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

anything about that letter or smuggling or anything else.”

Charles dropped the steward’s arm. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, with or without your help.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Sailing in here and demoting people when you don’t know the first thing about running an estate. Hiring outsiders and pushing people out of their jobs.” The cowed, bumbling steward act was gone. In its place, defiant anger. The true man at last.

“You’re finished. I want you off the estate tomorrow.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can. If you’re not out by noon tomorrow, I’ll have the bailiffs in. I’m sure you won’t starve. You’ll have all your ill-gotten gains to live on until you can find another position, though you won’t be getting a reference from me.”

“Gentlemen, is there a problem?” Reverend Dunhill’s voice cut through the darkness. “Tonight is supposed to be one of enjoyment and celebration, not confrontation.”

“He fired me. Thinks I’ve been helping the old earl smuggle goods into the country.” Grayson jabbed a finger under Charles’s nose.

“Is that so?” Dunhill stepped close. “I’m sure that can’t be true. Not of Grayson here, nor of the late earl.”

Charles held up the paper. “This says otherwise. I feel I’m being taken for a fool, but I assure you, that is not the case. Tomorrow, I consult the authorities. If the smuggling is still going on, it stops now.”

The preacher took the page, turning it to the light. His face grew grave, with deepening lines bracketing his mouth. “This is serious indeed. Halbert, you had no notion of this activity?”

“No. And if he says so, he’s a liar.”

“There’s no way,” Dunhill said, slowly, “to know when this note was written. It might have been years ago. Perhaps even meant for your grandfather. Smuggling happens, of course, but not here. I’m sure I would know of it.”

That gave Charles pause. Was it possible he had it wrong? Was the note older than it looked?

“Gentlemen”—Dunhill’s tone was both placating and parental—“I suggest we leave the topic for tonight. Don’t spoil the evening’s entertainment letting anyone know of the issue. We can sort it on the morrow, I’m sure.” He took Grayson’s arm, leading him away and talking into his ear with every step.

Charles balled his fists. He hated waiting, and he didn’t trust Grayson.

C

HAPTER

12

“DID YOU DANCE every single dance?” Thea burrowed under Sophie’s covers as the sun peeped over the horizon. “What did you eat? Did Penny flirt with all the boys? Did the captain dance too?”

Pelted with questions, Sophie grimaced, pulling the pillow over her head. “Do I know you?”

Thea was having none of it. “You promised, Sophie.” She pulled the pillow off.

Another little body climbed into bed, and Sophie cracked one eye to see Betsy in one of her new nightgowns and sporting Charles’s bicorn.

“Permission to come aboard?” Betsy clambered over Sophie and collapsed in giggles. “That’s what the captain says you have to say when you want to go on someone’s boat.”

“Good morning, lovelies.” Sophie sat up, stretching. For having such a short night’s sleep, she felt refreshed and ready for the day. She tickled Betsy and pulled Thea into a hug.

“Penny’s still asleep. I didn’t even hear her come in last night, though I tried to wait up.” Thea crossed her legs and leaned her elbows on her knees. “When did you come back?

“It was very late. And to answer your questions, I danced almost every dance, we ate all sorts of foods, Penny behaved very well, and the captain danced the first dance. Beyond that, he had business to attend to, and it was a good opportunity for him to meet some of the community leaders.”

“Was your dress the best?” Betsy asked.

Sophie could only see one of the girl’s eyes, the other being hidden by the forepeak of Charles’s hat. “There were many pretty dresses there. Madam Stipple must have sewn a lot of them, for I recognized some of the fabrics from our visit to her shop.” The variety and quantity of new gowns had caught Sophie’s attention. Did they have assemblies very often, or was this such a rare event that new dresses for most of the ladies in attendance were to be expected? The village certainly seemed better off than others she had passed through on their journey here.

A faint pounding came from downstairs. Who would knock on the front door at this hour?

“Girls, go back to your room and get dressed. Mrs. Chapman will have breakfast for you.” Sophie swung her feet over the side of the bed and grabbed her wrapper. Heading into her dressing room, she nearly tripped over Rich’s sea chest. She’d forgotten that she’d pulled it out to use as a step stool last night to reach the hatbox that held her evening fans and reticules.

With a shove, she sent it back along the wall. She really should go through his things one of these days.

Noises came from the adjoining dressing room, so she assumed Charles had heard the knocking too. With chilly fingers, she buttoned her day dress.

A tap sounded on Charles’s bedroom door, and Miles said, “Milord, there’s a bunch of men downstairs. They say they’re from the Revenue. They have a warrant.”

Sophie wrenched the connecting door open. “A warrant? What for?” She spoke around the hairpins clenched in her teeth, her arms high as she finished styling her hair.

Charles stood in the doorway of his dressing room, in breeches, with his shirt on but unbuttoned, his boots in his hand. She noted the muscled planes of his chest and the taut skin of his abdomen before she realized she was staring and averted her eyes.

“They wouldn’t tell me, milady. Said to fetch his lordship, or they’d be coming up to get him.” Miles shifted uneasily. “Looked like half the village was with them.”

Charles stomped into his boots and buttoned his shirt. “Tell them I’ll be down directly. I was going to