The Earl's Honorable Intentions (10 page)

Yet even as little Alice kept a powerful grip on his finger with her tiny hand and on his heart with her bright melting smile, Gavin could not ignore a pang of conscience. Surely it could not be right for him to feel so happy such a short time after the death of his wife. Clarissa had left these two small treasures as a final gift to him. What had he ever given her to deserve them?

He tried to push that troubling thought from his mind, but it clung with stubborn tenacity. Fortunately his daughter provided a much-needed distraction. In the middle of one enormous smile her features clenched and she gave a violent sneeze. It seemed to startle her for her eyes flew open again, wider than ever, and her lips formed a perfect circle.

This tickled Miss Fletcher’s fancy. She began to laugh in a free, hearty way Gavin could not resist. Soon they were both helpless with laughter, gasping for air, while the baby grinned at their foolishness. How soon would it be before Alice and Arthur learned to laugh? Gavin hoped he would be there to hear some of their first infant chuckles.

Meanwhile Miss Fletcher’s vigorous laughter seemed to tire her. She subsided against Gavin, her arm pressed against his and her head resting on his shoulder. A sensation of deep warmth spread through him, kindled by her nearness.

Before he had a chance to savor it, the lady tensed and pulled herself upright. “I beg your pardon, sir! I forgot myself for a moment.”

Gavin wanted to assure her that he did not mind having her so near—quite the opposite in fact. But he sensed that would be the wrong thing to say. Moreover, it was the wrong way to feel. He should be mourning his late wife, not thinking about how much he enjoyed the company of another woman.

“Think nothing of it, Miss Fletcher.” He sought to make excuses for both of them. “I expect you are exhausted with the hours you keep looking after the children and me. I cannot blame you for nodding off, even with my engaging little daughter to entertain us.”

Hannah Fletcher scrambled off the bed and backed away. “I must confess I am rather weary, though that is no reflection on your daughter’s company...or yours.”

Baby Alice seemed to sense the sudden tension between them. When Gavin glanced at her, she was no longer smiling. She waved her arms and made anxious little sounds as if to draw their attention back to her.

“I have been working you too hard.” Gavin bounced the baby a little in an effort to soothe her. “Making you dance attendance on me all hours of the day. I have been miserably selfish, depriving my son of his governess because I lack the wit to keep myself occupied.”

Recalling his eldest son brought him another pang of guilt. He had sworn he would not favor any of his children over the others, yet he had spent considerable time with the twins while ignoring young Peter.

He tried to make allowances for his behavior. Babies were so much easier to get on with. Bounce them, pull a face and they were content. It would take much more than that to win over his elder son, if it was even possible after all this time. That did not excuse him from trying. Keeping Peter from his beloved governess after he had so recently lost his mother was no way to begin.

“I have only four more days until I will be allowed up, and you have shown me how to pass the time.” Gavin forced himself to say what he did not want to. “Perhaps you should return to your usual duties starting tomorrow. I can manage on my own until the doctor grants me my freedom.”

He watched Hannah Fletcher’s face, seeking to guess her reaction, though it had never been a skill at which he excelled. He had clearly not improved, for he could not decide whether she was disappointed, hurt or relieved.

Then she smoothed her features the way a housemaid would tug the wrinkles from a bedsheet, leaving a calm, bland visage and cool gaze that betrayed none of her feelings. “Perhaps that
would
be for the best, sir, if you are certain you can spare me.”

It must have been relief he’d glimpsed in that first unguarded moment. Gavin’s spirits sank though he told himself not to be so foolish. He was relieved, too—at least part of him was. This growing closeness with Miss Fletcher had the potential to become awkward. He should have seen that from the beginning. Their earlier animosity had blinded him to the fact that she was a woman. Now that he was aware of it—too aware, perhaps—it would be a relief to put some distance between them.

It
should
be a relief....

* * *

What could have gotten into her?

Hannah struggled to regain her composure, but never had it been so difficult. She should have known better than to sit on the earl’s bed and make eyes at the baby. But when he’d invited her she hadn’t thought of him as a nobleman and her employer. They had simply been two people drawn together by their affection for his children.

Did he truly believe she had leaned against him out of fatigue, or was he giving her an excuse to spare them both a great deal of awkwardness?

Baby Alice sensed the swift change in atmosphere for she began to fuss. Her faint bleats of distress grew louder. Though Hannah tried to avoid looking directly at his lordship, out of the corner of her eye she could see the child flailing her tiny arms. It came as no surprise when she began to wail in earnest.

It was all Hannah could do to keep from joining in the doleful chorus. Though she agreed it might be better if she returned to her nursery duties, the prospect dismayed her deeply. She told herself that was because she feared how Lord Hawkehurst might react to any fresh news from the Continent. Besides, her plan to foster his affection for the children had shown great promise. She could not stand to give it up while it might still bear fruit.

As Alice’s cries grew louder, Hannah knew she should offer to take the baby, but she did not want to make the earl doubt his fledgling skills as a parent. Besides, she was reluctant to get too close to his lordship, her hands and arms brushing against his. Such innocent contact roused feelings she wanted no part of. Or did she?

Apparently the earl did not need her help after all. He lifted his squalling daughter to his shoulder and began to rub her back.

His deep voice, which could sound so harsh and commanding, was muted to a tender murmur. “Dear me, what is the matter? Did we exhaust your good humor?”

Watching him soothe his tiny child stirred something deep in Hannah’s heart. “We probably overexcited her. She is accustomed to taking a nap at this time of day. Shall I take her back to Mrs. Miller?”

“In a moment, perhaps.” The earl coaxed two soft belches out of the baby. “Surely you would not want me to give up too soon.”

Hannah struggled to hold herself erect when her bones felt like butter in the sun. She forced her gaze away from the touching sight of father and child. Of course she wanted the earl to persist at the tasks of fatherhood even when they did not come naturally. She wanted him to see that he could improve with practice and not take temporary setbacks as a sign of failure.

Baby Alice seemed willing to teach her father those vital lessons for she gradually quieted. Finally the earl announced with a faint ring of pride, “I believe she is asleep now. Give her a little more time, then you may take her.”

Hannah could not let all her efforts come to nothing when his lordship had made so much progress. Hoping to take advantage of his good humor, she ventured to ask, “May I still bring the babies to visit you, sir?”

He considered for a moment. “Of course, if you would be so kind.”

“I should be happy to, sir.” Happy that her heedless lapse of judgment had not spoiled her plans regarding Lord Hawkehurst and his children? Hannah wondered. Or happy she would still see him for a while each day?

She had no business feeling anything remotely like that for the earl, Hannah’s sense of propriety warned her. How had he come to mean so much to her in such a short time? Was it seeing him interact with the babies that called forth the softer emotions she tried to conceal behind a mask of brisk resourcefulness?

If she was going to spend time with him from now on, she would need someone present besides the babies to keep her from forgetting herself again. “What about Peter, sir? That is...Lord Edgecombe...may I bring
him
to visit, as well? I believe it might do him good.”

“I thought you did not want Peter to see me laid up like this.” The earl’s reluctance showed as plain as his sweeping black brows. “In case it might upset him.”

Did he guess that her motives were not entirely for the benefit of his son? “I did at first, sir. But you are so much better now I doubt your condition will cause him any worry.”

His lordship considered her suggestion. Hannah wished she knew what he was thinking.

“If you reckon it would be for the best, Miss Fletcher. I trust your judgment when it comes to the welfare of my children.”

That was one of the nicest compliments he could have paid her.

“However,” he continued, “I fear it will be uphill work for me to win my elder son’s regard. It is a simple matter to be a good father to the little ones. With them, I am starting off with a fresh slate. They do not have years of absences and awkwardness to overcome. Peter has been his mother’s darling all this time, and I sense he does not think well of me.”

Hannah tried to tell the earl he was wrong, but he dismissed her protests with a rueful shake of his head. “I do not blame the boy, but neither can I figure how to remedy the situation. I only know I do not want him to think I favor the little ones over him.”

“The way your father favored your elder brother?” The instant those words slipped out, Hannah clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

What was it about Gavin Romney that made her speak and act without thinking after a lifetime of strict discretion? He had proven more forgiving than she’d expected of such lapses, but she did not want to test the limits of his tolerance. For the children’s sake, she could not afford to risk her position at Edgecombe.

She began to sputter an apology, but the earl cut her off. “You divined my very thought, Miss Fletcher. My brother was the apple of our father’s eye. He could do no wrong while I could never do anything right. Father always claimed I did not try hard enough, though nothing could have been further from the truth. Finally I stopped trying for I knew it was no use. I would never measure up to his standards.”

Had it been the same with his wife? Hannah clamped her lips together to keep from asking more impertinent questions. She wished she could stop herself from even entertaining the thought. How could she be so disloyal to her ladyship’s memory?

Disloyal or not, it might be true
, a stubborn little voice inside her insisted. The countess had appeared so devoted to her husband and distressed when her feelings were not returned in equal measure. Hannah had sympathized with her litany of complaints about the earl and believed them all to be true. Now she wondered if any demonstrations of affection, no matter how lavish, would have satisfied her ladyship.

Worse yet, Hannah wondered whether her sympathy and indignation had only encouraged Clarissa Romney’s dissatisfaction with her marriage.

Chapter Nine

A
fter Hannah Fletcher departed with the sleeping baby, the remaining hours of Sunday seemed easily ten times longer to Gavin. He could have sworn some invisible force was holding back the hands of the clock. He tried to occupy himself by rereading the newspapers and tracing Bonaparte’s movements since Waterloo. But it was difficult to separate the golden needles of fact from the haystack of rumor and speculation.

If only he could have talked it over with Miss Fletcher, he felt certain the picture would have come into clearer focus. But that was impossible because he had sent her away. Had he overreacted to their accidental contact and the unexpected feelings it provoked?

There could be any number of innocent reasons why he felt closer to her than he had any right to. Most likely it was because they had been forced to spend so much time together. Pairs of soldiers sent out on patrol often came to rely on one another and develop a close camaraderie.

Or perhaps the feelings he imagined were prompted by the presence of his infant daughter. All the firmness and severity he had cultivated as a cavalry commander deserted him when he held that small, soft creature in his arms. His heart grew as malleable as warm wax, which she proceeded to wrap around her tiny finger. Was it any wonder such a state should make him vulnerable to unexpected fancies? Perhaps it was best to keep a cautious distance.

Gavin roused from his musing to realize he had spent far more time thinking about Hannah Fletcher than Napoleon Bonaparte.

The next morning was just as bad. The time crept by with aching slowness. Yet whenever Gavin sought to pass it, his wayward thoughts returned to Miss Fletcher like a flock of stubborn homing pigeons. When they did, his conscience never failed to reproach him.

He looked forward to the early afternoon hours which would bring the post and a visit from little Arthur. He longed for those events as eagerly as any embattled regiment had ever looked for reinforcements. When at last he heard Miss Fletcher’s firm, brisk footsteps approaching, his heart bounded with the expectation of deliverance.

She entered the room, cradling his tiny son against her shoulder. In her left hand she clutched a newspaper and a letter. Seldom in his life had Gavin beheld so welcome a sight.

“I have received a reply from Lady Benedict,” she announced with barely suppressed excitement.

A fortnight ago, Gavin would not have believed her capable of such feelings. Since then he had glimpsed several unexpected facets of her character. She also possessed many fine qualities he had perceived but failed to appreciate. She was honest, practical, responsible and hardworking. But the lady had a softer side, which she tended to keep well hidden. Perhaps because she feared it would make her vulnerable? Though she strove to appear placid, Gavin had discovered she could be stimulating company with an engaging sense of humor. Now he was pleased to find she was capable of almost childlike eagerness.

The contagious feeling communicated itself to him, banishing the frustrated boredom of the past hours. “What does Lady Benedict say? Do she and her husband accept my invitation? When will they arrive?”

“I will not know until I read her letter.” A winsome smile softened Miss Fletcher’s tart reply. “Since that will be difficult to do while holding a squirming baby, I must ask you to take your son.”

She transferred the child to Gavin’s waiting arms, then seated herself beside his bed. She tugged off her bonnet and opened the letter.

Meanwhile, Gavin greeted his small son. “How do you do today, Arthur? I hope you are in good cheer.”

Though he could not understand his father’s words the child answered by bursting into a wide grin. His eyes sparkled with innocent pleasure in Gavin’s company.

“I see you have learned something new!” Gavin gave a delighted chuckle. “You did not want your clever sister to get ahead of you, I expect.”

His enthusiastic response made little Arthur smile even wider. He wriggled in Gavin’s arms and crowed happily.

“Have you seen what he can do?” Gavin held his son up for Miss Fletcher’s inspection. “Isn’t he a clever lad?”

She glanced up from her letter as if reluctant to stop reading. But a smile tugged up the corners of her lips in response to the baby’s. “What would the men of your regiment say if they could see their colonel now?”

He tried to resist her teasing tone but found it quite impossible. “The bachelors among them might reckon I
have
gone mad from being confined to quarters for so long. But the men who are married with young ones of their own would surely take a more charitable view.”

Gavin addressed his next words to his son. “Give Miss Fletcher another smile and turn her to mush so she will not make fun of your poor, doting papa.”

The baby obliged, with precisely the effect Gavin had predicted.

Hannah Fletcher cooed and chucked Arthur under the chin. “You are going to grow up to be a charmer—I can see that.”

“What
does
Lady Benedict write?” Gavin asked, now that Miss Fletcher had begun to read the letter.

She winked at the baby then glanced back over her friend’s missive. “Rebecca asks me to thank you for your kind invitation and says they would be grateful to accept your hospitality. She also wishes you their sincere condolences on the passing of your late wife. She hopes it will not be too inconvenient for you to entertain guests while Edgecombe is in mourning. The rest is private news I will not tire you with.”

Miss Fletcher seemed a trifle flustered. Gavin wondered what Lady Benedict had written that might affect her so.

“I am pleased to hear my invitation has been accepted.” He kept his gaze fixed on his infant son. “I look forward to meeting your friend and her husband. When do they expect to arrive?”

“Rebecca writes that they should be here on Friday, if that will be convenient.”

“Perfectly.” Gavin raised his voice to carry over the babbling of his small son. “With the doctor’s approval, I should be out of this wretched bed and able to receive them properly.”

“You will still be here, then?” Miss Fletcher asked. “Not gone to the Continent?”

Gavin could not tell whether the prospect pleased or dismayed her. “I doubt it would be wise to set out on a long, uncertain journey the day after I am allowed out of bed. Besides I need reliable information, and I hope Lord Benedict can provide it. Speaking of which, can I prevail upon you to check whether the newspaper has anything useful to report?”

He knew he should save the paper to occupy him after Miss Fletcher and his son went away, but he enjoyed hearing her read the news to him in her clear, melodious voice.

“Of course, sir.” Miss Fletcher opened the newspaper and searched for the reports he wished to hear.

“Well...?” he prompted after several minutes of paper rustling without a word out of her. “Have they anything at all to report?”

“Not about the subject of most interest to you,” she replied. “There is only a single sentence in the Brussels Mail column. ‘It is not known what is become of Bonaparte.’”

How could one man create such havoc and then disappear without a trace? Gavin could barely suppress a growl of helpless vexation. What made him imagine he could catch the man when no one else in Europe seemed to have the slightest idea of his whereabouts? Gavin could picture his father sneering at the very idea.

“Is there anything else about the situation in France?” he asked.

He found it harder to keep his attention on the baby, who was no longer smiling and becoming agitated. Perhaps wee Arthur was picking up on
his
mood.

When Miss Fletcher did reply to his question, her voice sounded husky. “There is nearly an entire page given over to returns of the killed, wounded and missing from Waterloo and the other battles. The numbers are almost impossible to comprehend. They go on and on.”

“I can imagine it.” Gavin held the baby to his shoulder, hoping it would soothe the wee fellow as it had his sister. “I saw many of them fall—men and horses. Does it give a total reckoning for Waterloo?”

“The total killed for British and Hanoverian troops combined was two general staff, one colonel, four lieutenant colonels, six majors, forty-eight captains, twenty-eight lieutenants, sixty cornets or ensigns, five staff, two quartermasters, one hundred and seven sergeants, thirteen drummers, one thousand eight hundred and nine rank and file and one thousand four hundred and ninety-five horses.”

In a hollow tone she read off the numbers missing, which were roughly equal to the number dead, then the number wounded, which was five times higher.

In spite of Gavin’s efforts to soothe his small son, the baby began to wail as if he understood the devastation those stark figures represented.

“Something I cannot fathom,” Hannah Fletcher concluded in a horrified murmur, “is how fifteen hundred men can go
missing.
”

Gavin shrugged. This deadly reckoning of war’s cost had long ago become routine to him. But the massive casualties of that one battle and Miss Fletcher’s sickened reaction made it seem intensely personal. “They were unaccounted for after the battle. Some may have deserted their ranks or been taken prisoner, others may have gotten separated from their regiments somehow but turned up later. Most will be dead, I’m afraid.”

He did not tell her how wounded soldiers might crawl away under cover to die, their bodies only discovered long afterward. Or how a direct hit from artillery could leave almost nothing to identify. The numbers were enough to appall her on their own.

“It isn’t only for Molesworth’s sake that I must prevent Bonaparte from ever doing this again.” His son’s cries provided a fitting accompaniment to Gavin’s fierce declaration. “It is every one of the men those casualty numbers represent.”

Perhaps it was a good thing he had become so attached to his children. Leaving them to undertake his final mission would be a sacrifice, but only a tiny one compared to what those men had given for king and country. He could not let it have been for nothing. If it meant he must miss some of the babies’ early accomplishments, he would make it up to them later, during the years of peace those brave men had won.

Would seeing those casualty returns help Hannah Fletcher accept what he must do? Gavin hoped so, for he felt he would have a much greater chance of success with her staunch support.

* * *

Those grim numbers in the newspaper plagued Hannah as she returned little Arthur to his wet nurse and then headed back to Edgecombe. The sky had grown overcast, and now the black-bottomed clouds spat large drops of rain on her. It felt as if the heavens were weeping for all those slain at Waterloo. Hannah was inclined to join in, venting some of the grief she had been obliged to stifle so she could fulfill her promise to Lady Hawkehurst.

It was not only her dismay over those appalling casualties that made her throat tighten and her eyes sting. It was also her fears for his lordship. She had made such excellent progress fostering his paternal feelings for the babies. When he spent time with the twins, he seemed content to sit and cuddle them, not itching to be off in pursuit of Napoleon Bonaparte.

But hearing those dreadful numbers of soldiers killed had revived the earl’s determination to take up his quest. Hannah was relieved that he seemed willing to delay his departure until after Rebecca’s visit, but that would only buy a little extra time. If no one else apprehended Bonaparte by the time the Benedicts departed, there would be no stopping Lord Hawkehurst.

Much as she longed to find a way, for the sake of her young charges, she could not deny the need to prevent a repeat of Waterloo in another year. The allied commanders had failed to capture the former emperor, and Hannah wondered if one resourceful, resolute man might succeed where unwieldy armies had failed.

But must that man be Lord Hawkehurst? As Hannah entered the big house and hurried up to the nursery, she fancied she could hear the late countess questioning her loyalty. Was it not enough that the earl had put king and country ahead of his family while his wife was alive? Must he abandon his three motherless children to go off on a dangerous mission from which he might never return? There must be something more she could do to persuade him where his priorities should lie.

Hannah squared her shoulders and tilted her chin. She could not let her ladyship down, nor the children she had come to care for as if they were hers. Gavin Romney was a much better man than she had appreciated until recently. She knew he wanted to be a good father to his children. He had needed her help learning to handle the babies. Now perhaps he needed her help to understand how very much his children needed him.

When she entered the nursery, Hannah found Peter with the nursemaid, folding scraps of paper into little boats and other shapes.

“Aren’t you clever?” Hannah ruffled the child’s hair affectionately. “Did Maisie show you how to make those?”

“Only the boat,” Maisie said, beaming with pride in her young master. “He figured out all the others by himself.”

That gave Hannah an idea. She picked up the remaining paper and addressed her young pupil. “Why don’t you choose three of your best ones and bring them to show your father? I am certain he would like to see them.”

The child looked over his creations with a frown of concentration. At least Hannah
hoped
that was the cause of his expression. “I thought Papa could not see me because he is too tired. You said he must have a very long rest and you needed to look after him.”

It took Hannah aback to hear her excuses parroted so accurately. Sometimes young Lord Edgecombe could be rather too clever for his own good. She considered what to tell him and decided the truth would be best, now that he seemed to be recovering from the shock of his mother’s death.

She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him at the nursery table. “Your papa did need to rest, but not only because he was tired. He was injured, you see, and he needed to get better. But he is almost well now and I believe he finds the time long with little to do. I believe he would enjoy a visit from you.”