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

smoothed his hair, and tucked the bicorn under his arm. “Very well. For now see if you can find refreshments for the ladies. They will be my guests for the next few days.”

“Guests, sir? This isn’t your countess then?” He motioned to Sophie.

“No.” The captain was quite curt and offered no explanation. “Where is the drawing room?”

“Through there.” Grayson pointed across the hall.

“I’ll see to the tea and biscuits, sir.” Mrs. Chapman folded her arms across her chest. “If this man will show me to the kitchens. No telling what state they’re in. And I’ll fetch my basket from the coach. I had the innkeeper stock it this morning.”

The parlor was in better shape than the front hall, appearing only to suffer from the need for a good dusting. Heavy paintings coated with aged varnish covered the walls, narrow-nosed, be-ruffed ancestors glaring from the canvases.

“It isn’t too bad.” Sophie tried to put a bright face on things. “A little attention and it will be a fine house again.”

“It feels like an anchor roped to my boots.” The captain dropped his hat on the sofa and went to the south-facing windows. He jerked the heavy drapes apart. Clouds of dust swirled out, and he coughed, putting his forearm over his mouth and squinting. Beyond the fly-specked windowpanes, a furlong away, the level ground ceased, and far in the distance, the sky met the sea. “At least the view is decent.”

“It will be even better from the upper floors.” From what Sophie could ascertain, there were at least three stories to the manor house and probably rooms under the eaves. Not as large as the Haverly estate house, but still sizeable.

“That must be an abrupt cliff. I wonder if it’s stable and how far it is to the water below. I’m surprised there isn’t a hedge or fence to mark the edge.” The captain clasped his hands behind his back and stared out to sea.

“It’s near fifty feet high in some places, sir.” Grayson stood in the doorway. “There’s a staircase that goes down to the water, and a bit of beach when the tide’s out. There was a hedge once upon a time, but the old earl had us uproot it. He thought it cut off too much of the view from the lower floor here.” He crushed his hat in his hands. “Your housekeeper is near destroying the kitchen, sir, but she says she’ll have tea ready soon. There’s another wagon approaching up the drive. Are you expecting more folks?”

“That will be the baggage wagon. See what you can do to help with the unloading. Bring everything into the upstairs hall, and we’ll sort it later.” The captain sounded tired and resigned.

A frown crinkled the steward’s brow, but he bowed and disappeared. Almost immediately he was back.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but that’s no baggage wagon coming. It’s a coach. We haven’t had visitors for weeks, and now folks coming all at once.” He inclined his head toward the door. “Shall I send them away?”

“Just what I need.” The captain followed Grayson. The front door creaked and complained.

Mamie eased open the drapes to look out onto the front lawn. “How long will we stay?”

Sophie had the urge to wrap her hair in a kerchief, grab a mop and bucket, and get to work. The house might be neglected, but the bones were good. A little effort would bring it back, she was sure. “I think the captain feels like he’s fallen out of his boat and into the ocean. Perhaps we could bide here for a few days, until he finds his feet?”

Mamie nodded. “That would be nice.”

“I wonder if the captain has any idea what it takes to run an estate.”

“He can run a ship. Those skills will aid him now.” Mamie leaned toward the window glass.

“Perhaps we can be of some help to him, to say thank you for bringing us south. We’re not unused to doing the odd domestic chore, are we, pet?” Sophie could name five things right now that needed doing sooner rather than later. Hiring competent staff and a thorough audit of the estate accounts topped the list. She smiled. If Marcus’s friends, the Whitelocks, were here, Diana would be writing out lists upon lists. And if Marcus and Charlotte were here, Charlotte would be searching through books on household management and design to plot her attack on the manor.

Sophie recognized the strengths of their particular methods, but she tended to rely more on instinct when it came to running a house. Of course, Primrose Cottage was much smaller than Haverly or White Haven or Gateshead.

“That’s very like you, dear. To want to help. You’re always pitching in somewhere. I don’t think it will hurt us to stay a few days. After all, I wanted to see the ocean again, and here it is in all its glory.” Mamie gestured to the blue water reflecting sunshine in a million points of light.

Sophie joined Mamie at the front windows. A yellow coach, shabby and travel worn, with mismatched horses neared the curve around the fountain. A mail coach. Perhaps someone had sent a letter or parcel to the estate.

The carriage stopped, a swirl of grit whirling up from around the wheels, and the driver leapt from his perch. He yanked open the door. A girl, almost a young woman, alighted, a pensive expression on her face. The wind fluttered the ribbons of her bonnet and the sleeves of her spencer. She had barely touched ground when another girl, younger, shorter, jumped down. Hatless, her hair blazed red in the sunshine. Finally, a smaller face peered from the doorway of the carriage. A little girl of maybe five summers with a cluster of chocolate curls about her head. The eldest young woman reached for the child and swung her to the ground, smoothing her hair. The child studied the house, tugging on her earlobe as she took in her surroundings.

“Well, that’s no letter or parcel.”

Captain Wyvern stood