figurehead from mythology.

  A splash of uneasiness washed over Sophie, and she swallowed. Nerves. It had been an emotional day, serious at the wedding service, cheerful at the picnic, and now apprehensive. With all the upheaval, she would surely sleep well tonight.

  “Is it difficult to sail a ship?” Penny asked Miles as he coiled a rope over his forearm.

  “Not if you know what you’re doing. I’ve sailed the Shearwater by myself before, but it’s better with two or three men.” He stowed the rope in a locker. “I’ll teach you, if you like.”

  Those two would bear watching, but Sophie wasn’t much worried. Penny seemed to be more in love with love than serious about Miles or any young man. In the coming days, there would be time for Sophie to talk with Penny about appropriate behavior and the importance of guarding her heart until the right person came along.

  Mamie looked from the shore to the sky to the waves to the horizon, taking everything in and seemingly content. But then again, she’d been raised by the sea and had sailed often. Sophie loved the pure enjoyment on the older woman’s face.

  A bit of dizziness swirled behind Sophie’s eyes, and she lurched, grabbing the edge of the bench with one hand and tightening her hold on Betsy with the other. Mercy!

  Cold clamminess sprang out on her brow, and she gulped fresh air.

  Charles had his spyglass out, surveying the coast, his knee hooked over the tiller to hold it still. He lowered the telescope, frowned, and raised the glass again.

  “Enys, what’s that?” he called, pointing to a discolored gash in the cliff face.

  “Oh, that’s an old sea cave that collapsed some time ago. Rumor had it that it used to be a smuggling den, but that’s a silly old tale. The tide floods the base of the cave. No smuggler worth his salt would store goods in a place where they could get swept out to sea.” He shrugged.

  “It looks like someone built
something in the gash.” Charles looked again through the spyglass.

  “I think Grayson tried to stabilize the cliff there. He said there was a barn at the top, and he didn’t want to lose the building if he could help it. He put some stairs along there, and he lets the crofters use that part of the beach to fish. He said it would keep them from using the earl’s stairs.”

  “I see. I haven’t had a chance yet to look over the entire estate.” Charles studied the crack in the rock. He looked sober, and Sophie wondered if he would have time to survey all the property before he was called up by the navy.

  “Look, white-beaked dolphins.” Miles pointed to the south.

  Everyone swiveled around, and Mamie inhaled sharply. “I haven’t seen a dolphin since I was a girl.”

  It took Sophie a moment to spot them. Sunlight reflecting off the water made them difficult to see, but once spotted, she could follow them. As the dolphins cavorted, another wave of nausea slopped through her.

  Perhaps something from lunch didn’t agree with her. She closed her eyes, but the dizziness got worse.

  “Are you well?” Mamie asked, resting her hand on Sophie’s arm.

  Swallowing hard, Sophie nodded. “Fine.” The word came out a whisper. Her head spun, and her stomach lurched.

  “Sophie?” Charles waved to Miles to take over the tiller and squatted beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  Bile rose, and with an effort she held it back, but weakness radiated through her limbs. What was wrong with her?

  “Sophie, my dear, I think you’re seasick.”

  The humor tingeing his voice did not endear him to her at that moment. Seasick? How humiliating.

  “Miles, we’ll run for home. Sophie, stare at the horizon and take deep breaths. Here, Betsy, you sit with Penny.” He massaged Sophie’s hands for a moment and then went to the tiller. “Prepare to come around.”

  They had been out barely half an hour. Sophie felt bad cutting everyone’s enjoyment short, but she wasn’t sorry when the cove came into view. Still, drawing up beside the dock took much longer than she would have liked, involving furling sails and applying oars.

  “Miles, see that she’s buttoned up.”