The Earl's Honorable Intentions (3 page)

“Now that you have inquired about the military situation, perhaps you would care to know how your children are faring.” She sank back down onto the chair beside his lordship’s bed, her spine stiff as a poker.

“My
children.
” The earl lingered over that word as if it referred to something strange and possibly frightening. “Your letter arrived just as my regiment was summoned from Nivelle. We were obliged to ride through the night to Waterloo. I did not have an opportunity to read your message until before the battle. By then it was too late to...”

His voice trailed off, and for the next few moments he concentrated on spooning the broth into his mouth as if his life depended on it.

Did he expect some response from her? Hannah sat stubbornly mute. Clearly she had been wrong to assume Lord Hawkehurst had ignored her summons to his wife’s deathbed. Still she could not bring herself to say anything to assuage his conscience. It was up to God to forgive him, not her.

Finally his lordship broke the brittle silence that had descended between them. “I tucked your letter into my sabretache before the charge. It must still be there.”

Must he bring
everything
back to military subjects? Hannah pressed her lips tightly together to keep from saying something she might regret. No matter what her opinion of the man, she must try not to aggravate the friction between them or he might decide to engage a more congenial governess for his children.

“Twins.” The spoon in his hand trembled again. Had he overtaxed his strength already? “A boy and a girl, I believe you wrote.”

“That is correct, sir. Her ladyship asked to have them christened Alice and Arthur. In honor of her late mother and His Grace the Duke of Wellington.” A lump rose in Hannah’s throat as she recalled the vicar performing the sacrament at the bedside of the children’s dying mother.

When she managed to get her voice under control, she added, “Her ladyship asked me to stand as their godmother.”

Though she was able to keep her voice from quavering, Hannah could not prevent a note of defiance from creeping into her tone. Being a godparent conferred certain obligations and rights regarding the child’s upbringing, especially if one or both parents were deceased. It was an honor usually bestowed on a relative or close friend of the family. Among the nobility, it was common to ask someone of higher rank. Certainly not a mere governess.

“Did she, indeed?” There could be no mistaking the earl’s disapproval as he scowled down at his beef tea. “I suppose there was no one more suitable at hand. How
have
the little ones been faring? Are they well?”

Hannah gave a stiff nod. “As well as can be expected, I believe. I placed them with wet nurses. They seem to be thriving.”

“Very good. And Lord Edgecombe?”

“Your son is well enough in body, sir, but very much affected by the loss of his dear mother, as you may imagine.”

The earl would have to
imagine
his young son’s feelings, for Hannah was under no illusion that he shared them. From the moment he regained consciousness, Lord Hawkehurst had shown far more interest in whether Bonaparte lived than the fact that his wife had died.

“Indeed.” His lordship’s voice sounded suddenly weary. His hand sank onto the bedcovers, the spoon lightly grasped between his fingers. “I have had enough of this beef tea. Kindly take it away.”

Hannah doubted he’d managed to feed himself as much as he might have been able to eat if he’d accepted her help.

“Is there anything else I can fetch or do for you, sir?” she asked as she retrieved the bowl and spoon. “A clean nightshirt?”

The instant she asked the question, Hannah wished she could take it back. She had not been able to resist the urge to remind Lord Hawkehurst that if he’d accepted her help, he might not have ended up with a damp, stained garment. As a consequence, she had left herself open to a most awkward possibility. If his lordship agreed to her suggestion, she would either have to go wake the footman or assist the earl herself.

“That will not be necessary,” he replied, to her vast relief. “It can wait until morning. Then I will want a footman to help me wash and shave.”

“I will make the arrangements, sir.” Hannah returned to the bed to help him lie down again, but he warned her away with a stern look.

With obvious effort, he inched down in the bed until he lay nearly flat again. By the time he was settled, his eyelids were beginning to droop.

When Hannah resumed her accustomed place beside his bed, he cast her an exasperated glance. “I have no intention of dying, Miss Fletcher, so there is no need for you to watch over me. Go to your own bed and get a proper sleep. You look as if you could use it.”

By the time the earl finished speaking, his eyes were closed.

“I will, sir.” Hannah did not budge from the chair. “If you insist.”

As she expected, no such insistence came. The earl’s fierce features gradually relaxed and his breath soon came in slow, deep waves.

An answering sigh escaped Hannah’s lips. In part it expressed her relief and gratitude that Lord Hawkehurst seemed likely to live. But it also contained a note of frustration. Now that he was conscious, she feared the earl’s stubborn independence might be the greatest obstacle to his recovery.

* * *

Gavin could not remember closing his eyes. But when he opened them again the room was bathed in muted red-gold light. This waking did not disorient him as the last one had. He recalled his late-night conversation with his son’s governess and his pitiful effort to feed himself.

“Good morning, sir.” Hannah Fletcher’s greeting made him start, and that provoked a sharp twinge in his wounded side.

Had she deliberately tried to startle him in retaliation for catching her sleeping last night? “What are you still doing here, Miss Fletcher? I thought I ordered you to bed.”

“You did mention it, sir.” She tried to smother a yawn but failed. “I asked if you insisted, but you did not.”

Gavin scowled. As colonel of a regiment, he was accustomed to being readily obeyed. “I am not in the habit of giving orders I do not insist upon. I expect you know that. So why did you choose to ignore me?”

“As I said, sir—”

He did not need to hear her excuse again. “From now on, you may take my insistence for granted. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, sir.” Her answer sounded meek enough, but a mutinous tilt of her chin suggested otherwise.

If he was not careful, Miss Hannah Fletcher might soon be running his household and him along with it, just the way she had with his wife. An unexpected pang of sympathy for Clarissa stung his heart. Poor creature, overborne by two strong-willed people with very different ideas.

“Good.” Gavin wished he could stand. It was difficult to exert the proper authority while he lay flat on his back and had to look up at Miss Fletcher. Not to mention that the woman had recently seen him at his most helpless. It rankled his pride and inflamed his temper.

As this point in a conversation with him, any of his junior officers would have had the good sense to hold their tongues and make themselves scarce at the earliest opportunity. It seemed his son’s governess had less discretion than they...or perhaps more courage.

“I can assure your lordship it was never my intention to disregard your orders. When you went to sleep so quickly, I was afraid you might have fallen unconscious again. I felt it would be unwise to leave you alone in case you took a turn for the worse.”

So she had disobeyed him for his own good? It made Gavin feel rather a fool for speaking so sharply to her. So did the vague memory of having been tenderly cared for while he was incapacitated.

“What
other
time?” He did not recall any waking before last night.

“The night before last. Or was it two?” Clearly exhaustion had muddled Miss Fletcher’s memory. Gavin had seen the effect often during the grueling Peninsular campaign. “You began speaking quite clearly, as if you were awake. But you did not appear to know where you were. You addressed someone named...Molsely? Molesby?”

“Molesworth.” The name burst from Gavin’s lips before he could contain it.

“That’s right.” Miss Fetcher rubbed her eyes. It made Gavin weary just to look at her. “You kept telling him not to go. You said the two of you must put a stop to Bonaparte.”

Her words revived a wrenching memory. If she had struck him hard on his injured side, Gavin doubted it could have hurt worse. But it was worth the pain to be reminded of his vow and his mission. Valuable time had already been lost while he’d lain there useless.

“If I might ask, sir,” she continued, “who is Mr. Molesworth?”

“You may
not
ask!” Gavin snapped. “And he is...
was
Major Molesworth.”

Before the impertinent creature had the audacity to quiz him further, he seized command of the situation. “Enough of this. I am in full possession of my faculties now and I want you to summon a footman to help me make myself presentable.”

He wished his aide-de-camp had been able to accompany him back from Waterloo. Then he would never have been placed in the awkward position of being tended to by Miss Fletcher. But the lad had sustained wounds of his own, so Gavin had insisted he stay behind to recover.

In case Miss Fletcher should be in any doubt about whether he meant to be obeyed, he added, “I insist upon it.”

“Yes, sir.” The governess shot to her feet, her spine stiff and straight as a ramrod. Gavin half expected her to snap a mocking salute. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“As a matter of fact, there will. I want breakfast ordered. Not gruel or broth or jelly, but a substantial meal that will put some strength back in me—eggs and bread and meat.”

Miss Fletcher’s lips, which had looked so soft and innocent while she slept, were now tightened in a frown of disapproval. “Are you certain that will be wise, sir?”

“It is not for you to question the wisdom of my instructions, Miss Fletcher, only to carry them out at once. I also want the newspapers fetched so I can find out how the situation in Europe stands.”

She did not agree with that, either. Though she managed to hold her tongue, Miss Fletcher’s countenance expressed her opinion most eloquently.

“Very well, sir.” She started for the door.

“One more thing,” he called after her.

She came to an abrupt halt.

“And what might that be, your lordship?” she inquired through clenched teeth.

“After you have carried out my other instructions, get to bed and do not stir from it for at least eight hours. Or better yet, ten. I reckon you look worse for this whole ordeal than I do.”

She stalked away without another word—at least none he was meant to hear.

But as she withdrew from the room, Gavin thought he overheard her mutter, “That’s because you have not looked in a mirror yet.”

For reasons he could not fathom, her insult made him break into a foolish grin.

Chapter Three

T
hat man!

The moment Hannah woke, she began to fume again. The arrogance of him, ordering her off to bed in that domineering manner! As the earl’s employee, she was paid to do his bidding in her position as governess. That did not give him control over every aspect of her life. How much she slept or ate was her own business, not his.

She also chafed at his rudeness in pointing out how haggard she looked. Would it have pained him to spare her a word of thanks for watching over him night after night?

Thoughts like those had run through her head before she lay down to snatch a brief nap, making her fear they would prevent her from sleeping a wink. Badly as she needed the rest, part of her wanted to defy Lord Hawkehurst by remaining awake. But the moment her head touched the pillow, she had fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep from which she did not stir for...

Hannah glanced at her clock.
Eight
hours!

She sprang from her bed as if slumber were a crime. She could not recall sleeping so long in years. Perhaps the earl had been right after all, much as it pained her to admit it. Even after eight long hours, she still felt tired, though not so bone-weary. If his lordship had not commanded her to sleep so long, she would have felt unbearably self-indulgent. Instead she was able to place the responsibility squarely on his broad shoulders.

The thought of being beholden to him for
anything
irritated her.

Might he feel the same way about being tended to by her during the past few nights? Hannah resented the possibility that they might have something in common.

Now that she was awake, she must attend to the duties she had neglected for the past eight hours. As she donned fresh clothes, then plaited and pinned her hair in its usual plain, trouble-free style, Hannah chided herself for her preoccupation with the earl.

She tried not to dwell on her reflection in the looking glass, but she could not ignore her pasty complexion, hollow cheeks and the dark shadows under her eyes. Unchivalrous as his remark might have been, the earl had not exaggerated when he had claimed she looked worse than he did. It was vastly unfair that a man with a gaunt face, disheveled hair and a bristle of dark whiskers on his jaw could still appear ruggedly handsome, while a few late nights had left her looking a perfect wreck.

Once she had made herself presentable, Hannah considered going to check on his lordship. Who knew how badly he might have set back his recovery by overeating or fretting himself about the war news? She did not relish the prospect of another confrontation with the earl, but she had made his dying wife a promise and she intended to keep it.

She was about to head toward the sick room when a plaintive wail rose from the nursery, which adjoined her bed chamber. “Why can I not see Miss Hannah? Has she gone away like Mama? If she has, I want to go, too!”

As the nursery maid tried to quiet little Lord Edgecombe, Hannah flew in the direction of the ruckus. The earl was old enough to manage for himself, and her first responsibility was to the children. His lordship’s well-being only concerned her so far as it affected them.

“Here I am.” She stooped to catch the child, who had pelted toward her the instant she appeared. “You mustn’t fret anymore. Everything will be all right.”

Peter hurled himself into her embrace and buried his face against her shoulder, where he proceeded to weep his small heart out. It was all Hannah could do to keep from joining him. For days she had held back her grief, afraid it would prevent her from carrying out her duties. Now it threatened to engulf her.

“I am not going anywhere.” She stroked the child’s dark hair, which she suddenly realized was the very color of his father’s. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

Peter would never try any such thing, but what about his father? It occurred to Hannah that she should make an effort not to antagonize the earl. She would not put it past him to dismiss her if she disobliged him once too often. How would it affect the children if she were forced out of their lives—especially sensitive little Peter?

“I th-thought you went away!” the boy sobbed. “I d-didn’t see you all day.”

Holding him tight, Hannah backed toward the nearest chair and sank down on it. “I had some matters to see to, and I thought you would have such jolly times with Maisie and Matthew and Mr. Jennings that you wouldn’t miss me at all.”

Speaking in a soft, soothing voice, she rubbed Peter’s back and pressed her cheek against his hair. She found it difficult to show affection, except with children.

The child’s weeping eased to sniffles. “Couldn’t Papa look after those things now that he is home from the war? I heard Jane tell Edgar he was back.”

Hannah stifled an exasperated sigh. How often must she remind the maids and footmen that little pitchers had big ears? Lord Edgecombe was a clever child for his age; he took in more than people realized. What could she tell him about the earl? She did not want to make him worry that his father might soon join his mother in Heaven.

At the same time, she did not want her young pupil to wonder why his father had failed to look in on him and assume it was because the earl did not care. Hannah was far from certain if that might be true, though she prayed it was not.

“Your papa is very tired out from the war, and he must rest a good long while.” No doubt her excuse would sound ridiculous to anyone over the age of five, but her young pupil did not question Hannah. “Until then, I must take care of some matters for him the way I used to for your mama.”

She hoped her mention of the countess would not upset the boy just when he had grown calm. Clearly they could both use a diversion. “Would you like to go visit the babies and see if they have gotten any bigger since last time?”

A glance and a tilt of her head signaled the nursemaid to fetch a handkerchief. When the girl brought it, Hannah thanked her and set about wiping Peter’s eyes.

“Visit them now?” The child gave a doubtful frown. “But it is nearly time for tea.”

“We won’t stay long.” Hannah held the handkerchief for him to blow his nose. “And the fresh air may give us an appetite.”

Peter seemed prepared to accept the change in routine. “When will the babies get big enough to play with me?”

“Not for a while.” Hannah helped him on with his little blue jacket and cap. “But it will not be long until they begin to smile at you.”

She fetched her bonnet, then they headed off to a nearby tenant farm where little Alice had been sent to nurse. All the while Hannah told her young pupil of the changes he could expect to see in his brother and sister, how they would learn to hold up their heads, roll over, sit, crawl, stand and walk. By the time they neared the cottage, Peter was skipping along at her side, asking all sorts of questions.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Miller,” Hannah called to the farmer’s wife, who was removing washing from her clothesline. “I hope we are not disturbing you. We wanted to look in on the baby, if we may.”

“It’s no trouble,” the woman replied. “Go right on in. Our Bessie is rocking the wee one in her cradle. She does love to be rocked. A sweet-tempered lamb she is and growing prettier by the day.”

They went inside the clean, snug cottage, where a fair-haired girl only a little older than Peter was rocking the cradle and singing to the baby.

“That’s a nice song.” Peter gave the girl a shy smile. “What is your name?”

“Bessie, my lord.” The child scrambled up and bobbed a hasty curtsy. “That is...my name’s Elizabeth, but Ma only calls me that when I vex her.”

Peter laughed at that, causing poor Bessie to look even more flustered. Hannah could not help thinking what a pity it was that her young pupil was cut off from the local children by his rank. No wonder he was anxious for his baby brother and sister to grow up quickly into playmates for him.

“Would you like to hold Alice and say hello to her?” Hannah asked Peter as she scooped up the baby, who was beginning to fuss. “There, there, little one. Your big brother has come to visit you.”

She lifted the precious little creature to her shoulder for a moment and rubbed her back, inhaling her sweet, milky scent. Holding a contented baby must surely be one of the most satisfying pleasures in the world! A tide of tenderness rose in Hannah’s heart as she caressed the child’s downy cheek with her forefinger.

Wee Alice and her brothers were the closest thing she would ever have to children of her own, Hannah mused. Though her friend Marian Murray had recently wed and Rebecca Beaton was engaged, Hannah held no such hopes for herself. She had always been guarded in her dealings with other people, men especially. Even if she could have found one who would be interested in a penniless governess, she had let down too many people she cared about and lost them as a consequence. She dared not risk her heart on marriage. But she did regret missing the opportunity to become a mother.

“Miss Hannah.” Peter gave her skirt a tug. “I thought you said
I
could hold the baby.”

“Of course.” Hannah stirred from her maternal brooding. “I only wanted to get her settled first. Climb up in that chair and I will give her to you.”

Peter did as he was bid, then Hannah did as she had promised, though it cost her a pang to surrender the small, precious bundle to other arms. Even then, she hovered close, making certain Alice’s small head was supported and that she was in no danger of falling from her brother’s arms.

“You’re very pretty, Alice,” Peter informed his tiny sister with grave courtesy. “Your eyes are the same color as Mama’s. I wonder if you will look like her when you grow up.”

“She will be a fortunate girl if she does.” Hannah’s heart overflowed with love for both twins and their brother. She was relieved Peter had been able to speak about his mother without becoming upset. “You know, Alice and Arthur are too young to have any memories of your dear mama. When they get older, it will be up to you and me to tell them all about her.”

“Don’t forget Papa,” replied the boy. “He can tell them, too.”

“So he can.” Hannah strove to keep her tone from betraying any doubt. “How silly of me not to think of him.”

The earl’s children would need their father for so many things in the years to come, Hannah reminded herself. She must do everything in her power to make certain they did not lose him, too. Even if it meant standing up to him in a way no one else in his household was willing to do.

Alice seemed very content in the arms of her big brother. She didn’t fuss at all and soon drifted off to sleep.

“Shall we go visit Arthur, then head home for tea?” Hannah whispered, so as not to wake the baby.

Peter gave a solemn nod and let Hannah gently place his sister back in her cradle.

On the way to the Wilkeses’ cottage, Hannah found herself wondering if Lord Hawkehurst had spent the day resting quietly as he should. Their confrontation that morning made her fear he might not. What if he tried to get out of bed too soon and risked compounding his injury? If he did, it was no use hoping any of the other servants would try to stop him. None of them would dare to gainsay the earl’s commands, even if his stubborn independence might cost him his life. What it might cost her young charges, Hannah could not bear to think.

If only she could persuade him not to rush his recovery. But she was the last person he would listen to. Unlike his dear wife, he clearly considered her opinion of no value because she was only a woman and a governess.

“Are you feeling ill, Miss Hannah?” Peter’s question jolted her out of her thoughts.

“Ill?” She glanced down at the child. “Not at all. Only a little tired. What makes you ask?”

“The look on your face.” He twisted his own features in an imitation of hers—mouth tight and brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re not ill? Perhaps you should see the doctor.”

The doctor! Hannah felt the tension in her face ease. She smiled to reassure her anxious young pupil. “That is an excellent idea. I feel quite well but I reckon I should consult him to be certain.”

It was not for herself that she intended to consult Dr. Hodge. She was certain the physician would agree with her about Lord Hawkehurst. And his lordship might conceivably heed the doctor.

* * *

Gavin had not thought
anything
could make him pleased to see Miss Fletcher. But when she appeared that evening with Dr. Hodge, the earl was forced to admit he’d been wrong. Not that he had the slightest intention of telling her so.

Since their exasperating, yet strangely invigorating, exchange that morning, he had spent the rest of the day surrounded by obliging servants who deferred to him in every particular. They never presumed to disagree with anything he said. They readily carried out his orders to the letter. He could not recall when he had last spent such a tiresome day.

It did not help that the news from France was so uncertain. Waterloo had been hailed as a great triumph, yet Gavin knew the cost of that victory in human terms had been appalling...on both sides. What a terrible waste it had been—a terrible
needless
waste! If only the man responsible had been dealt with properly a year ago, all those men, including his friend, might still be alive and healthy now.

It was no good casting stones at others, Gavin admitted to himself. He was as much to blame as anyone. He was a peer of the realm, after all. He should have gone up to London and demanded Bonaparte be put somewhere he could be properly watched and prevented from returning to power.

Gavin could not let the same thing happen this time.

To be certain it would not, he needed reliable information. Since that appeared to be in short supply, the void was filled with rumors instead. He must find out what was going on, but he could not do that by lying in bed and reading newspapers that printed more fiction than fact!

The arrival of Dr. Hodge and Miss Fletcher provided a surprisingly welcome diversion from his anxious brooding.

“I was most relieved to hear that your lordship had regained consciousness.” The doctor laid down his satchel and reached for Gavin’s wrist.