The Earl's Honorable Intentions (11 page)

The child pursed his lips and turned his paper boat over and over in his hands. “Do I
have
to go and see him, Miss Hannah?”

How should she answer that? Hannah did not want to force the child to do something against his will. On the other hand, it would not be a good thing for the earl and his son to be kept apart much longer. The sooner they began to build a proper relationship, the better it would be for both of them.

“I think it would be a very kind deed for you to visit your papa,” she replied after several minutes’ consideration. “Remember how much you enjoyed having company when you were ill in bed last winter?”

She rose and held out her hand to the child. They could discuss his reservations on the way. By the time it was all settled, they would have reached his lordship’s chamber.

“That’s because it was Mama who came to see me.” With a reluctant air, the boy slid off his chair and gathered up three of his folded paper creations from the table. “Papa never visited me at all.”

Hannah thought back. “That’s because he had been summoned to London, remember? I’m certain he would rather have stayed home to visit with you, but there were urgent army matters that required his attention.”

She began walking toward the door. Though she did not insist Peter accompany her, he followed.

“Papa is always doing army things,” the child grumbled as he trailed her down the thickly carpeted corridor hung with imposing family portraits. “Mama said he should not have gone to London when I was ill. She said he cares more about war and fighting than he does about us.”

Hannah spun around as if someone had seized her from behind. Why had her ladyship said such a terrible thing to her young son? Even if she had believed it, how could she have told the child something that was certain to hurt him and poison his chances of one day growing close to his father?

She recalled how desperately Lady Hawkehurst had hoped the end of the war would mean the beginning of an idyllic family life with her husband. But while the earl had returned to Edgecombe in body, his spirit had remained elsewhere. Uncommunicative and preoccupied, he had sought any excuse to escape the house. Lately Hannah had begun to understand why, but back then she’d encouraged his wife to confide in her, providing sympathy and indignation to a long litany of complaints. Had they sometimes spoken within earshot of the child, trusting that he was too young to understand? Perhaps he had grasped more than they had ever suspected.

Overcome with remorse for the harm she might have done through her thoughtlessness, Hannah sank to the floor before her young pupil. Was it too late to undo the damage?

“Peter, you know how devoted I was to your mama, but I do not believe your father cares more about war and fighting than he does about you.”

“Why did Mama say it, then?” The child regarded her with a grave, doubtful expression, his head cocked to one side. “She wouldn’t tell me lies.”

“Of course not.” The last thing Hannah wanted to do was turn Peter against his late mother. “But sometimes when people get angry or frightened or have their feelings hurt, they may say things they would not say if they were quite happy. When they feel better, they might admit they...exaggerated. I know it must be difficult for you to understand now, but when you get older...”

Her explanation trailed off. Was there any way she could convey such a complex idea that a child might understand?

“Is it the same as when I was ill and you had to put that poultice on me?” asked Peter. “I didn’t like it so I said you were nasty and I wished Mama would send you away. I meant it just then but after I was sorry and wished I hadn’t said it.”

Out of the mouths of babes, indeed.

“That is just what I meant.” Hannah reminded herself not to underestimate his powers of reason in the future. “Regardless of what anyone has told you about your father, I hope you will give him a chance to prove himself. I do not believe he
likes
fighting and war, but he knows it is sometimes necessary to protect our country and its friends.”

She rose and beckoned the child on, hoping that his innocent wisdom would guide him to give his father the benefit of the doubt. If the earl could win
her
regard after the way she had misjudged him, surely he could forge a bond with his young son if he tried.

“Now that the war is over,” she continued, “I believe your papa wants to devote himself to you and Arthur and Alice.”

It was certainly what he
ought
to do and what she wanted him to do. There were times she had watched him with the babies and felt certain it was what he wanted, too. Yet he had such stubborn, limiting ideas about what he could and could not do. Sometimes his fear of failure seemed to prevent him from trying things Hannah firmly believed he could accomplish. Though he had any number of good reasons for wanting to apprehend Napoleon Bonaparte, she wondered if the earl felt he had a better chance of succeeding at his final military mission than he did of raising three young children.

She had helped him experience some success with the babies. Now if she could bring him and his eldest son together, perhaps he would realize that fatherhood was his most important mission.

When they reached the earl’s bedchamber, she peeped in. “Excuse me, sir. I have brought Lord Edgecombe to visit. He has something he would like to show you.”

Lord Hawkehurst reclined on a pile of pillows, studying the newspaper, his dark brows knit in a severe expression. Hannah could hardly blame him, considering the news, but she hoped his look would not frighten his young son. In her experience, children that age viewed everything in relation to themselves. If someone was angry or upset, it must be their fault.

“Has he, indeed?” The earl set his newspaper aside and made an obvious effort to welcome his son...a bit too obvious, perhaps. His tone of forced heartiness rang false. “Well, bring him in and let me see.”

Peter peered around the edge of the doorway but made no move to enter. Hannah was reluctant to push him. Had the child ever been inside his father’s bedchamber or seen him in his nightshirt?

Perhaps the most helpful thing she could do was approach Lord Hawkehurst, to demonstrate that there was no reason to be afraid of him. She marched toward the bed and tried to ignore the fluttery sensation inside her that had nothing to do with fear. Was she only anxious that this meeting between father and son would go well or was it something more?

“Maisie showed him how to fold paper into little figures.” She raised the sheaf of paper and waved it to fan her cheeks, which had suddenly grown warm. “He is very skillful. I thought you might care to give it a try to pass the time.”

“Folding bits of paper?” The earl gave a derisive laugh, which ceased abruptly when Hannah shook her head and nodded toward the door, where his son hung back. “I...er...suppose it might be amusing, though I am not certain I possess the necessary dexterity.”

Who had first told him that and made him believe it? Hannah could guess. “I imagine it takes considerable dexterity to handle a horse and wield a weapon at the same time.”

“Coordination, perhaps.” The earl made it sound like nothing of which to boast. “Wielding a pen takes far more skill, which I never properly mastered.”

“I can make my letters,” piped a small voice from the doorway.

With a swift jab of shame, Hannah realized that she had almost forgotten about the child.

She turned to him with an encouraging smile. “You are making fine progress with your penmanship.”

There was still room for improvement, but Hannah refused to dwell on that. Her young pupil did very well for his age. She had no intention of planting any seeds of doubt about his abilities in his impressionable mind. She had seen what poisonous fruit they could bear in later years.

The earl’s voice rang out, addressing his son. “You are a fortunate boy to have such a kind governess. When I was your age, mine was a perfect ogre in skirts.”

“She was?” Peter’s eyes widened.

His father gave a rueful nod. “According to her, I was the greatest dunce in three counties and too lazy to improve my shortcomings.”

What would Peter make of all that? Hannah wondered. It helped her understand why the earl had once resented the privileged position she had assumed in his household. He must have viewed her as another
ogre in skirts,
determined to think the worst of him no matter how hard he tried. She wished his opinion of her had been further from the truth.

“Miss Hannah says everyone makes mistakes.” Peter edged over the threshold. “She says mistakes can help us learn sometimes.”

Inwardly Hannah shuddered at how prim and naive that sounded.

The earl gave no sign of sharing that opinion. “Then Miss Hannah is wise as well as kind. Does that mean if you show me how to fold paper I should not allow my mistakes to discourage me, but try to learn from them?”

His lordship’s praise, and his use of her Christian name, made Hannah’s heart swell, while his question to his son humbled her. She had intended to show
him
how to draw closer to the boy. Yet even after they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, the earl had kept trying until he began to find his way. She prayed his effort would yield the success he deserved.

In reply to his father’s question, Peter nodded. “That’s right.”

As Hannah stood rooted to the spot, the child walked past her toward his father’s bed. “Would you like me to show you? It isn’t as hard as you think. It may be easier for me because my fingers are smaller, but you mustn’t mind about that.”

The remark might sound patronizing coming from a young boy to his father, but it was kindly meant. It brought a lump to Hannah’s throat and a smile to her lips at the same time.

“These are some of the ones I made.” Peter spread his handiwork on the bedclothes. “Maisie showed me how to make this boat. She floated hers in the nursery basin, but I didn’t want mine to get wet. Next I made this little box. And this one is supposed to be a hare.”

“I thought so by the long ears.” The earl glanced from the small paper objects to his son.

Pride and pleasure in the child’s company seemed to battle fear that he might put a foot wrong again and spoil the promising beginning they’d made. Hannah hoped he would heed his son’s advice about learning from mistakes rather than letting them keep him from trying.

Chapter Ten

A
s he waited for the doctor to arrive and examine him, Gavin concentrated on the piece of paper he was endeavoring to fold into the shape of a bird. It was not an easy task for it required more patience, dexterity and concentration than he possessed. He’d persisted just the same and tried to follow his young son’s advice not to mind about that. His first efforts had been laughably bad, but he refused to let that deter him. It was not the product that mattered, after all, only the activity to occupy his attention and pass the time.

On both those counts it had succeeded.

Unlike reading the newspapers, which frustrated and agitated him, paper folding had a calming effect on his mind. And while it absorbed his attention, the time passed. Not as swiftly as when he was in Hannah Fletcher’s company perhaps, but quickly enough. It also kept his thoughts from dwelling on his son’s governess quite so much.

A brisk knock sounded on his door, making his heart beat faster as he called out permission to enter.

But when the door swung open, it admitted only the butler and Gavin’s physician. “Dr. Hodge to see you, my lord.”

“Thank you, Owens.” Gavin dismissed the sudden fall of his spirits by reminding himself the physician’s arrival might set him free at last. “Good day, Doctor. I hope you will have good news for me.”

Putting aside his half-finished paper bird, he carefully turned onto his good side and tugged up his nightshirt to facilitate the examination.

“If I do, you shall have yourself to thank for it.” The doctor unwound the bandaging that bound Gavin’s wound. Then he rummaged in his satchel for tweezers and a pair of long-bladed scissors. “If I were a wagering man, I would have staked good money against you following my orders for a fortnight’s bed rest.”

With considerable care the doctor cut and tugged out the stitching thread that had held Gavin’s torn flesh together while it knit. “How on earth did you manage to stay still for so long? Did Miss Fletcher have you placed in a strait waistcoat? I would not put it past her. She strikes me as a very determined young woman.”

For some reason the doctor’s comment about Miss Fletcher stung Gavin worse than the removal of his stitches. “Determination is a fine quality. Precious little would get done in the world if it were not for determined people and even less would get changed.”

“True.” The doctor sounded amused. “I take it Miss Fletcher did not have you restrained or you would not be defending her with such vigor.”

“Of course she did not have me restrained!” Gavin snapped. “And I am not defending her, vigorously or otherwise. I was only making a general observation.”

“I see.” Doctor Hodge gave the most exasperating chuckle.

“I will admit, Miss Fletcher managed to impress upon me the need to follow medical advice if I wish to recover my health.”

“The lady must have been most persuasive.” The doctor snipped off the last of Gavin’s stitches. “I wish she would speak to some of my other patients who are not inclined to heed me.”

Though he knew the doctor was only jesting, perhaps to distract him, the thought of Hannah Fletcher assisting another man did not sit well with Gavin. “You should cultivate your own powers of persuasion. Miss Fletcher has quite enough to occupy her here at Edgecombe.”

Once again the doctor chuckled. Gavin could not fathom what the man found so amusing. “Does this mean I am allowed to leave my bed at last?”

“It does.” The doctor began to pack away his instruments as Gavin pulled down his nightshirt. “In fact, you may rise now, if you wish, to test your strength and balance.”

Gavin did not need to be asked twice. He was eager to be active again. Twitching aside the covers, he surged to his feet only to sink back onto the edge of the bed when the room began to spin and his legs gave way beneath him.

“Go easy now.” The doctor rushed around the bed. “I said you could get up. I did not invite you to run a steeplechase. Your legs will be weak from disuse, and you will need to become accustomed to standing upright again.”

Before Gavin could reply, a knock sounded on his door. The habit of a fortnight made him call out for the person to enter before he realized this might not be the best idea at the moment.

He had no opportunity to withdraw the invitation before Miss Fletcher strode in.

“I beg your pardon, sir!” she cried when she spotted him sitting on the bed in his nightshirt. She turned her gaze toward the mantel as if she spied something of absorbing interest there. “I heard the doctor had come and I was anxious to hear what he thinks of your recovery.”

She had come to check up on him. Two weeks ago, Gavin would have resented her meddling. Today he could not for he knew Miss Fletcher had his welfare and his children’s at heart. Besides, if it had not been for her, he might have ignored the doctor’s orders and prolonged his recovery.

“Dr. Hodge says I am doing well.” Gavin climbed back into bed to spare them both any further embarrassment. “He gives you all the credit for making me follow his advice, and I daresay he is right.”

“I only told you what you should do and why.” The lady seemed uncomfortable accepting his praise. “You were the one who had to comply with the doctor’s orders in spite of how disagreeable you found it.”

“Not nearly as disagreeable as I expected,” he countered. That was entirely thanks to her, though Gavin was reluctant to say so in the doctor’s presence.

Instead he changed the subject to one he should have raised earlier. “Tell me, Doctor, how soon do you think I will be fit to travel?”

His question brought an anxious frown to Hannah Fletcher’s face, which he regretted, though he could not let it stop him.

The physician considered for a moment. “That will depend upon the type and length of journey you wish to make. I would say you might manage a carriage ride to London in a week or so.”

“What about returning to the Continent by ship then traveling on horseback?”

The doctor shook his head. “Not for quite some time unless you wish to set back your recovery.”

Hannah Fletcher’s frown dissolved into a grateful smile, which she directed at the doctor. Gavin resented her smiling at another man, though he knew he had no right to.

He did not waste his breath disputing the advice he’d been given. He knew the other two would only unite against him. It did not help that part of him shared Miss Fletcher’s obvious relief at the doctor’s warning.

What kind of man did that make him? What kind of soldier? What kind of friend?

“If you will excuse me, then.” Gavin politely dismissed them both. “Miss Fletcher, would you be so kind as to show the doctor out?”

“Of course, sir.” She sounded a trifle suspicious that he had not argued with the doctor’s advice. “May I be of any other service?”

He nodded. “Kindly send along one of the footmen to help me dress. Once I am back on my feet, I must see about engaging a proper valet.”

“As you wish, sir.” Hannah Fletcher seemed so much more formal and servile in her manner than she had only a few days ago. To his consternation, Gavin found himself looking back on that part of his convalescence with unaccountable wistfulness.

* * *

Would his lordship continue to follow the doctor’s advice now that he had been allowed to rise from his sickbed? Hannah peered out the nursery window for the twentieth time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lord Benedict’s carriage.

The earl had not objected when his doctor told him it would be some time before he could safely travel to the Continent. Nor had he questioned precisely how long “some time” might be. Those were encouraging signs, surely.

Perhaps she had managed to persuade Lord Hawkehurst that he was capable of being as good a father as he had been a soldier. With that assurance, he might not feel quite so compelled to take on sole responsibility for capturing Bonaparte. He might also realize what an unacceptable risk such a mission could pose to the welfare of his children.

Much as she hoped that was the case, Hannah found it impossible to savor her victory. She could not forget reading how much money and how many men it had cost to defeat Bonaparte for a second time. What if he
did
return again? She feared her mind would never be quite easy on the subject until the general had been captured and brought to justice.

A tug on her skirt jolted Hannah from her disquieting thoughts. She glanced down to find Peter staring up at her with an expectant air. “Do you see your friends yet, Miss Hannah?”

She was about to say no when a flicker of movement drew her gaze back out to the lane. A fine traveling coach had just turned off the road, heading toward the house.

“I do see them.” She spoke in a breathless rush. “They are coming! We must go down to greet them.”

“Me, too?” A wide grin lit up the boy’s solemn little face.

“Of course.” Hannah seized him by the hand and they headed off at a brisk pace. “Lady Benedict will be pleased to meet you, I’m sure. She likes children.”

That was not the only reason Hannah wanted her young pupil with her when she met her friend again after so many years. She hoped Peter’s presence would smooth over any awkwardness during their meeting. In truth, she was not certain how she ought to behave toward Rebecca now that her old friend had become the wife of a viscount.

It was kind of Lady Benedict to want to visit the friends of her youth. But would she soon realize there was now a wide gulf separating them?

Peter’s mama had found a way to bridge that gulf, Hannah reminded herself, though lately memories of the countess provoked an ache of guilt inside her. Perhaps she should treat Rebecca the way she had Lady Hawkehurst—never too familiar or presuming upon their prior acquaintance, but with the deference befitting her friend’s new station in life.

Bringing Peter along to their first meeting would be a subtle way of acknowledging her position in the earl’s household.

As they descended the great staircase to the entry hall, the child asked, “Should we find Papa and tell him the guests are here?”

The question caught Hannah off guard. Would Lord Hawkehurst want to be on hand to greet the Benedicts? Though he had extended them the hospitality of his house, they would be coming to visit
her,
not him.

“I’m not sure where we might find your father now that the doctor has allowed him out of bed.” That was true and as good an excuse as any, though it gave Hannah a pang to speak of it. How accustomed she had grown to knowing where to find the earl at all times and being free to visit him as often as she could find an excuse.

As she and Peter reached the foot of the stairs, his lordship came striding toward them from the direction of his study. “I hear our guests have arrived. Owens proposed a formal reception with all the staff lined up to greet Lord and Lady Benedict, but I abhor such stuffy ceremony. I hope they will not feel slighted by a small family welcome party.”

Several things struck Hannah at once. The first was how well the earl looked. No one would ever guess that less than three weeks ago he had collapsed from loss of blood and been close to death. After spending so many days and nights sitting by his bedside, she had forgotten what it was like to look up at him. He appeared taller than she remembered—his shoulders broader. The rest and nourishment of his convalescence seemed to have agreed with him. The chiseled hollows of his face had filled out nicely. Hannah could not recall ever having seen him so smartly dressed and groomed.

No doubt his fine appearance was meant as a compliment to Lord and Lady Benedict, but that made it a roundabout compliment to her, as well, which she appreciated. So much so that she found herself lost for words.

“F-family?” she managed to stammer.

For an instant Lord Hawkehurst looked almost as disconcerted as she felt, but he quickly recovered his composure. “You are the twins’ godmother, after all. That makes you rather a member of the family. Don’t you agree, son?”

Peter gave a vigorous nod. “Mama often said Miss Hannah was like part of the family.”

The child’s innocent mention of his mother and her kindness shook Hannah. She had no business being here, taking the late countess’s place.

“Just so,” said the earl with a forced smile. “Now we had better go greet our guests before they decide they are not welcome at Edgecombe.”

“We cannot have that,” Hannah agreed, giving Peter’s small hand a squeeze.

Now that the moment had come to meet one of her friends in the flesh again after so many years, she found herself as anxious as she was eager.

Lord Hawkehurst threw open the great front door and beckoned her out. Clinging tightly to her young pupil’s hand, Hannah emerged into the summer sunshine.

The viscount’s carriage had just come to a halt. A footman in formal livery scrambled down from his perch to open the door and unfold the steps for his master and mistress to descend.

Lord Benedict climbed out first, made a brief bow toward the Edgecombe party, then turned to help his bride alight. Hannah approved the gentleman’s looks. He carried himself with distinguished bearing and his features were balanced in pleasing proportions. When he held his wife’s hand and led her forward, Lord Benedict’s face radiated affection and pride in her.

To Hannah’s relief, she recognized her friend at once. Though dressed in a flattering gown of blue-green muslin and a smart hat trimmed with matching ribbons, Rebecca still had her full, dark brows, generous mouth and features that conveyed an ideal blend of strength and softness. It took every ounce of self-control Hannah possessed to remind herself that her friend was now the wife of a peer.

“Welcome to Edgecombe, Lord and Lady Benedict.” She dropped a proper curtsy but could not suppress a smile of fond familiarity.

“Hannah Fletcher!” Rebecca swooped toward her with no thought for rank or decorum.

The next thing Hannah knew, she was being embraced and kissed with the vigorous affection of a long-lost sister. Any worries about proper deference were swept away by a powerful wave of joy. She held her friend close, repeating her name as if it were the most beautiful word in the language. Her eyes misted with tears of happiness, and for once she let a few of them fall. She heard an answering sniffle from Rebecca.