by Deborah Hale
The woman had friends and a past life of which he knew nothing. Somehow that came as a revelation to Gavin. “I am not certain I have taken it all in yet. Part of me wants to believe it was a terrible mistake. I know he is gone. I watched him die. Every time I think of him, I am reminded that it should never have happened. We came through that long, blood-drenched slog up the Peninsula without a scratch, and we beat Boney once.” Without realizing it, his voice rose as he spoke until his final words rolled like thunder. Hot anger was easier for him to accept than the chill void of loss. “That should have been an end to it!”
Gavin expected Miss Fletcher to shrink from his outburst as Clarissa would have done. Instead, when he shot her a guilty glance, he found himself caught in a gaze of understanding and compassion.
Surely when he explained it all, she would understand why this meant so much to him and why even his paternal responsibilities would have to wait until he had accomplished his mission. “If only Bonaparte had been dealt with as he deserved a year ago, there would never have been this bloody postscript. Molesworth would have lived to a ripe old age, surrounded by his children and grandchildren.”
“Did he have a family?” Miss Fletcher sounded almost as if she mourned his fallen friend.
“No.” The word gusted out of Gavin like a sigh. “There was one young lady who caught his fancy during the peace celebrations. But he did not want to propose to her until he was certain the war was over for good. Now he will never get that chance.”
“That is a tragic misfortune,” the governess mused. “But even if Bonaparte is made to pay for his actions, it will not bring back your friend.”
“I know that,” Gavin insisted, though a small irrational part of him wanted to believe otherwise. “But it will prevent others like Molesworth from losing their lives in another repetition of this wretched war. And perhaps the soul of my friend will truly rest in peace. Can you not understand the importance of such a vow, Miss Fletcher, and why I cannot rest until I have done everything in my power to fulfill it?”
“I understand better than you may imagine, sir.” The lady looked so deep into his eyes, Gavin had the uncomfortable feeling she could see straight to his heart. “You see, I made a vow much like that to your wife not long before she died. I promised her I would watch over your children and do everything in my power to protect them.”
Somehow, Miss Fletcher’s mention of her promise to his wife brought home to him the reality that Clarissa was truly gone. In the six years of their marriage he had spent far less time in her company than he had away on some distant battlefield. He’d grown accustomed to her absence, which made it difficult to believe she was not still going about her life elsewhere. Now he grasped the truth that her life was over, just like his friend’s, far too soon.
Her brief span of years had not been as happy as they might. That was his fault. He had hoped to make it up to her once the war was over. But would he have been able to? Or would it have been another dismal failure?
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Miss Fletcher’s words pierced Gavin’s bemusement. “Did you hear what I said?”
“You mentioned a vow you made to watch out for the children.” He was tempted to resent Clarissa entrusting their children’s welfare to a paid governess when they had him. It showed whose capability and caring she trusted more. But how could he blame her? He was the first to admit his lack of experience with children, while Miss Fletcher had amply demonstrated her concern for them.
“Is that why you sat up with me while I was unconscious?” he asked. “And why you agreed to keep me company while I am bedridden? For the children’s sake?”
“Of course, sir,” she answered with only the briefest hesitation. “Why else?”
Why else, indeed? Gavin was not certain why her answer came as something of a disappointment. Surely he knew better than to think the lady cared about his well-being for his own sake. But she took her vow to Clarissa seriously. If she believed her worst enemy was essential to the welfare of his children, she would do everything in her power to safeguard that person. Gavin supposed he must admire that depth of dedication.
“I do not want your children to grow up without a mother or a father,” Miss Fletcher continued with a vague air of unease, as if the seat of her chair has grown too warm for comfort. “That is why I wish you would give up any thought of placing yourself in danger by returning to the Continent.”
What she proposed made sense. Gavin could not deny it entirely.
And yet… the sting of knowing she only tolerated his company for the children’s sake stirred his instinct to oppose her. “Would you have me abandon my solemn promise to my friend without a second thought or even an attempt to fulfill it?”
“I am certain if Major Molesworth was as true a friend as you say—”
“He was my friend without a doubt,” Gavin interrupted her sharply. “If I had asked the same of him, he would not have hesitated.”
Miss Fletcher refused to back down. “That is because he had no family to consider. I feel certain a true friend would not want you to place this vow, worthy as it is, above the well-being of your children. Especially when there are others who can accomplish the task with greater ease and less risk.”
“What would you say if I told you to forget your promise to my wife?” Gavin sensed a weakness in her position and sought to exploit it. “After all, I am the children’s father and I am home now. I can take responsibility for them.”
Miss Fletcher sprang from her chair. “That is different!”
“Is it?” Gavin demanded.
“Entirely.”
“Why?” he asked. “Because you do not trust me to care for my children as well as you can?”
“No,” Miss Fletcher responded too readily, without giving herself time to consider.
But the moment the word left her mouth, it was clear she did not believe it any more than he did.
Oh, that vexing man! No one had ever ruffled Hannah’s composure as much as the Earl of Hawkehurst. That thought dogged her footsteps the next afternoon as she hurried down to the Millers’ cottage while his lordship took a scheduled nap, to which he strenuously objected.
A short while later she returned to Edgecombe, bearing a warm, sweet-smelling little bundle.
“I must admit,” she murmured to the sleeping baby. “Over the past few days, my opinion of your father has improved a great deal. He has a number of qualities one must admire—courage, determination, protectiveness, honor. He is willing to admit his mistakes, sometimes too quickly I think. He can even laugh at himself, which I never expected. When you are my age, you will realize it is an underappreciated virtue.”
Baby Alice stirred in her sleep and gave a soft coo that imbedded itself deep in Hannah’s heart.
“But why can he not see what a terrible mistake he is planning to commit?” She shook her head, torn between perplexity and exasperation. “I can understand wanting to keep his promise to his friend. Who would not want the man responsible for so much bloodshed to be prevented from waging war ever again? But that is a task for other hands, and I am certain they will accomplish it.”
The baby continued to sleep, her peace undisturbed by the knowledge of her father’s plans. She was still too young to realize she had a father, but Hannah hoped to lay the foundation for that precious knowledge today.
“If your papa puts duty to his dead comrade ahead of his living children, I may be the only one who can raise you and your brothers the way your dear mama would wish. Do you suppose he trusts me with your upbringing as much as I trust the Duke of Wellington to bring General Bonaparte to justice?”
The possibility kindled a warm glow in Hannah’s heart.
“Or am I fooling myself?” she muttered. “More likely it is his faith in his own invincibility that blinds him to the possible consequences of his plans. That is why I need your help, little one. I believe the better your papa comes to know you and your brothers, the less inclined he will be to risk y
our future by chasing off after Napoleon Bonaparte.”
Was she taking a risk now, Hannah wondered, with the welfare of her precious little goddaughter? Surely not! Lord Hawkehurst might not have been the most attentive family man, but he would never allow any harm to come to a helpless child.
“I hope you will do your part,” she whispered to baby Alice as they approached the earl’s bedchamber. “Just stay asleep and look sweet and endearing. Within half an hour, you will steal his heart entirely.”
She brushed a soft kiss on the baby’s tiny nose by way of reassurance, then pushed open the door and slipped into the earl’s room.
“Thank heaven you are back,” he greeted her with a mixture of relief and annoyance. “You must omit this cursed rest time from my schedule. I am not tired in the least, only bored witless. It would be better to keep me well occupied through the day so I may be able to sleep at night.”
The words came out in a rush as though he had been rehearsing them for some time and could not wait another moment to speak. Once he’d had his say, the earl took notice of her at last.
“What’s that you’re carrying?” A note of unease in his voice suggested he already guessed.
“This is your daughter.” Hannah approached his bedside. “I am sure you have wanted to meet her, and you seem well enough to tolerate a little visit.”
She took her accustomed seat and held the child up so her father could get a good look. “Your lordship, may I present Alice Clarissa Beatrice Romney. Is she not a most exquisite little lady?”
The earl gazed at his tiny daughter with an air of gentle yearning tempered with baffling wariness.
“She is so tiny,” he breathed as if terrified the sound of his voice might wake the child. “Peter was nearly weaned when I first saw him, yet I was still afraid he might break if I held him the wrong way.”
Hannah’s lips relaxed into a tolerant smile. There was something strangely endearing about such a powerful man being frightened of a small, defenseless child. “But your son did not break, did he?”
She meant to reassure him, but instead the earl grimaced. “Perhaps not, but he did wail fit to burst my eardrums. Hard to believe such a tiny creature could be capable of producing such deafening noise.”
He peered toward his infant daughter, clearly expecting her to explode into violent bawling at any moment. “I appreciate the thought, Miss Fletcher, but do you reckon it is wise to keep the child away from her wet nurse at such a young age? She might wake up hungry.”
Did he think that had not occurred to her? Hannah suppressed a flare of irritation with Lord Hawkehurst. There was too much at stake for her to indulge such feelings.
“I made certain Alice fed fully just before I brought her here. I doubt she will stir at all for quite some time, let alone wake hungry. Babies sleep a great deal at this age, you know.”
Perhaps the earl did not know about the habits of infants. By the sound of it, he’d had no younger brothers or sisters. If he had gone straight from school to war, he might never have seen a very young child up close before his elder son. Hannah could picture his reaction to Peter’s loud crying. Had that incident sown the seeds of awkwardness between father and son that persisted to this day? Hannah resolved to tackle that problem once she had properly introduced the babies.
Her assurance that little Alice was likely to sleep peacefully seemed to ease his lordship’s mind. He regarded the child with greater interest and less worry.
“What a dainty little creature she is.” A glimmer of paternal pride lit his dark eyes. “Doesn’t take after me in the least. For her sake, I hope she will grow up to resemble her mother.”
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 infant daughter and drive him gibbering mad?
As the baby’s face grew red and her wai
ls became louder, Gavin would rather have been anywhere than lying there so helpless and ill equipped to comfort her. A litany of curses ran through his mind, all directed toward the heartless woman his late wife had trusted to watch over their children. Was this an example of how she meant to safeguard their well-being?
“Hush, now,” he begged the crying infant. “Please, please, stop crying. I know you must be frightened by Miss Fletcher dumping you upon me so suddenly. 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 wet 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 more of him 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 Gavin 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 spurred him to do anything that might make it stop.
Then he recalled how his roan gelding, Severn, responded to the sound of his voice when nervous. His touch 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, Gavin 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.”