The Indebted Earl Erica Vetsch (iphone ebook reader txt) 📖

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.

“I understand the bridal party will meet