The Indebted Earl

when she didn’t speak, shook her head. “I think it would be best if it was taken to Sophie’s room. She’ll want to look through it in private.” Her smile was kind. “You can see to the chore when we head upstairs for bed.”
Lady Sophia nodded. She had subsided onto the arm of the settee next to Lady Richardson, and the two held hands, as if drawing strength from one another. The younger woman’s face was as pale as a topgallant in the moonlight, and he had the oddest urge to put his arms around her and shield her from pain. Which was ridiculous. He had no notion how to comfort a woman, and as he was the cause of her pain, she would surely reject any solace he might offer.
He stood before the fireplace, his back to the mantel, his hands clasped behind him. “I must ask, is there anything that you, Lady Sophia and Lady Richardson, need? Any way that I may be of service to you?” He wouldn’t mention the promise Rich had begged of him, as he didn’t want them to think he inquired only out of duty. He would have asked in any case. He owed them that much and more.
The ladies looked at each other, and Lady Sophia shook her head slightly.
Lady Richardson nodded. “Captain Wyvern, that is most kind of you, but we need nothing.” She reached into a small basket at her side and withdrew yarn and needles. “We are most content here at Primrose.”
“Perhaps your finances? I am a wealthy man. Captains are given the lion’s share of any prizes taken at sea, and the Dogged was a successful hunter. Is there someone in charge of your finances to whom I might speak?” It was bad manners to speak of money, but for Rich’s sake, he must.
Lady Sophia’s back stiffened. “Captain, if we needed any help in that quarter, my brother, the Duke of Haverly, is more than capable of assisting us.”
Her voice could have come straight from the North Sea. The spark of indignation in her eyes relieved his spirit. That independent streak would be of good use to her in the coming months.
“I mean no offense.” He wished there was range in the drawing room to pace. This room with all its feminine furnishings hemmed him in as neatly as the gunwales of a rowboat. If only he could stride the quarterdeck of the Dogged with space to think and breathe. “I feel it my duty to aid you in whatever way I can. I am indebted to Major Richardson and to you.” He spread his hands.
“How are you indebted to us?” Lady Sophia asked, still stiff. “You owe us nothing. Rich absolved you of debt, and we can only do the same.”
Heat crept up above his collar, and he shifted his weight. Dare he say that her letters had been the only bright spots in many months of sea duty? That her epistles had kept him sane while in the hospital? How much he had looked forward to hearing even the bits that Rich chose to share in the wardroom?
“You have offered hospitality and welcome where I didn’t expect it. Though from your letters, I should have.”
“My letters?” Her delicate brows rose, accentuating the heart shape of her face.
“Lady Sophia, I read your letters to Rich … Major Richardson … when he could not read them for himself. And before that, he shared from them occasionally aboard ship. He described you as warm and generous, willing to extend grace and constantly caring for others.” He stopped, lest he give too much away. “I do not think the major’s assessments were wrong.”
Lady Richardson nodded, reaching over to pat Lady Sophia’s hand. “That describes you beautifully, dear. A treasure.”
“It’s you who are the treasure, sweet Mamie. You find good in everybody.” Lady Sophia squeezed Mamie’s hand and rose from the arm of the settee to take a seat in a chair before the fire.
Charles cleared his throat, trying to nudge the topic back to his aiding the two women. “Surely there is some way I might serve you?” How could he fulfill his promise to Rich to look after them if they wouldn’t take anything he had to offer? How could he do right by the woman whose letters had meant so much, who had sacrificed for her country as surely as her betrothed had, if she turned aside his efforts?
Late that night, as he lay awake in Rich’s house, having eaten at Rich’s table and conversed with Rich’s mother and fiancée, he chided himself. What had he thought would happen? That he would roll up in his carriage, dispense condolences and cash, and then depart with a clear conscience, debt discharged?
He reached for a small object on the bedside table. Even if that had been true, he had foregone a clear conscience in one impulsive moment tonight. Before he had carried Rich’s sea chest to Lady Sophia’s room, he’d opened it and removed one item.
The rain had ceased, and before he’d climbed into bed, he’d opened the drapes. He held up the item now, turning it so the moonlight fell full upon it.
The miniature of Sophie that had been Rich’s most treasured possession.
He’d been wrong to take it. It didn’t belong to him. He’d known it the moment he’d removed it from the chest. The stain on his integrity robbed him of sleep. He should return it to her, though he couldn’t imagine how without causing much embarrassment.
He could just leave it on the bedside table and let it be a mystery as to how it had gotten there. But that was the coward’s way out. And for all his faults, he was no coward.
Tomorrow he would front Lady Sophia, beg her pardon and forgiveness once more, and hand her the painting. He would then depart and never see Lady Sophia again.
He was a fool. His thoughts chased one another, doubling back and circling, but always returning