The Earl's Honorable Intentions (7 page)

A faint sigh escaped the earl’s lips, the first indication Hannah had heard of grief for his late wife.

“Alice’s hair is dark like yours,” she told him, anxious to establish a connection between father and daughter. “Shall I take off her cap to show you?”

His lordship blanched as if from a mortal threat. “That will not be necessary. I am quite prepared to take your word for it. I would not want to disturb her while she is sleeping.”

“I see a resemblance to
your
mother, as well.” Hannah nodded toward the portrait above the mantel. “Her wide-set eyes and the shape of her mouth.”

The earl’s hand twitched over the bedclothes as if he wanted to reach toward his daughter but something prevented him. Much as Hannah would have loved to cradle the sleeping baby in her arms all day, she reminded herself of the reason she had brought the child to visit her father.

“I really must go look in on Peter.” She rose from her chair. “He doesn’t understand why I am gone so much. I have been reluctant to tell him about your wound. He is very worried that other people he cares about will go away and leave him, like his mother.”

“Poor little chap,” Lord Hawkehurst murmured. “Perhaps it was a blessing I lost my mother before I was old enough to miss her.”

“No loss like that can ever be a blessing.” Hannah thought of the twins and how it might affect them to grow up with no memory of their mother. “But sometimes, even in the worst of circumstances, we can find small mercies for which to be grateful.”

She must quit stalling, Hannah chided herself, and get on with what she had come here to do. “While I go check on your son, I shall leave you to get better acquainted with your daughter.”

Before his lordship could do more than sputter vague sounds of protest, she leaned forward and deposited the sleeping baby in his arms.

“That is not necessary.” He tried to hand the child back, but Hannah had already moved out of reach. “Do not leave her here. You should take her with you!”

“I will not be long.” Hannah gave an airy wave as she headed for the door, though the edge of panic in the earl’s voice gave her second thoughts about her plan. “I’m sure she will not be any trouble.”

“Miss Fletcher.” His voice pursued her. “I must insist you return and take the child back at once! What are you thinking to leave her here? I am in no shape to take care of an infant. I am not even capable of caring for myself!”

Hannah stopped just outside the door. Every feminine instinct urged her to go back at once and retrieve the baby, but she strove to resist.

Lord Hawkehurst was not going to form a bond with his daughter by watching her from an impersonal distance. He needed to see up close the plump curve of baby Alice’s cheek and the gossamer fringe of lashes on her closed eyes. He needed to hear the steady whisper of her breathing and the tiny coos and gurgles she sometimes made in her sleep. He needed to feel her warm weight in his arms and smell her milky-sweet scent. Only then might she begin to make a place for herself in his heart.

Keep your voice down or you might wake her up!
Hannah longed to warn the earl. That was clearly the last thing his lordship wanted.

But it was too late.

The baby had slept serenely while Hannah carried her from her nurse’s cottage and then talked for some time with her father. But the transfer to his tense, unwelcoming arms and the ragged edge of panic in his voice must have jarred little Alice from her tranquil repose.

The child gave a fussy little bleat, which prompted her father to cry out even louder. “Miss Fletcher, come back here at once!”

It was everything Hannah could do to resist his desperate plea and her womanly instinct to soothe a crying infant. But she dared not rush to his rescue too soon. She must give the earl an opportunity to discover that tending a baby was not as frightening and fraught with failure as he appeared to believe. If she swooped in the moment things went a little wrong, she would only confirm his belief that the task was beyond his ability.

So she stood and listened as the baby’s cries grew louder and shriller, each one slicing into her like a blade. Silently she implored the earl to find a way to quiet his tiny daughter.

* * *

What was Hannah Fletcher trying to do—terrify his tiny daughter and drive him gibbering mad?

As the baby’s face grew red and her wails became louder, Gavin would rather have been anywhere than lying there so helpless and ill equipped to comfort her. A litany of unkind words ran through his mind, all directed toward the heartless woman his late wife had trusted to watch over his children. Was this an example of how she meant to safeguard their well-being?

“Hush, now,” he begged the crying infant. “Please, please, hush. I know you must be frightened that Miss Fletcher dumped you upon me. I am no happier about it than you are, but I swear I will not let any harm come to you.”

In spite of how it might set back his recovery and thus his mission, Gavin considered rising from his bed and marching off to the nursery with the baby. There he would hand her over to someone other than Miss Fletcher and order little Alice returned to her nurse at once.

But he dared not take the chance that he might become light-headed and fall with his tiny daughter in his arms. He could not even reach the bellpull to summon assistance without loosening his hold on her and leaning over dangerously far. The safest action he could take was the one that came hardest to him—do nothing and wait. Miss Fletcher would have to return eventually.

The baby’s cries seemed to demand he do more than that. Perhaps she was not frightened of him after all, but angry at being woken so abruptly.

“I sympathize with you.” He knew the child could not understand a word he was saying any more than his horse might.

The pitch of her cries reminded him of the shrill whinny of a spooked horse. It was a sound that did not stop at his ears but penetrated his chest, making his heart gallop and his breath race. It set all his nerves jangling and made him want to do anything that might make it stop.

Then he recalled how his roan gelding, Severn, responded to the sound of his voice, especially when nervous. His touch had calmed the beast, as well. Was it possible this small creature might respond in the same way?

“There is no sense bellowing.” Fighting every instinct to the contrary, he pitched his voice soft and low, barely audible above his daughter’s screams. “Believe me, I tried. It will not bring Miss Fletcher back a moment sooner. Until she decides to return, I’m afraid you are stuck with me.”

As he spoke, he held the baby securely, passing one hand over her tense little body, the way he would have caressed Severn’s neck or flank before a charge. He wasn’t certain it was doing the child any good, but at least it made
him
feel calmer and more in control.

“I’m sorry to be such a dunce about all this, but it is rather uncharted territory for me.” Was it his imagination or were the cries becoming less shrill? “I wish you could tell me what is wrong and how I can help, but I suppose that would be too much to expect from someone of your age.”

Horses could not speak either, to explain their troubles, yet over the years he had learned to interpret the different sounds they made and the physical signs that indicated their moods and their needs. Did women learn to do the same with babies?

His daughter was definitely growing quieter. That certainty brought Gavin a rush of relief, charged with a flicker of triumph that he’d seldom felt, except after winning a battle. Could little Alice be responding to his easing tension?

“That’s better.” He wiped away a tiny tear with the tip of his forefinger. He could not resist grazing it over the baby’s cheek. He had never felt anything so soft. Not the finest kid leather. Not even the petal of a flower. Something this small and soft called forth all his strength and courage to protect it.

“Shh, shh. Everything will be well. You’ll see. I will hold you safe until Miss Fletcher returns.” Gavin kept talking about anything and nothing, for the words would have no meaning for the child, only the tone of his voice.

At last, after a series of little grunts and sniffles, Alice’s crying subsided. Had she gone back to sleep? Gavin angled his head and titled her slightly to check.

No. His daughter was wide awake. She fixed him with a solemn stare, as if she was committing every feature of his face to memory. He could not help smiling. All thought of his earlier unease faded, eclipsed by feelings that were entirely new to him.

“Isn’t that better?” Without conscious effort, his voice took on a tone unlike any he’d ever used before. “Shall we just lie here and enjoy one another’s company? I must confess I find the prospect of raising a daughter rather daunting. I hope you will not hold it against me if I make some mistakes over the next twenty years or so.”

He could not resist grazing his knuckle over the delicate roundness of her cheek. To his surprise, she raised one tiny hand and grabbed on to his finger with surprising strength.

“Looking to shake hands, are you?” Gavin’s smile stretched wider as he bobbed his finger up and down. “Good day to you, Lady Alice. Allow me to present my compliments.”

He drew her hand toward his lips and pressed a soft kiss on it.

A chuckle bubbled up in his throat only to find it strangely constricted. What in blazes had come over him?

He was still trying to sort out his feelings when Miss Fletcher breezed back into the room. “There, I said I would not be long and the baby would be no trouble.”

Gavin managed to wrench his gaze away from his daughter to direct it at her godmother. “Why did you thrust her upon me and run off like that? It woke her. She began to cry. You must have heard. I thought you promised to safeguard her welfare.”

“I did,” Hannah Fletcher protested. “I was! Your children’s well-being will always be my first concern.”

Gavin detected a quaver of guilt lurking beneath her words. It suggested she was not as confident of her motives as she pretended to be.

When he continued to stare at her without another word, Miss Fletcher’s conscience got the better of her.

“Perhaps it was not my best idea.” She heaved a contrite sigh as she dropped heavily onto her chair. “But I knew no harm would come to your daughter, and I was right. You managed to soothe her, which can take some doing. I suspect you have far more skill with little ones than you realize.”

“With
big
ones, actually.” His gaze strayed back to his daughter’s small face as if drawn by a powerful magnetic force.

When she stared back at him with rapt interest, the corners of his lips arched upward quite against his will. How was he supposed to impress on Miss Fletcher the gravity of her error when he was grinning like a fool?

“Big ones, sir?”

“Horses.” Gavin raised his forefinger again and watched with wonder and amusement as baby Alice reached out and clenched her diminutive fingers around it. What a strong grip she had for her size! That would be a great asset to her when she grew older and learned to ride. “I have never been good at understanding people—what they want from me and what makes them behave the way they do. I understand horses, though, and it occurred to me that babies might not be so very different.”

He cast a quick glance at Miss Fletcher to find one of her eyebrows raised in a look of doubtful puzzlement. “Indeed? How so?”

“The way they respond to a certain tone of voice and touch.” Gavin wondered what compelled him to make her understand.

“I believe you may be on to something,” she replied. “In my experience babies also like to be rocked and bounced about gently. I’m not sure how you would manage that with a horse.”

She concluded with a sputter of laughter, the first time Gavin had heard any such sound from her. Until that moment, he would have sworn Miss Fletcher did not know how to laugh. It was a very pleasant, infectious sound that coaxed an answering chuckle from him.

Then he remembered his wife and his best friend had been dead for a very short time. Everything that had happened since then and the endless hours he’d been confined to bed made it feel much longer. But in the eyes of the world both bereavements were still fresh. He had no business laughing and feeling happy when he should be mourning Molesworth and Clarissa.

With ruthless force, Gavin forced his mouth into a severe line.

Miss Fletcher stifled her chuckle just as quickly, making Gavin wonder if he had only imagined it. “However you managed to settle your daughter, I knew you would rise to the occasion. I felt it would do her far less harm to fuss a bit than to grow any older at a distance from her father. Alice needs you, sir. They all do. And this seemed the perfect opportunity to bring the two of you together.”

Gavin wondered if Miss Fletcher might be right. Could this be his chance to become a better father than he’d been a husband? An opportunity to put the horrors of war behind him and become a man of peace?

With his infant daughter cradled in his arms, he wanted to believe it was possible. But experience had taught him that a single victorious skirmish did not ensure a successful campaign. He could not hope to achieve that goal on his own any more than Britain could have defeated Bonaparte without the assistance of its allies. Was it possible he might find an ally in his former adversary, Hannah Fletcher?

Chapter Six

“I
s it quite necessary that you desert me to go off to church?” Lord Hawkehurst asked Hannah the next morning as he ate his breakfast. “There are no newspapers for me to read today. How am I to pass the time until you return?”

A few days ago such complaints might have irritated Hannah, but closer acquaintance with the earl had made her more tolerant. Considering how hard he found it to stomach inactivity, he seemed to be trying his best. He had not given in to the temptation to rise from his sickbed without the doctor’s permission, not even when Hannah had left baby Alice in his care.

Listening to the gentle way he spoke to his infant daughter and watching the way he held her, Hannah had found herself strangely drawn to him. No doubt that was due to their mutual bond with the child. Whatever the reason, she was relieved her attitude toward him had begun to soften. It would be far more difficult to keep her promise to his late wife if she must constantly battle her aversion to the children’s father.

“As to your first question,” she replied, “yes, it is quite necessary for me to go to church. With all that has happened of late, I need to seek comfort in the words of scripture and pray for strength and guidance. It is vital that I take your son with me. After losing his mother, he needs the consolation only faith and love can provide.”

“I suppose that is all true.” The earl finished his last spoonful of buttered eggs. “I beg your pardon, Miss Fletcher. I did not mean to be so beastly selfish. Being confined to a sickbed for days on end does not bring out the best in me. I reckon you need all the divine assistance you can get to put up with it me.”

Hannah did not disagree, though in truth she found him much easier to tolerate when he recognized his own faults. “To answer your second question, you might pass the time and observe the Sabbath by reading from your Bible. It may not be as current as the
Times
or the
Morning Chronicle,
but it contains words of wisdom that could well apply to the present situation. Or you could pray about matters on the Continent.”

The earl did not greet her suggestions with much enthusiasm. “I am accustomed to taking more direct action. But since I am unable to do that...”

“You might be surprised at the power of prayer.” Hannah removed his breakfast tray to the butler’s table beside the door. “If nothing else, it might help you decide upon a course of action to pursue once you are well again.”

She hoped the spirit would move him to remain at Edgecombe with his children and leave the fate of Napoleon Bonaparte to a higher power.

“Perhaps.” The earl did not sound hopeful.

Hannah wished she had taken Sunday into account when she’d made up his lordship’s schedule of activities. It was meant to be a day of rest, but he clearly needed as much activity as possible.

“Before you go,” said Lord Hawkehurst, “I wish to speak to you about my daughter’s visit yesterday.”

“Very well, sir.” Hannah braced for a reprimand she’d been expecting ever since.

Perhaps she deserved it. Had she taken too great a risk by leaving the baby alone with a father who had little experience with infants and even less liking for them? Just because her gamble had paid off did not mean it had been wise.

“Apart from a little crying, her visit did not appear to do the child any harm.” The earl sounded oddly defensive, as if he expected Hannah to disagree.

His remark was so different from what she had expected that it took Hannah a moment to recover from her surprise and produce a reply. “On the contrary, sir. I believe an opportunity to meet her father could do your daughter nothing but good.”

Though he tried not to show it, the earl seemed pleased with her answer. “In that case, I would not object if you were to bring her for another visit sometime soon. Tomorrow, perhaps, if the weather permits.”

This was so much better than she’d dared to hope. Hannah made no effort to conceal her happiness. She did have one reservation, however. “I can bring Alice again if you wish, sir. But what about little Arthur? You have not met your younger son yet, and I am certain you would not wish to favor one of your children over the others.”

“No, indeed.” His lordship’s brow furrowed and his features settled into a pensive frown. “I would never want that.”

The matter was clearly of great significance to him. Hannah could not help wondering why.

“I never expected to have a family, you know,” the earl mused as if in answer to her unspoken question. “I never
intended
to have one. I was devoted to my military career, and I did not feel it would be compatible with family life.”

“What changed your mind?” Was it impertinent to ask such a personal question of her employer? Hannah feared it might be. Yet she could not resist the inclination to know his lordship better. Perhaps if she learned more about his past and came to understand his motives, it might help her persuade him to do the right thing for his children.

If the earl resented her question, he gave no sign of it. “My elder brother fell ill and died. Did Clarissa never tell you?”

“No, sir.” Why should she?

Her face must have betrayed her puzzlement, for his lordship offered an explanation. “As the new heir, I was expected to perform the duty for which I had been bred—step in to ensure the succession of the family title. My father insisted upon it. Clarissa had been engaged to my brother. After a suitable period of mourning, she seemed agreeable to accept me in his place.”

So he had wed his late wife out of duty, not love. That explained a great deal about their marriage. Hannah wished she had known sooner. While there were some who might not approve of the earl’s actions, she had always set a high value on duty. If his lordship did too, it seemed all the more likely she might help him recognize the duty he owed to his children.

But what about their mother? Why did the earl suppose she had married him? To secure the title of countess, perhaps, or a fine home and fortune?

“Why are you telling me this?” She was not comfortable with any knowledge that cast his marriage in a different light from the one she had seen.

“I’m not certain, to be honest.” The earl sounded almost as puzzled by this unexpected confidence as she. “Perhaps I do not want you to think I care nothing for my children. I
want
to be a proper father to them, but I have no idea where to begin or whether I have it in me.”

Would he rather not try at all than try and fail? Hannah found that attitude difficult to fathom. Her instinct in the face of possible failure had always been to try harder, do better, give more. “You have already made a good beginning with Alice, sir. You clearly demonstrated that you have it in you to be a fine father, if you are willing to try.”

“Of course I will
try.
But if I am to have any hope of succeeding, I shall need...help.” The earl sounded almost ashamed to admit it. “
Your
help, Miss Fletcher. You have done a fine job helping me to endure my recovery. That schedule of yours has made the time pass more quickly. I can see now why her ladyship placed such great reliance upon you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hannah’s face blazed. Past experience had made her much more accustomed to accepting slights and criticism than praise. For some reason, she found herself particularly uncomfortable receiving a compliment from Lord Hawkehurst.

She told herself not to be so foolish. The more his lordship came to depend on her, the better chance she would have of dissuading him from returning to his regiment once he recovered. “I shall be happy to do everything in my power to assist you.”

“Good.” The earl sounded relieved, as if he had expected her to refuse. “I hope that means when you fetch my son to visit you will not simply dump him upon me, then disappear, but rather stay and offer some advice on how to handle him.”

“I did not
dump
...” Hannah began to protest. The words faded on her lips when she realized he had spoken the truth. “Er...that is...of course, your lordship.”

She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Dear me, I must be going, or Peter and I will be late for church. Since you have less than usual to occupy you today, perhaps I could call at the Wilkeses’ cottage on my way back and bring Arthur for a visit this afternoon.”

Hannah wondered if she might be pressing her luck with that suggestion. But she wanted the earl to spend as much time as possible with his children while he was confined to bed with few other matters to claim his attention.

His lordship hesitated for a moment, then replied, “That is an excellent idea. I look forward to it.”

* * *

After what seemed like a very long time, but what the mantel clock insisted had only been two and a half hours, Miss Fletcher returned to Edgecombe. It struck Gavin that she looked rather attractive in spite of her black mourning dress and bonnet. Her cheeks had a dapple of healthy color, and there was a becoming softness about her features that might have something to do with the baby she held in her arms. Or perhaps he was so desperate for company that even the old butler would have looked attractive in his eyes.

“Lord Hawkehurst.” She perched on the edge of his bed and held up the baby for his inspection. “May I present your younger son, Arthur Gavin Horatio Romney.”

The child was dressed in identical garments to his twin sister, a white gown and cap with a blanket wrapped around him. Yet Gavin thought he could detect subtle differences in their looks. Little Arthur had darker brows than his sister and a tiny dimple in his chin. Unlike Alice, he was wide-awake and seemed less placid. His small fists flailed and his gaze swept the room, gradually focusing on his father’s face.

“Well,” said Gavin. “That is an impressive name for such a little fellow to live up to. I suppose you will have no choice but to pursue a military career. Which do you fancy—the army or the navy?”

Both were popular choices for younger sons of the nobility who would not inherit the family lands and fortune...unless some harm came to their elder brothers. Most peers liked to have at least one extra son—a spare who could inherit if anything happened to the heir.

“Would you like to hold him?” Miss Fletcher asked with a warm flicker of encouragement in her eyes. “I will not run off, I promise. I shall stay right here, prepared to take him back if you need me to.”

Gavin’s face must have betrayed his misgivings.

“There is no danger of breaking him.” Miss Fletcher bounced the child gently in her arms. “He is sturdier than he looks. Remember how well you managed with little Alice yesterday.”

“Very well, then.” Gavin held out his arms, not wanting to appear a coward. “I suppose I cannot do much worse than yesterday. I will keep try to keep my voice down to begin with.”

“That would be a good start.” Hannah Fletcher leaned closer to transfer the child into Gavin’s waiting arms. Somehow, she seemed more awkward about it than the previous day when she’d foisted his infant daughter on him without ceremony.

Today she proceeded with much greater care. “There we go. Make certain you support his head. He is a bit too young to hold it upright on his own yet. But he will be soon, won’t you, Arthur? You’re strong for your size. I reckon you will grow up to be a big, strapping man like your papa one day.”

Her remark ambushed Gavin. Was that truly how Hannah Fletcher saw him? Even the way he was now, unable to rise from his bed and as dependent on her care as any little child? His chest seemed to expand even as he fumbled to get a proper hold on his small son.

Yesterday, with Alice, he’d been too much taken by surprise to notice the brush of Miss Fletcher’s arms against his or the whisper of her breath in his hair. Now he was acutely conscious of the whole procedure. Part of him wished the governess would draw back as soon as possible, but another part wanted her to linger near him.

Meanwhile the baby wriggled his small body and batted his arms about, making all sorts of gurgling noises that his father found strangely endearing.

“He doesn’t seem to like keeping still any more than you do.” Miss Fletcher gave a breathless chuckle as she abruptly surrendered the child to him and pulled away. “You appear to have a good hold on him now.”

With her hands free, she tugged the strings of her bonnet loose and pulled it off. Several strands of her honey-brown hair came free and fell about her face in winsome disarray.

Gavin had little opportunity to notice for the baby began to fuss. Perhaps young Arthur did not like being parted from his godmother. Or perhaps, like a spirited horse, he sensed uncertainty in the person now handling him. The movement of his arms grew more agitated. His small face reddened, and his features screwed up. A lusty wail erupted from his tiny mouth.

Hard as Gavin tried to remain calm, he could not help but grimace. “Perhaps you ought to take him back. I don’t think he likes me.”

It dismayed him how much that thought stung.

“Nonsense.” Miss Fletcher set her bonnet down on the foot of his bed and proceeded to smooth back the wayward wisps of hair that framed her face. “Babies cry about anything and nothing. You must not take it personally. I’m certain he will soon settle down just like Alice did.”

In the past Gavin had not appreciated the governess’s brisk, capable manner, but today he was grateful for it. She radiated greater confidence in him than he felt in himself.

“I’m afraid this young lad may not be as cooperative as his sister.” In spite of his resolve not to raise his voice, Gavin was forced to in order to make himself heard over the child’s piercing howls.

“He is certainly rambunctious,” Miss Fletcher agreed. “Just as you may have been at his age. He might be more content if he had something to occupy his attention. Try bouncing him a little and talking to him.”

The tension building inside Gavin began to ease. Surely if they put their heads together he and Miss Fletcher could get his noisy young son to settle. The bouncing seemed to help. As for talking, he wasn’t certain. With Alice, he’d just been thinking aloud. But with an audience, he wasn’t certain that would be a wise idea. “What should I say to him?”