The Earl's Honorable Intentions (6 page)

Gavin doubted anything could accomplish that, but he strove not to concede defeat too soon. “By all means, speak. If anyone can devise a solution, it might be the incomparable Miss Fletcher.”

“Must you mock me, sir?” She lowered her gaze. “You may not think well of me, but I have endeavored to do my best for your family since I came to Edgecombe.”

He had never expected to hear such an injured tone in the voice of his son’s cool, capable governess. She tensed, as if preparing to spring up and hurry away. If she did, Gavin feared she might never come back.

His hand shot out to clasp hers. “I did not mean to mock you, Miss Fletcher. In the past, I may not have valued your service as highly as you deserved, but I am beginning to see my error.”

Another thought occurred to him. Though discretion urged him to keep it to himself, he felt compelled to offer Miss Fletcher a token of atonement. “Perhaps I was a trifle jealous of...you.”

“Of me?” She still looked dubious of his sincerity.

“Of your pivotal place in my household.” Suddenly conscious of the impropriety of holding her hand, he released it. “Of how well you succeeded in a role where I never could.”

“I am certain you could have succeeded if you had tried harder.”

Could he? The possibility skewered Gavin’s conscience as surely as that shot had pierced his side. He hastened to change the subject. “Tell me about this idea of yours to pass the time. I would welcome any hope, however slight.”

“As you wish.” Miss Fletcher inhaled deeply, whether to compose herself or to master her annoyance with him, Gavin could not be certain. “I thought the time might not stretch so long ahead of you if it were divided into shorter units.”

She looked so deadly serious, Gavin could not resist rallying her a little. “I believe it already is. Those divisions are called hours and minutes. When I am obliged to lie about doing nothing, each minute seems as long as an hour and an hour as long as a day.”

“That is not what I meant,” Miss Fletcher replied tartly, though Gavin glimpsed a faint twinkle in her eyes. “I propose dividing the day into units of activity, none of more than an hour’s duration. Frequent changes of activity might make the time pass more quickly for you.”

“Like a schedule?” The notion intrigued him. “That does sound promising. What sort of activities do you propose to fill my time?”

“Necessary ones to begin with. Your meals. Time in the morning for grooming. Then...” Her eager words trailed off.

No doubt she had grasped the flaw in her fine plan. There would still be many blanks to fill in this schedule she proposed and very few activities suitable for a bedridden patient.

Just as Miss Fletcher’s hesitation stretched into an awkward pause, she was rescued by the sudden appearance of Edgecombe’s elderly butler. “The newspapers, my lord.”

News!
Gavin’s spirits bounded. No one at Edgecombe could tell him more than that the Allies had been victorious at Waterloo and Wellington was pursuing Bonaparte toward Paris.

Miss Fletcher sprang from her chair. “I will take those, Mr. Owens, and read them to his lordship if he wishes.”

“Very good, miss.” The butler handed the papers over with an air of deference, as if she were Gavin’s sister or...

“Thank you, Owens,” Gavin said. “I am most anxious for news from the Continent.”

“I trust the reports will be to your liking, my lord.” The butler bowed and withdrew.

Miss Fletcher resumed her seat. “Are you sure you want to hear all this? I am afraid the news may only upset you and hinder your recovery.”

“Of course I want to hear.” In fact, he could hardly wait. “Are there any reports from the French or Flemish papers?”

It occurred to him that perhaps he could put the coming fortnight to productive use after all, gathering information, laying plans and making preparations for his mission once he was fit to undertake it.

“After we are finished with these—” he gestured toward the newspapers “—I have thought of a number of activities with which we might fill that schedule of yours.”

* * *

The following day, Hannah once again scanned the newspapers for reports from the Continent. She was not certain how she felt about this activity. Reading the newspapers to his lordship certainly helped to pass the time. No other activity seemed to occupy his attention quite so well. Once they’d finished reading all of yesterday’s news, the earl had ordered her to fetch writing materials and compose a letter to the Foreign Office. Then he had asked her to fetch a map of the Continent and mount it on a board for him to examine.

Though she welcomed any diversion that would occupy him, his obsession with the war troubled her. She hoped he did not plan on returning to active duty as soon as the doctor let him leave his bed.

But how could she stop him if he was determined to go?

“Here it is.” She focused on one particular news item. “A report from the French Chamber of Representatives when it sat six days ago.”

“Six days?” The earl plowed his fingers through his thick black hair. “Do you know how much the situation could have changed in that time? Is there nothing more current?”

“I will check, sir, if you will calm yourself. It does no good to fret about any of this. There is nothing you can do about it.”

The earl muttered something under his breath that sounded like “not yet.”

“Here is the latest news from London,” Hannah began to read. “There was a report current upon the Exchange yesterday morning that Bonaparte had surrendered himself into the hands of the Duke of Wellington at Compiègne
.
But no authentic advice of any such event was received by Ministers, though the fact is mentioned in the Brussels papers.”

As she read, Hannah lifted a silent prayer of thanks. “That is excellent news! If Bonaparte has surrendered, the war must be over for good.”

“
If
he has surrendered.” Lord Hawkehurst gave that first word the most doubtful emphasis. “I would not credit a rumor from the Exchange that assured me the sky is blue.”

“But the Brussels papers...” Hannah protested, wanting the report to be true quite as much as the earl seemed to wish it proven false.

“Even if the report is correct—” the earl drummed his fingers on the bedclothes “—that is no guarantee Bonaparte will not be sent into comfortable exile once again, long enough to lay plans for his next return to power. I cannot allow that to happen!”

His fingers ceased their drumming and clenched into a tight fist. “Week-old news and unsubstantiated rumors—I must have more accurate information! Has there been any reply from my letter to the Foreign Ministry?”

“Not yet.” Hannah spoke in a soothing tone she might have used with young Peter when he was upset. “But it has only been one day, and I daresay the Ministry has plenty of business to occupy it at the moment.”

Her words seemed to ease the worst of his agitation. The earl’s fingers unclenched, and he exhaled a deep, slow breath. “You are right, of course. Perhaps we will receive an answer on Monday. In the meantime, put a pin in the map at Compiègne
.
”

Hannah laid down the newspapers and did as he’d bidden her.

“Are you only following the doctor’s orders so you can recover enough health to return to your regiment?” Hard as she tried to keep her tone neutral, notes of challenge and accusation crept in.

The earl must have heard them, for he responded accordingly. “What if I am? I owe a duty to my country.”

“You have a duty to your
children.
” Hannah wanted to throw up her hands in exasperation. “Or do you care nothing for them?”

Discretion warned her it was not her place to question her employer’s feelings toward his family. But beneath that insistent warning, a quiet insight dawned on her. How
could
his children mean more to him than his military career? He had lived with it night and day for years. But he had spent very little time with Peter, and he had never even
seen
the babies.

If she hoped to make the earl’s obligation to his children something more than an abstract concept, he would need to get to know them. What better time to do that than this fortnight while he recovered?

“Of course I care for them!” The earl bridled. Clearly her question made him defensive. “They are my children, after all. Besides, I know what it is like to grow up without a mother.”

He did? Hannah’s gaze flitted toward the portrait above the mantel, which showed a dark-haired young woman dressed in an elaborate brocade gown of the past century. She had never thought to inquire how long ago the previous countess had died. History seemed to be repeating itself at Edgecombe.

“I am relieved to hear that you appreciate your paternal responsibilities, sir. For the children’s sake, I urge you to give up any idea of returning to your regiment. It is clear General Wellington will vanquish Bonaparte. And surely the Allies will have learned their lesson about the folly of leaving such a man at liberty. Let others deal with him.
He
is not your responsibility, but your children are. You cannot risk your life while they need you.”

Lord Hawkehurst flinched at her words as if each one had dealt him a blow. “I appreciate your concern for my children, Miss Fletcher, but you must understand that I cannot rest until I am
certain
there is no possible way Napoleon Bonaparte will ever return to power. I made a vow to a dying comrade, and I must honor it.”

A dying vow? Hannah folded the newspaper with trembling fingers. How could she ask his lordship to abandon such a sacred promise when she had made a vow of her own—one that ran contrary to his?

Chapter Five

H
ad he managed to get through to Miss Fletcher at last?

Gavin marked the change that came over her face when he’d mentioned his vow to Molesworth. The resolute thrust of her chin faltered, and the challenging flash of silver in her blue-gray eyes muted. Had she assumed his determination to return to duty was only a headstrong whim? A love of war? Perhaps a selfish effort to avoid his parental responsibilities?

Much as he resented her doubts, Gavin could not entirely suppress his own. And they sickened him.

While he had been fretting about having nothing to do, he could have been getting to know his young son at last. Perhaps even comforting the boy after the death of his mother. Not that he had any idea where to begin. Miss Fletcher would be better suited to
that
task, yet he had robbed the poor little fellow of his governess just when he needed her most.

Gavin wished he could blame his thoughtlessness on the tremendous upheaval in his life. He had been wounded in a great battle, lost his wife and closest friend and became a father to two more children all in a matter of days. It was no excuse for thinking so little about his children.

“Major Molesworth,” Miss Fletcher murmured. “Was he the comrade to whom you made your vow?”

Gavin’s first impulse was to wonder how she knew. Then he remembered her saying he had called out for his friend.

“I take it you were close comrades.” Miss Fletcher seemed to forget he had refused to answer her earlier question about his friend.

Somehow he could not refuse her this time. “The closest. We met at school when we were only little shavers. He was deadly homesick at first.”

“But you were not?” Miss Fletcher’s question pursued Gavin as he sank into his memories.

He shook his head. “I got on much better at school than at home. I was not terribly studious, but I did well at games and got on well enough with the masters and the other boys. I looked out for Molesworth until he settled in, fought some bigger lads who tried to bully him. Over time he became more like my brother than...When I purchased my commission in the cavalry, he followed my lead and we rose through the ranks together.”

“It must have been very hard for you to lose him.” The sympathy in Miss Fletcher’s voice surprised Gavin. “It would grieve me to the heart to lose any of my dear friends from school, even though we have not set eyes on each other for years.”

The woman had friends and a past life of which he knew nothing. Somehow that came as a revelation to Gavin.

“I am not certain I have taken it all in yet. Part of me wants to believe it was a terrible mistake. I know he is gone. I watched him die. Every time I think of him, I am reminded that it should never have happened. We came through that long, blood-drenched slog up the Peninsula without a scratch, and we beat Boney once.” Without realizing it, his voice rose as he spoke until his final words rolled like thunder. Hot anger was easier for him to accept than the chill void of loss. “That should have been an end to it!”

Gavin expected Miss Fletcher to shrink from his outburst as Clarissa would have. Instead, when he shot her a guilty glance, he found himself caught in a gaze of understanding and compassion.

Surely when he explained it all, she would understand why this meant so much to him and why even his paternal responsibilities would have to wait until he had seen his mission through. “If only Bonaparte had been dealt with as he deserved, a year ago, there would never have been this bloody postscript. Molesworth would have lived to a ripe old age, surrounded by his children and grandchildren.”

“Did he have a family?” Miss Fletcher sounded almost as if she mourned his fallen friend.

“No.” The word gusted out of him like a sigh. “There was one young lady who caught his fancy during the peace celebrations. But he did not want to propose to her until he was certain the war was over for good. Now he will never get that opportunity.”

“That is a tragic misfortune,” the governess mused. “But even if Bonaparte is made to pay for his actions, it will not bring back your friend.”

“I know that,” Gavin insisted, though a small, irrational part of him wanted to believe otherwise. “But it will prevent others like him from losing
their
lives in another repetition of this wretched war. And perhaps the soul of my friend will truly rest in peace. Can you not understand the importance of such a vow, Miss Fletcher, and why I cannot rest until I have done everything in my power to fulfill it?”

“I understand better than you may imagine, sir.” The lady looked so deep into his eyes, Gavin had the uncomfortable feeling she could see straight into his heart. “You see, I made a vow much like that to your wife not long before she died. I promised her I would watch over your children and do everything in my power to protect them.”

Somehow, Miss Fletcher’s mention of her promise to his wife brought home to him the reality that Clarissa was truly gone. In the six years of their marriage he had spent far less time in her company than he had away on some distant battlefield. He’d grown accustomed to her absence, which made it difficult to believe that she was not still going about her life elsewhere. Now he grasped the truth that her life was over, just like his friend’s, far too soon.

Her brief span of years had not been as happy as they might have been. That was his fault. He had hoped to make it up to her once the war was over. But would he have been able to? Or would it have been another dismal failure?

“I beg your pardon, sir.” Miss Fletcher’s words pierced Gavin’s bemusement. “Did you hear what I said?”

“You mentioned a vow you made to watch out for the children.” He was tempted to resent Clarissa entrusting their children’s welfare to a paid governess when they had him. It showed whose capability and caring she trusted more. But how could he blame her? He was the first to admit his lack of experience with children, while Miss Fletcher had amply demonstrated her concern for them.

“Is that why you sat up with me while I was unconscious?” he asked. “And why you agreed to keep me company while I am bedridden? For the children’s sake?”

“Of course, sir,” she answered with only the briefest hesitation. “Why else?”

Why else, indeed? Gavin was not certain why her answer came as something of a disappointment. Surely he knew better than to think the lady cared about
his
well-being for his own sake. But she took her vow to Clarissa seriously. If she believed her worst enemy was essential to the welfare of his children, she would do everything in her power to safeguard that person. Gavin supposed he must admire that depth of dedication.

“I do not want your children to grow up without a mother
or
a father,” Miss Fletcher continued with a vague air of unease, as if the seat of her chair had grown too warm for comfort. “That is why I wish you would give up any thought of placing yourself in danger by returning to the Continent.”

What she proposed made sense. Gavin could not deny it entirely.

And yet...the sting of knowing she only tolerated his company for the children’s sake stirred his instinct to oppose her. “Would you have me abandon
my
solemn promise to my friend without a second thought or even an attempt to fulfill it?”

“I am certain if Major Molesworth was as true a friend as you say—”

“He was my friend without a doubt,” Gavin interrupted her sharply. “If I had asked the same of him, he would not have hesitated.”

Miss Fletcher refused to back down. “That is because he had no family to consider. I feel certain he would not want to place this vow, worthy as it is, above the well-being of your children. Especially when there are others who can accomplish the task with greater ease and less risk.”

“What would
you
say if I told you to forget your promise to my wife?” Gavin sensed a weakness in her position and sought to exploit it. “After all, I am the children’s father, and I am home now. I can take responsibility for them.”

Miss Fletcher sprang from her chair. “That is different!”

“Is it?” Gavin demanded.

“Entirely.”

“Why?” he asked. “Because you do not trust me to care for my children as well as you can?”

“No,” Miss Fletcher responded too readily, without giving herself time to consider.

But the moment the word left her mouth, it was clear she did not believe it any more than he did.

* * *

Oh, that vexing man! No one had ever ruffled Hannah’s composure as much as the Earl of Hawkehurst. That thought dogged her footsteps the next afternoon as she hurried down to the Millers’ cottage while his lordship took a scheduled nap, to which he strenuously objected.

A short while later she returned to Edgecombe, bearing a warm, sweet-smelling little bundle.

“I must admit,” she murmured to the sleeping baby. “Over the past few days, my opinion of your father has improved a great deal. He has a number of qualities one must admire—courage, determination, protectiveness, honor. He is willing to admit his mistakes, sometimes too quickly I think. He can even laugh at himself, which I never expected. When you are my age, you will realize it is an underappreciated virtue.”

Baby Alice stirred in her sleep and gave a soft coo that imbedded itself deep in Hannah’s heart.

“But why can he not see what a terrible mistake he is planning to commit?” She shook her head, torn between perplexity and exasperation. “I can understand wanting to keep his promise to his friend. Who would not want the man responsible for so much bloodshed to be prevented from waging war ever again? But that is a task for other hands, and I am certain they will accomplish it.”

The baby continued to sleep, her peace undisturbed by the knowledge of her father’s plans. She was still too young to realize she
had
a father, but Hannah hoped to lay the foundation for that precious knowledge today.

“If your papa puts duty to his dead comrade ahead of his living children, I may be the only one who can raise you and your brothers the way your dear mama would wish. Do you suppose he trusts me with your upbringing as much as I trust the Duke of Wellington to bring General Bonaparte to justice?”

The possibility kindled a warm glow in Hannah’s heart.

“Or am I fooling myself?” she muttered. “More likely it is his faith in his own invincibility that blinds him to the possible consequences of his plans. That is why I need your help, little one. I believe the better your papa comes to know you and your brothers, the less inclined he will be to risk your future by chasing off after Napoleon Bonaparte.”

Was she taking a risk now, Hannah wondered, with the welfare of her precious little goddaughter? Surely not! Lord Hawkehurst might not have been the most attentive family man, but he would never allow any harm to come to a helpless child.

“I hope you will do your part,” she whispered to baby Alice as they approached the earl’s bedchamber. “Just stay asleep and look sweet and endearing. Within half an hour, you will steal his heart entirely.”

She brushed a soft kiss on the baby’s tiny nose by way of reassurance, then pushed open the door and slipped into the earl’s room.

“Thank heaven you are back,” he greeted her with a mixture of relief and annoyance. “You must omit this cursed rest time from my schedule. I am not tired in the least, only bored witless. It would be better to keep me well occupied through the day so I may be able to sleep at night.”

The words came out in a rush as though he had been rehearsing them for some time and could not wait another moment to speak. Once he’d had his say, the earl took notice of her at last.

“What’s that you’re carrying?” A note of unease in his voice suggested he already guessed.

“This is your daughter.” Hannah approached his bedside. “I’m sure you have wanted to meet her, and you seem well enough to tolerate a little visit.”

She took her accustomed seat and held the child up so her father could get a good look. “Your lordship, may I present Alice Clarissa Beatrice Romney. Is she not the most exquisite little lady?”

The earl gazed at his tiny daughter with an air of gentle yearning tempered with baffling wariness.

“She is so tiny,” he breathed as if terrified the sound of his voice might wake the child. “Peter was nearly weaned when I first saw him, yet I was still afraid he might break if I held him the wrong way.”

Hannah’s lips relaxed into a tolerant smile. There was something strangely endearing about such a powerful man being frightened by a small, defenseless child. “But your son did not break, did he?”

She meant to reassure him, but instead the earl grimaced. “Perhaps not, but he did wail fit to burst my eardrums. Hard to believe such a tiny creature could be capable of producing such deafening noise.”

He peered toward his infant daughter, clearly expecting her to explode into violent bawling at any moment. “I appreciate the thought, Miss Fletcher, but do you reckon it is wise to keep the child away from her wet nurse at such a young age? She might wake up hungry.”

Did he think that had not occurred to her? Hannah suppressed a flare of irritation with Lord Hawkehurst. There was too much at stake for her to indulge such feelings.

“I made certain Alice fed fully just before I brought her here. I doubt she will stir at all for quite some time, let alone wake hungry. Babies sleep a great deal at this age, you know.”

Perhaps the earl did not know about the habits of infants. By the sound of it, he’d had no younger brothers or sisters. If he had gone straight from school to war, he might never have seen a very young child up close before his elder son. Hannah could picture his reaction to Peter’s loud crying. Had that incident sown the seeds of awkwardness between father and son that persisted to this day? Hannah resolved to tackle that problem once she had properly introduced the babies.

Her assurance that little Alice was likely to sleep peacefully seemed to ease his lordship’s mind. He regarded the child with greater interest and less worry.

“What a dainty little creature she is.” A glimmer of paternal pride lit his dark eyes. “Doesn’t take after me in the least. For her sake, I hope she will grow up to resemble her mother.”