The Earl's Honorable Intentions (14 page)

Once the Benedicts were gone, Hannah hoped she could forget her friends’ easy affection for one another, their obvious delight in one another’s company and their playful banter. Happy as she was that Rebecca had been blessed with such wedded bliss, it made her long to experience something similar. Perhaps she should consider Rebecca’s generous offer to help find her a husband.

But that was impossible. She had responsibilities toward the earl’s young children. The prospect of leaving Edgecombe held no promise of happiness whatsoever. Yet, as Rebecca had reminded her, she would be forced to leave one day. By then she would be too old to attract a husband or start a family.

“Who will you visit next?” she asked her friend. “Marian in Nottingham or Leah in Norfolk?”

Lord Benedict answered for his wife. “Neither immediately, I fear. First I must return to London to learn what is to be done with Bonaparte now that he is in British custody. I support a plan for his exile to Saint Helena. The island is very remote, in the middle of the South Atlantic, easy to defend against any misguided attempt to liberate the fellow by force.”

The earl nodded in agreement. “By far the best place for him, in my opinion, as well.”

“Unfortunately not everyone feels as we do.” Lord Benedict looked very severe when he frowned. “There are influential people of the Whig persuasion who firmly believe Bonaparte was better than the Bourbon kings. They fail to realize a man need not be born to the throne to become a despot. I fear they will argue against the necessity of preventing him from returning to power by whatever means. Until the matter is settled I feel I must be on hand to make my voice heard on behalf of all those who fought and beat Bonaparte’s forces twice. They must not be obliged to repeat it again.”

“Indeed they must not.” The earl shook his head grimly. “I should go with you to add my voice in favor of confinement on Saint Helena.”

Hannah was hard-pressed to stifle a cry of opposition. The earl must not go away so soon! What if the journey proved too much for him? What if Napoleon managed to escape custody and Lord Hawkehurst decided to take up the chase? She could not dare to risk either of those things.

“You should remain at Edgecombe,” Lord Benedict insisted, and Hannah could have hugged him. “To mourn your wife and look after your family. Reason may prevail and neither my voice nor yours will be needed to argue the point.”

The earl raised his eyebrows. “Reason prevailing in politics—that would be a novelty. Promise me that if you need additional support you will summon me at once.”

Lord Benedict nodded. “You may depend upon it.”

Hannah reached for Rebecca’s hand and cast her friend a beseeching glance. She hoped Rebecca would recognize a silent plea to keep her husband from sending for the earl.

Her friend turned toward the earl and dropped a curtsy. “Farewell, Lord Hawkehurst. Your generous hospitality in the midst of your time of mourning speaks volumes of your respect for Miss Fletcher. I hope you will think over the matter of which we spoke and do what I requested.”

The earl bowed over her hand—rather stiffly, Hannah thought. “I shall give your request my most careful consideration, Lady Benedict.”

A short while later, as they waved after the Benedicts’ departing carriage, Hannah asked, “What is this request of Rebecca’s that you are going to give such careful consideration?”

“Nothing of any consequence.” The earl turned and strode off in the direction of the stables.

His curt dismissal of her question assured her he was not telling the truth. Whatever her friend had asked of him, Hannah sensed he had no intention of doing it.

* * *

In the days after their guests’ departure, Gavin tried to persuade himself Lady Benedict’s request was of no consequence. Otherwise it would mean he had lied to Hannah—a transgression he could not bear to make. But no matter how strenuously he argued, he was forced to admit it was of vital importance to him and the children whether he urged Hannah to accept her friend’s invitation to London.

For the sake of Peter and the little twins, he could not think of urging their governess and godmother to leave Edgecombe. A fine way that would be to compensate the poor little creatures for the loss of their mother and his deficiencies as a father. With Hannah’s help, he was beginning to make progress in that area, but without her he was not certain that would continue. Indeed, he feared the loss of Hannah from his household might make it harder for him to become the kind of father she wanted him to be.

Was that part of what had poisoned his father’s relationship with him—the loss of his mother? That possibility brought Gavin the first stirrings of sympathy he had ever felt toward his distant, judgmental father.

But how could he deny Hannah the opportunity to have a home and family of her own? Lady Benedict’s argument kept returning to reproach him for his selfishness. Now that he recognized her many fine qualities, how could he stand in the way of her being loved and cherished as she deserved? Besides, was his concern for the well-being of his children merely an excuse to keep the lady here so he could enjoy her company without risking his heart?

Gavin wished he could deny the accusation. Since that was not possible, he sought a diversion from it.

He had thought once he was allowed out of bed, he would be able to keep busy. Instead he found himself unaccountably restless. Even riding could not hold his interest for too long. After giving the matter some thought, he wondered if he might be missing a sense of purpose in his life. For years his cavalry duties had provided an urgent purpose. His vow to Molesworth had promised to fill that void. But with the war over and Bonaparte in custody, what was left for him to do?

Tend to his children, of course, he remembered with a pang of shame. Raising them would become his new mission. If he was not certain how to go about it, he would consult Hannah Fletcher for advice.

That prospect eased his restlessness and filled him with fresh energy. He set off at once for the nursery, where he found Hannah working with young Peter on his penmanship.

“Your hand is far better than mine at your age.” Gavin looked over a practice sentence the child had written. “Better than it is now, I daresay.”

His son seemed pleased by the compliment. “Perhaps you just need more practice, Papa. Would you like to join me? Miss Fletcher can show you how to form your letters properly.”

He and Hannah exchanged a glance over the child’s head, both of them struggling to suppress a grin. It was the least awkward interaction they’d had since their embrace. It gave Gavin hope that they might be able to recapture their earlier ease with one another.

“That is a tempting invitation.” He gave his son a tentative pat on the shoulder and was rewarded with an approving smile from Hannah. “But I fear I might set you a bad example. Besides, my habits of bad penmanship may be too deeply ingrained for any amount of practice to correct.”

How his father would have doted on young Peter, so grave, studious and neat-handed. Here was a boy who could be molded into a proper aristocrat, perhaps even a courtier—not a boisterous, outspoken lout who was only good for cannon fodder.

“Is there something the matter, sir?” Hannah’s brow creased, and her eyes shadowed with concern for him.

Only that he feared becoming a good father would be harder than commanding a cavalry regiment. For instance, where would he find common ground with the son who was so much like his father and brother and so little like him?

He shook his head in response to her question. “I am quite well, thank you. I was only thinking since it is such a fine day I might pay a visit to Arthur and Alice. I wondered if the two of you would care to join me.”

Peter jumped from his chair. “Can we, please, Miss Hannah?”

His son’s pleading gaze made Gavin realize they might have one thing in common at least—their love for the babies. That was as good place to start as any, surely.

Hannah gave a rueful chuckle. “You have had such a long break from your studies the past few weeks, another hour or two can do no harm.”

Peter gave a cheer. Perhaps the boy was not
always
so grave and quiet, Gavin reflected, only subdued by the loss of his doting mother and anxious around the father who was still rather a stranger.

“I know it isn’t far.” Peter addressed his governess, yet Gavin sensed a request coming that was meant for him. “But can we take the pony cart? I haven’t ridden in it since Papa began to feel better.”

The last thing Gavin wanted was for his young son to associate him with the loss of favorite amusements.

“You enjoy the pony cart, do you?” he asked and received a vigorous nod in reply. “Have you ever ridden on a pony’s back?”

This time Peter shook his head and heaved a sigh. “Mama said I was not big enough. She said I might get thrown off and hurt.”

“Not big enough?” Gavin scoffed. “Why, I was riding before I could—”

A pointed look from Hannah silenced him. Perhaps it was not a good idea to dismiss his late wife’s concerns in front of their son. “That is...your mother may have wanted you to be properly taught to ride. She loved you a great deal and did not want to take any risks with your safety.”

If Clarissa had lived, might the two of them finally have established a bond in their love of the children? He would never know.

“Could you teach me to ride, Papa?” This time his son addressed Gavin directly.

He smiled. “I reckon I could. And since it is only a short distance to the Millers’ and the Wilkeses’, this would be an excellent opportunity for your first lesson.”

The child jumped up and down, clapping his hands, then cast a wary glance toward his governess as if afraid she might disapprove and forbid the riding lesson.

Gavin had more faith in her affection for his son.

Hannah did not disappoint him. “That sounds like a fine idea. You have grown a good deal in the past two months. I believe your mama would think you are big enough to learn to ride. And who better to teach you than your papa?”

Peter’s face glowed with happiness. He threw his arms around his governess’s waist and squeezed tight. “Thank you, Miss Hannah!”

She stiffened for a moment at the child’s unbridled show of affection. Gavin wondered if it reminded her of
his
recent embrace.

She quickly recovered from her surprise and ruffled his son’s hair. “Your father is the one you should thank. It was his idea, after all, and he will be teaching you.”

The boy let go of her and approached Gavin with an air of uncertainty. “Thank you, Papa.”

A covert nod from Hannah told Gavin he ought to stoop to his son’s level, which he did. “You are quite welcome. I expect I shall have an easier task teaching you to ride than you had teaching me to fold paper.”

Peter grinned as if he knew that was true but did not want to gloat. Though the boy made no move to embrace him, Gavin still felt he was making progress in learning to be the kind of father his son needed. A soft glow in Hannah’s eyes told him she agreed.

“Shall I come along?” she asked. “Or would you gentlemen prefer to be on your own?”

“’Course you must come, Miss Hannah.” Peter’s tone suggested that the answer should be obvious. “The babies will want to see you.”

“I agree, Miss Hannah.” As Gavin rose, he savored the opportunity to address her by her Christian name, as his son did. “We need you with us.”

He cast a silent plea for her assistance. He would feel more confident of his parenting efforts if she were there—like the boost it gave troops heading into battle to know there were reinforcements ready to come to their aid. Peter clasped hands with his governess, then held out his other hand to Gavin, who was happy to take it. Together they headed off to the stables, where Gavin ordered a small, gentle pony saddled.

The next several hours passed swiftly and enjoyably. Gavin was pleased to discover that although his son did not have his natural aptitude for riding, the child clearly loved horses and was eager to learn. Little Alice and Arthur had recently begun to laugh and engaged everyone with their infectious chortles and gurgles. Gavin wished he had more opportunity to chat with Hannah, but he was obliged to keep his attention fixed on Peter and the babies. In spite of that, he was aware of her presence and her warm approval of his efforts.

They returned to the house hungry for tea. Gavin wondered what Hannah would say if he asked to remain in the nursery and eat with her and Peter.

That thought fled his mind when the butler bustled toward them, holding out a letter. “For you, sir. From Lord Benedict, I believe.”

Reluctantly Gavin let go of his son’s hand, took the letter and broke the seal. As he scanned the viscount’s spiky scrawl, he muttered the words under his breath.

“Are they coming back to visit again?” asked Peter. “Is that what it says?”

“I hope it is not bad news,” said Hannah.

“Not...exactly.” Gavin tried to make light of it so as not to worry his son. Yet coming on the heels of this very pleasant day, the news definitely cast a shadow. It reminded him of the price others had paid so he could enjoy a peaceful afternoon with his children. “But there is a matter with which Lord Benedict could use my help. I may have to go away for a little while.”

His effort to sound casual could not have succeeded, for his son’s expression grew anxious and Hannah’s downright stormy.

“You’re going back to the war, aren’t you?” Peter demanded. “Mama was right. You do only care about fighting!”

“Hush now.” Hannah dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the child. “We talked about this, remember? I’m certain your father will not go anywhere if you do not want him to.”

How dare she make such a promise on his behalf? Gavin glared at her, and she glared back, even as she stroked his son’s hair and murmured words of gentle reassurance. How could such a caring, nurturing woman have such a core of iron? The contrast puzzled Gavin until he recalled how gentle mother animals could turn positively vicious in defense of their young. Hannah Fletcher might not have borne his children but he sensed that no one would love them more or fight for them more fiercely than she.