by Deborah Hale
“I am perfectly capable of sitting up on my own,” Gavin insisted. But when he tried, a hot stab of pain made him inhale sharply.
“Very capable, indeed,” Miss Fletcher muttered.
Before he could stop her, she swooped down, wedged her shoulder beneath his right arm and eased him to a sitting position. Once there, she continued to support him. Gavin wanted to dismiss her gruffly, but the room was beginning to tilt this way and that, making him fear he might humiliate himself further by falling over if she let go. So he gritted his teeth and prepared to endure what he could not avoid.
As Dr. Hodge wound a length of loose-woven cotton around his midriff, Gavin found himself grateful for Miss Fletcher’s capable strength. Her hair grazed his cheek, and the clean, tangy scent of lemon filled his nostrils.
“I commend your devotion to king and country,” the doctor continued as he went about his work. “But you must not forget the duty you owe to your children, especially since they have lost their poor mother.”
Something in the man’s tone suggested he was only parroting the opinion of another person. Gavin had no trouble guessing who that meddlesome someone might be.
“What have my children got to do with any of this?” he demanded, addressing Hannah Fletcher as much as her puppet, the doctor.
True, he had not originally intended to become a father, and he had very little experience with children. That did not mean he would ever neglect his duty to his offspring. He resented having anyone question that.
The doctor tucked in the end of the bandaging that held the dressing in place. “Your children have a great deal to do with it and a great deal to lose if you jeopardize your health by not taking proper care of yourself.”
Hodge might have spoken those words, yet they sounded as if they had come straight from Miss Fletcher. No doubt she had lectured the poor man half-deaf on the subject all the way here. Much as it exasperated Gavin, he could not deny her devotion to his eldest son, which now clearly extended to the little ones as well.
“I have no intention of neglecting my duty to my children,” he repeated, sensing Miss Fletcher might not believe him. “If you say I must rest for a fortnight in order for my wound to heal properly then… I suppose… I must.”
That final admission came out almost painfully, like a rotten tooth being extracted. He did not know how he would withstand the tedium and uncertainty for that length of time. Somehow he must, for the sake of his young family and the mission he had sworn to carry out. Neither would benefit from his death.
“I was certain your lordship would see reason,” the doctor replied.
If Miss Fletcher had not been so near, Gavin might have missed her faint sniff of doubt.
The doctor nodded to her. “I am finished. You may lower the earl now.”
Her muscles tensed, preparing to bear his weight. “Just relax and let me do the work, sir.”
Gavin tried, but it was not easy to surrender control to another person. His sinews instinctively tightened to keep from falling back too quickly. A sharp pain in his side warned him that he had likely torn a bit of flesh that was trying to knit itself back together. By a great effort of will, he managed to relax as Miss Fletcher had bidden him and let her ease him down the rest of the way.
As she slid her arm out from beneath his shoulder, her face hovered near his. Gavin found himself suddenly intrigued by the shape of her lips, which suggested both fierce determination and profound generosity.
His conscience denounced him fiercely for entertaining such a thought. He had no business noticing any woman’s lips when the mother of his children was barely in her grave. Poor Clarissa! He had married her for all the wrong reasons, believing she would be content as the wife of a soldier seldom home from war. He had let her down in so many ways, but at least he had never looked at another woman.
And he was not about to start. He would have quite enough to occupy him with his mission. Once it was accomplished, he would be busy raising his three motherless children. Any connection with a woman would be a needless complication in his life.
If he had been inclined to think of a woman in that way, his son’s strong-willed governess was the last one he would ever consider. The two of them were like oil and water. Though he had recently discovered she possessed some admirable qualities, it was clear Hannah Fletcher still found him as odious as ever. The speed with which she backed away once she’d carried out the doctor’s orders left no doubt of that.
It galled him that she had managed to compel his agreement to a fortnight’s tedious convalescence through the underhanded use of Dr. Hodge. A soldier never liked to accept the necessity of surrender. He must show Miss Fletcher there could be unpleasant consequences for meddling in his life. Otherwise she might continue to call the tune around Edgecombe until his children were grown.
The doctor packed his satchel and promised to call again in two days’ time unless he was summoned sooner.
When the governess offered to see him out, Gavin spoke up. “I would like a word with you after that please, Miss Fletcher.”
Dr. Hodge waved her back. “In that case I can see myself out. No need for you to go all the way down to the entry only to return. Good evening, Lord Hawkehurst. I wish you a pleasant rest.”
Pleasant rest. Gavin barely suppressed a sniff of derision. There was no such thing as far as he was concerned. He was a man of action and had been for as long as he could recall. He had already exhausted his tolerance for lying about doing nothing. The coming fortnight stretched ahead of him like an endless wasteland. If he must endure such tedium he had no intention of enduring it alone.
The doctor closed the door behind him.
Miss Fletcher turned toward Gavin, but she made no move to approach him. “What did you wish to say to me, sir?”
“Pleased with yourself, are you?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon, sir? Pleased on what account?”
Gavin shook his head. “Come now, Miss Fletcher. It will not do. We both know you put the doctor up to that, so let us not insult one another by pretending otherwise.”
For a moment the lady looked as if she intended to continue protesting her innocence, but then her chin tilted upward and she met his challenging gaze with one of her own. “Very well. I did speak to the doctor. But only because you refused to heed a word I said. I thought you might take more notice if the advice came from a man and someone outside your household.”
Well, well. It appeared Miss Fletcher was capable of giving as good as she got. Her frankness put Gavin in mind of the Duke of Wellington, the commander he revered. Her words hit home, for he knew all too well the frustration of having his sound advice ignored by his superiors.
“Neither of those changed my mind,” he insisted.
Miss Fletcher’s brows rose. “Then pray what accounted for the alteration?”
He was enjoying this. The unlikely feeling crept up on Gavin just as it had the previous morning when he and Miss Fletcher had sparred verbally. Somehow the sluggish minutes passed more swiftly when he was diverted in this manner. He asked himself why and decided perhaps it was the nearest thing to combat he could experience while confined to his sickbed.
Of course, that must be the reason.
“What changed my mind?” He readied his next salvo. “Why, experience of course. You tried to warn me that a hearty breakfast might not be the best idea, but I thought otherwise and learned a hard lesson.”
Miss Fletcher blinked rapidly and took a step closer to him. “You did?”
A faint glow of satisfaction provided some relief for Gavin’s chagrin. He never liked admitting he’d been wrong. But it might be worth the minor humiliation to keep his adversary off balance.
He nodded. “Hard but valuable—as most worthwhile lessons are. I realized that any attempt to hurry the natural rate of my recovery would only delay it. Therefore, the quickest way to get on my feet again would be to remain on my back for as long as I must.”
Miss
Fletcher seemed to sense something amiss. “Then why did you argue with the doctor if you already knew what he was trying to tell you?”
“I was not entirely prepared to admit defeat. I would rather fight a division of the French Imperial Guard than spend a fortnight doing absolutely nothing.”
“I can understand that, sir,” Miss Fletcher replied in a tone of sincere sympathy.
“You can?” Who had been caught off balance this time?
The governess gave a rueful nod. “I might not prefer to face down the Imperial Guard, but I do like to keep busy and feel useful. The prospect of a fortnight with nothing to do would hold no appeal for me.”
Who would have thought they might have something in common? Certainly not Gavin. “Then you can see why I would not want to agree to it except as a last resort.”
“But you did agree for the sake of your children.” She sounded as surprised as he felt. “That was well done.”
Would wonders never cease? There was something about him of which Miss Fletcher approved. “May I assume you would not object to helping make my ordeal more bearable?”
She went for the bait without a moment’s hesitation. “I should be happy to assist you in any, sir. Pray, what can I do?”
“You can keep company with me.” The instant he spoke, Gavin realized he had phrased his request quite the wrong way. A man and woman were said to keep company when they were courting. “I mean… you can keep me company. Help me pass the time so I do not go mad from boredom.”
He prepared for her to argue and make excuses, but he would counter them all until he won his way at last, as she had won hers to keep him bedridden. If he must suffer such imprisonment, so must she. That was only fair, surely.
The last thing he expected was for Miss Fletcher to reply, “Very well, sir. If that is what you wish, I shall be happy to oblige you.”
Gavin’s well-honed military instincts warned him that he had just blundered into an ambush.
Chapter Four
WHY HAD THE earl asked her to keep him company while he recuperated? Hannah pondered that question every waking from when he ordered her away to get a decent night’s sleep until the morning when he summoned her back to attend him.
It was not because he enjoyed her company. She had no illusions about that.
Perhaps Lord Hawkehurst considered it some sort of punishment she deserved because he held her responsible for the dreary confinement he faced. Could he not understand that was his fault? If he had not tried to rush his recovery, he might only have had to endure one week or less.
Whatever his reasons, Hannah was not altogether displeased with the result. True, it might be rather disagreeable to spend so much time in the company of a man who seemed to go out of his way to antagonize her—a man she found it difficult to forgive for making his late wife so unhappy. It would also keep her busier than ever trying to accommodate the children’s needs and his lordship’s. Besides that, there was a disturbing undercurrent of tension between her and the earl that she could not understand. Did it spring from her aversion to the man… or feelings that were quite the opposite?
Hannah dismissed that ridiculous notion before it fully formed in her mind. Instead she turned her thoughts back to the children. It was on their account she welcomed the opportunity to supervise their father’s recovery.
Just because his lordship had assured the doctor that he would stay quiet and not overtax his strength did not mean he would be able to keep his promise—especially if the hours dragged by too slowly or he received upsetting news from the Continent. If he took it into his head to disobey his doctor’s orders, none of the servants would have the nerve to stop him. But she would, in order to preserve his health for the children’s sake.
She had another aim in mind as well. No matter how difficult it might be, she intended to win the earl’s trust so he would never consider replacing her as his children’s governess.
Fearing that might be a task beyond her ability, Hannah knelt by her window for a moment, clasped her hands and gazed up into the serene blue of the summer morning sky. “Please, Lord, help me to get on well with the earl and make his healing time pass as quickly as possible.”
It wasn’t often she pestered God with pleas on her own account. Past experience had taught her to be self-reliant and do for others. But surely it was no great failing to ask for a little help now and then. She hoped her Heavenly Father would appreciate that this was a request of particular urgency and grant it.
The very act of phrasing her prayer gave Hannah a boost of energy and optimism. With divine assistance nothing was impossible, though she feared that keeping Lord Hawkehurst amused for a fortnight might come close.
Firmly dismissing that thought, she practiced smiling in front of the looking glass. The expression she managed to produce looked more bilious than cheerful.
“For the children,” she reminded herself. Closing her eyes, she pictured young Peter, Alice and Arthur.
When she opened her eyes to look in the glass again, Hannah was relieved to find her features relaxed in a doting smile.
“Thank you, Lord,” she breathed. “Now I suppose I’d better not delay any longer. It will not improve his lordship’s temper if I keep him waiting.”
She discovered just how truly she’d spoken when she entered the earl’s bedchamber a short while later.
“What kept you?” he demanded. “You claimed to be so eager to be of service, yet you have left me lying here with nothing to occupy me. I am only hours into this wretched convalescence, yet it already feels like a week.”
All Hannah’s good intentions evaporated in a flare of annoyance. “At least you are alive and have all your limbs and senses about you. Rather than bemoaning two weeks’ rest, you ought to be thankful your wound will heal that quickly!”
Though she meant every word of it, inwardly Hannah cringed at her shrill, priggish tone. What was it about this man that brought out the worst in her? She spun toward the window and yanked open the curtains so the earl would not witness her grimace of regret. Not that it mattered. He would likely order her out of his presence after such an insolent outburst. She would be fortunate if he did not dismiss her from his service on the spot.
She heard him inhale sharply at her rebuke and braced for the counterblast she knew would come. One she deserved, no doubt.
“You are right, Miss Fletcher.” Those were the last words she’d expected to hear from Lord Hawkehurst. Could her ears be playing tricks on her?
“I—I am?” She turned back toward the bed, fighting to rally her composure.
“Of course you are.” There could be no mistaking the earl’s tone of chagrin. “You need not have been so brutally blunt about it, but that does not make you wrong. When the surgeons were patching up this pinprick of mine, I heard men screaming in agony as their shattered arms and legs were sawed off. Others had bandages wrapped around their eyes, never to see again. I am an ungrateful wretch to complain of a situation which will soon pass.”
The earl’s frank acknowledgment made Hannah feel worse than any reproach. Was this how a soft answer could turn away wrath? Perhaps she ought to learn a lesson from it. “I beg your pardon, sir. It was not my place to speak to you that way.”
Lord Hawkehurst raised his shoulders in a rueful shrug. “Even if you were right?”
“Even then.” Hannah sank onto the chair beside his bed. “It is not always easy to remember our blessings.”
She recalled the relief and grateful elation she’d felt when his lordship had finally regained consciousness. How quickly she had taken that blessing for granted to focus on some new dissatisfaction. She had no right to take him to task for a failing they shared.
“It is no blessing being forced to spend time with a person you detest,” the earl muttered. “Is that why you were so quick to lose your temper with me?”
A reflexive denial rose to Hannah’s lips. “I do not detest—”
The earl’s dubious stare stopped he
r in midsentence. “If we are to spend the next fortnight together, I reckon we ought to clear the air, don’t you?”
Before she could answer, he continued, “I know you disapprove of me and my profession. I suppose you think it sinful of me to have fought for my country and its allies.”
His accusation caught Hannah off guard, uncertain how to respond. She could not pretend she’d approved of his decision to return to war the last time. But what would become of the world if every soldier and sailor put domestic concerns ahead of their military duty?
“It is not for me to judge whether anyone else has done wrong. Scripture says all have sinned in some way and fallen short of the glory of God.” She hoped her words would appease him. Instead his dark gaze grew stormy and his features clenched in a fearful scowl that compelled her to ask, “Do you not believe in God?”
“Of course I do!” the earl sounded surprised and offended by her question. “Though I sometimes wonder about the contradictory demands the Almighty places upon humanity. It seems no matter what we do, or how hard we try, we can never measure up. We are always wrong, always judged and found wanting.”
The bitterness in his voice took Hannah aback. It made her wonder what had given him such a harsh impression of the Lord. Discretion urged her to drop the subject, but something else made her persist. “I do not believe that passage of Scripture was meant as blame, only to warn us against self-righteousness. Perhaps I should have paid it more heed.”
Hannah could not recall the last time she had spoken so openly with anyone about her faith. Lord Hawkehurst was a most unlikely confidante. Yet it felt strangely natural to talk this way with him. Could it be because they had both confronted death so recently?
“I do not condemn your military service,” she continued, “quite the contrary. I know there will always be people who seek to oppress anyone weaker than themselves.”
She recalled how the biggest girls at school had always crowded around the fire, preventing the younger ones from receiving any of its meager warmth. “Fortunately, there are others willing to defend the weak, even at risk of harm to themselves. Anyone with a sense of right and wrong must admire them.”