The Indebted Earl by Erica Vetsch (best new books to read .TXT) 📗

Devonshire at your estate. Gateshead, I believe it’s called? It’s time to come home from the sea and take up your position as landed gentry.” Barrington slapped his thigh. “Do you know how many men under my command would give their last farthing to be in your position?”

Charles knew Barrington spoke the truth, but still he resisted. His life was aboard a ship, sailing into the horizon, not in a manor on the coast, weighed down with decisions about crop rotation and livestock pedigrees.

The ropes tightened around him as surely as if wound on a capstan.

All he wanted was to return to the sea. Why was God trying to keep him on land?

With the admiral staying the night, Mother had invited herself and Cilla to dinner at Haverly. Sophie took the chair the captain held for her. The lines beside his mouth had deepened. The admiral must have brought bad news.

Marcus, at the head of the table, said grace, and Sophie looked from one bowed head to the next. Mamie, across the table, looked as if she wanted to curl into a ball.

She hadn’t cried when Sophie broke the news that the dowager had refused her blessing on the trip. A small nod, a tightening of the mouth, and some quick blinks were enough to break Sophie’s heart … and begin the first stirrings of mutiny.

Why did she need Mother’s permission anyway? Especially if Captain Wyvern would be kind enough to escort them? How did one honor one’s mother when she was so unreasonable and controlling? How did one honor the woman who would have been her mother-in-law when doing so meant defying one’s mother?

“Milady?”

Sophie started. The prayer was over, and Captain Wyvern leaned to the side so the footman could serve her.

“So, Barrington, is the Admiralty still awash with naval officers?” Marcus asked.

The admiral, seated at the far end of the table next to Charlotte, nodded. “Filling up the scuppers. Bringing the ranks down is going to be a challenge. Some are mustering out, some are taking jobs on merchant ships, and some are even accepting postings to man the cutters patrolling the shores for smugglers. But most are waiting for new postings.”

“Is that what you’re doing, Captain Wyvern?” the dowager asked. “Or do you have other plans now that the war is over?”

“He surely does.” Admiral Barrington took a sip from his wineglass. “That’s the reason I came up from London. To bring the news that his uncle, the Earl of Rothwell, has died, and the title is now his.”

Everyone stopped eating and looked at the captain.

He was an earl? The Earl of Rothwell. Sophie hadn’t known he was a member of a peerage family. He’d grown up in Portsmouth, gone to sea at twelve. How could he be an earl?

The dowager leaned back in her chair and eyed first the captain and then the admiral. “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure the old earl is dead? Yes. Am I certain Charles is his heir? Again, madam, yes.”

Marcus toyed with his fork. “I had heard Rothwell was ailing. I was waiting for you to mention the fact that you were his heir, Captain Wyvern, though I perhaps know why you didn’t.”

What passed between them in their looks? Marcus’s was challenging, while the captain’s was wary. Had he secrets to hide?

“I was never meant to inherit. That honor belonged to my cousin. I am content to be a naval officer and never looked for anything else.”

“So now it will not be out of your way to escort Sophie and Mamie to Devon, since you will no doubt be heading that direction yourself anyway?” The corner of her brother’s mouth quirked, and he nodded to her.

Sophie’s stomach muscles tightened. “Actually, we will not be able to accompany the captain. Or should I say earl? Mother has forbidden me to go.”

“Oh, now, that’s all changed.” Mother sputtered and dabbed her lips. “I had no idea the captain was also a peer. As the Earl of Rothwell, he’s more than welcome to escort Sophia and Lady Richardson.”

The captain grew white about the mouth, and his hands tightened on his fork and knife. “Is that so? You realize, madam, I am exactly the same man I was this morning when you turned down my offer to see your daughter to a cottage by the ocean? Nothing about me has changed.”

“But it has. Surely you can see that it has. You’re a titled gentleman now.” Mother smiled and nodded. “Much more acceptable to chaperone the daughter of a duke, don’t you know?”

When Charles dropped his cutlery onto his plate and leaned forward, Sophie surprised herself by putting her hand on his arm. The muscles were bunched, as if he were tensed like a cat to spring.

“She won’t understand, and it’s no good reasoning with her,” she whispered. “Please.”

He looked down at her fingers on his sleeve, going completely still. But as she withdrew her touch, his arm followed her a few inches, as if wishing to prolong the contact.

“Sophia, I shall help you pack, and we’ll decide upon an itinerary for you.” The dowager was away with her plans, but Sophie didn’t much care. “If I wasn’t so needed here, I would go with you.”

Sophie’s mind balked at the thought of a holiday with the dowager.

She could already see the oceanside cottage, down a sandy path between sea grasses to the shore. Mamie would walk along the beach with her, arm in arm, breathing in the salt air.

With seabirds crying and the shush and scrape of the waves rolling in, perhaps Sophie could release some of her grief and begin to mend.

But in the background of her image, the captain stood staring out toward the horizon, as if waiting for a ship to emerge in the distance.

Which was silly, because after they found their seaside cottage, they would most likely never see Charles Wyvern again.

Traveling with women in tow was vastly different from journeying alone. The amount of baggage staggered him.