The Earl's Honorable Intentions

by Deborah Hale

  Like the blessing of his life and his beautiful children? Gavin wondered. Those gifts had been purchased for him with the lives of others. He was grateful for them, without a doubt. But that gratitude was tainted with a dram of bitter guilt.

  “Forgiveness was the key to making peace with my past,” Lord Benedict continued. “Once I tried to understand what made my late wife act as she did, anger and resentment gradually loosened their hold upon me until I was able to break free. Even if I had not succeeded in securing Rebecca as my wife, I would be far better off than I was before she taught me that priceless lesson.”

  Pleased as Gavin was that matters had worked out so happily for two such fine people, he felt once again that Lord and Lady Benedict’s situation was the opposite of his. There was nothing for which he needed to forgive Clarissa. The fault for her unhappiness lay with him. Again and again he had failed her as a husband. It hardly mattered whether that was because he was not cut out for marriage, as he liked to believe, or because he had not tried hard enough, as Hannah Fletcher would claim. Either way, the result had been the same. And now it was too late to atone, even if he could have found a way.

  Hard as it might be to forgive others, Gavin feared it would be far harder to forgive himself.

  The days of Rebecca’s visit passed in a swift blur of pleasure for Hannah. Because Lord Hawkehurst and Lord Benedict got on so well together, the ladies had plenty of opportunities for long, intimate chats. They shared memories of their girlhood at the Pendergast School. Harsh as life there had been, they now found themselves remembering the rare happy times and the supportive camaraderie of their circle of friends that had made the difficulties bearable.

  “I am not certain how I would have gone on after Sarah died if not for you and the others,” Hannah admitted one evening after dinner as they waited for the gentlemen to join them in the drawing room. “I felt as if I had gained a whole family of sisters who needed me.”

  Rebecca reached over to squeeze her hand. “Sarah was a dear child. I must confess I envied you having someone who had been with you for a very long time and would remain close to you always. When you lost her, I began to think I was better off without such close attachments to lose.”

  Hannah understood her friend’s conviction. It had ruled her heart for many years. Yet when she thought of Rebecca denying herself the possibility of love, it seemed wrong somehow.

  The unhealed grief that throbbed in her heart, fresh and raw, warned Hannah of the terrible power love could wield. “I should have taken better care of Sarah so she did not sicken and die.”

  Eager as ever to defend a friend, Rebecca shook her head in vigorous denial. “You did as much for her as anyone could in that awful place. Sometimes even our best efforts are not enough to prevent bad things from happening. I am certain Sarah would not have wanted you to reproach yourself or think of her with guilt and regrets.”

  She might have said the same thing to any of her friends in such a situation. But it was easier said than done to absolve herself of her long-held sense of responsibility for her sister’s death. Her father had commended Sarah to her care when he’d sent them to live with Aunt Eliza. If only she had made herself indispensable to their aunt, she and Sarah might not have been sent away to school. Once there, she should have done more to keep her delicate sister warmer and better fed, so Sarah might have survived the epidemic of typhoid when it broke out.

  “Lady Hawkehurst reminded me of Sarah,” Hannah mused as she gazed around the elegantly decorated room that had been one of the countess’s favorites. “She relied upon me quite as much as my sister did. But in the end, I could not save her either, poor lady.”

  Thoughts of the earl’s late wife brought Hannah even more regret now that she recognized the true nature of her feelings for him. After the countess’s death, she had become like a mother to the dear little twins. Now, with her friend visiting Edgecombe, it was as if she had also assumed the role of lady of the house.

  She’d never intended to do that. Indeed, she had resisted the earl’s invitation to join him and the Benedicts for meals. But he had insisted with considerable determination, arguing that Rebecca had come to see her, not him. He had even threatened to dine in the nursery if she refused to eat with them. Hannah knew he was stubborn and unorthodox enough to make good on that threat. Reluctantly she had taken his wife’s place at the foot of the great dining table.

  Though the cook had outdone herself for Lord and Lady Benedict’s visit, every bite Hannah took was tainted with the bitter taste of self-consciousness. What were they saying about her down in the servants’ hall? Were they gossiping about the time she had spent with Lord Hawkehurst during his recovery? Did they speculate whether she had taken advantage of that opportunity to insinuate herself with the earl? Had some laid wagers about whether she had set her cap for him?

  How would she ever be able to look any of the servants in the face again? Not that any of them could think worse of her than she thought of herself. There were moments she forgot herself and actually enjoyed pretending to be part of the foursome to which she did not belong. An outsider seeing them together might mistake them for two married couples—happily married couples at that.

  Though she knew it was a betrayal of the countess to wish that were true, Hannah could not seem to suppress her wayward feelings for his lordship. Whenever he was nearby, all her senses seemed to grow more acute and focus entirely on him. When he spoke to her or her name passed his lips in conversation, it jolted her pulse out of its usual sedate rhythm, into a skittish jig. The briefest glance from him seemed to pierce her, like a ray of shimmering sunshine.

  “Hannah!” Rebecca’s voice reached her as if from a distance. “My dear, you must not brood about such things.”

  Her friend’s words gave Hannah a fright until she realized Rebecca was referring to their earlier conversation. “I’m certain there was nothing more you could have done for poor Lady Hawkehurst. Knowing you, I suspect you did far more for her than most people would. It is clear to me that her husband is vastly grateful for all your service to her and the children. His generous invitation to Sebastian and me is proof of how much he feels he owes you.”

  Though she knew Rebecca meant to reassure her, Hannah could not suppress a chill that rippled through her. Gavin—Lord Hawkehurst had been so obliging to her of late, so considerate and good-humored. Of course, his change in manner must be motivated by gratitude and not… anything else. She would be a fool to imagine otherwise. Such thoughts made it impossible for her to speak, lest her voice betray her traitorous emotions.

  Rebecca seemed to believe she understood her friend’s feelings. Rising from her chair, she crossed to sit beside Hannah and slip a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I know you must miss her ladyship dreadfully. A governess can grow very attached to the family that employs her. Hermione became almost like a daughter to me. But now that I am wed, I am certain there will be more opportunities to visit you and the others. Sebastian was not certain it would be right for us to call on you so soon after your loss. But I believed it was just the time when you might most need the companionship of an old friend. I hope I was not wrong and that we have not intruded upon your grief.”

  “Certainly not!” Hannah could not bear to have Rebecca think she was out of spirits on account of the Benedicts’ visit. “It has been a great comfort to spend time with you again. And I believe it has been good for his lordship to have your husband here. It has prevented him from going off in search of Bonaparte before he is well enough to undertake such a hazardous mission.”

  But what would happen when the Benedicts left Edgecombe? Hannah had hoped Rebecca’s husband would persuade Lord Hawkehurst to leave the task of apprehending Napoleon Bonaparte to the Royal Navy. But she was not certain he’d succeeded.

  The muted thunder of hurrying footsteps made both women glance toward the door in alarm. An instant later the gentlemen burst in.

  Their sparkling eyes and eager smiles al
layed the ladies’ fears.

  “We’ve got the blighter!” Lord Benedict waved an open letter as if it were a flag of victory. “The captain of HMS Bellerophon prevented Bonaparte from fleeing Rochefort by frigate. He has taken the general’s whole party aboard his ship and set sail for Torbay to await further orders!”

  A powerful wave of relief swamped Hannah, along with a twinge of disbelief. After everything that had happened, she found it hard to accept that the worst would not befall her after all. Gavin Romney would not be compelled to abandon his young children and chase off on a dangerous mission that might go on for months, even years. He would stay at Edgecombe, fully recover his health and learn to be a family man rather than a warrior.

  She and Rebecca surged up from the sofa.

  “What marvelous news!” Rebecca flew toward her husband. “This terrible war will truly be over at last.”

  Carried away by the unexpected joy of the news and their great love for one another, Sebastian and Rebecca fell into one another’s arms and exchanged a jubilant kiss.

  The same tide of emotion caught Hannah in its powerful grip and bore her toward Gavin. He rushed to meet her as if propelled by some force stronger than his own will. The closer they drew to one another, the more everything but his face seemed to fade away, until all Hannah could see were his shining dark eyes and the incandescent breadth of his smile.

  Her arms rose and fastened around his neck as his slipped around her waist. For a moment, her heart and breath seemed suspended and the world outside the circle of their embrace stopped. It felt so natural to be in his arms, as if this was the haven for which she’d searched so many years without success, only to wander in by accident and find a welcome fire burning in the hearth. A subtle movement on his part urged her to tilt her head and slant her lips toward his.

  She was about to oblige him when her sense of prudence roused at last.

  Had she lost all judgment and morals? It had been bad enough for her to lean against his lordship when they were playing with the baby. Now to forget herself in so brazen a fashion was inexcusable!

  “Forgive me, sir!” She pulled back abruptly and felt Lord Hawkehurst do the same, though his lips grazed her ear in passing. “I was so elated to hear the news, I rather…”

  “As did I, Miss Fletcher,” the earl cut off her explanation.

  His tone bristled with barely concealed annoyance. No doubt he had intended a much more decorous expression of his pleasure at the news—a friendly clasp of hands, perhaps, not an ardent embrace from his son’s governess when they both should be mourning for his late wife.

  Chapter Twelve

  GAVIN COULD NOT recall when he had ever been so vexed with himself, or when he had let his emotions carry him away, as he had last evening.

  After weeks of being on tenterhooks, not knowing what had become of Napoleon Bonaparte and fearing the worst, news of his capture by the Royal Navy had swept Gavin’s spirits up on a racing billow of euphoria. A crushing burden had been lifted from his shoulders, freeing him to soar.

  His first impulse had been an urgent need to share the news with Hannah. She was the only person who truly understood how much this mattered to him and why. He knew she would share his elation that his vow to Molesworth had been fulfilled without him having to leave Edgecombe and his children.

  He had not meant to take her in his arms, but at that moment it seemed the only suitable expression of his feelings. So much joy must be shared or it would burst his heart. Perhaps he might have come to his senses sooner, but seeing the Benedicts’ ardent embrace had demolished any possibility that it might not be a good idea.

  Now, in the stark light of an overcast morning, he could view matters more clearly. Hannah had taken refuge in the nursery, tending to his son, and the Benedicts had not yet come down to breakfast. So Gavin sat alone, consuming the last of his breakfast with very little notice of what he was eating. His thoughts were entirely occupied with the previous evening and the vigorous embrace to which he had subjected his son’s governess.

  He assured himself it had not been altogether unwelcome. He could not have borne the thought that he had imposed upon Hannah. Even though his memories of their embrace were rather jumbled, he was certain she had put her arms around his neck. Had it been an instinctive movement, triggered by his swift approach, or had her accustomed restraint also been swept away by her reaction to the wonderful news?

  Thank goodness she had come to her senses in time to prevent him kissing her, as he’d been about to do. Still, when they’d pulled apart, making an awkward effort to dismiss what had happened, Gavin could not ignore the shocked looks on their guests’ faces. Not that he blamed them. What gentleman of honor would embrace his son’s governess when he should still be in mourning for his late wife? Gavin knew what his father would have said about that.

  He might have reproached himself far worse if he had not recalled his conversation with Sebastian. It helped to know he was not alone in his experience of a troubled marriage, even if the circumstances had been quite different. The viscount’s words of hard-won wisdom kept running through Gavin’s mind—Even tainted wounds can heal if you find the right medicine.

  He knew it was true. In spite of the guilt, grief and worry that had plagued him these past weeks, some of the lingering hurts from his youth had eased thanks to the warm understanding of Hannah Fletcher.

  His feelings for her were unlike any he’d entertained for a woman before. Indeed, they were emotions of which he had long believed himself incapable. He wanted to confide in her and share experiences with her. He wanted to protect her from harm and unhappiness. She had suffered too much of both already. He wanted to ease the ache of old wounds, as she had done for him.

  Though his conscience reproached him for having such feelings when he should be grieving for Clarissa, a hopeful whisper in the depths of his heart reminded Gavin that his period of mourning would pass eventually. If he bided his time, guarded his tongue and restrained his actions, the day would come when he could acknowledge his feelings and begin to make Hannah aware of them. In just a few short weeks, she had gone from detesting him to tolerating and understanding him. Given enough time and effort on his part, what further progress might he make in winning her affections?

  A slight movement drew Gavin’s gaze to the dining room doorway, where Lady Benedict stood watching him. His military instincts put him on guard and made him wonder how long she’d been there.

  “I beg your pardon, Lord Hawkehurst. I did not mean to disturb you.” She approached the table as Gavin rose to his feet. “May I join you? My husband will be down shortly. He felt he ought to draft a reply to the letter he received last evening. I could not persuade him that he might write better on a full stomach.”

  “By all means.” Gavin hastened to draw out a chair for the lady. “I welcome your company. We have had little opportunity to talk to one another since you arrived. I must confess I sympathize with your husband’s desire to get paperwork out of the way as quickly as possible.”

  The footman brought Lady Benedict coffee and a plate of food then refilled his master’s cup.

  Under ordinary circumstances, Gavin might have fled from the necessity of making table conversation with a member of the fair sex. But he found Lady Benedict forthright yet kind. Besides, if he was not able to talk with Hannah, the next best thing might be to talk about her with someone who knew her well.

  Lady Benedict smiled at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “I have said it before, but it bears repeating how much I appreciate you extending us your hospitality. It has given Hannah and me so much more time together than if my husband and I were lodged elsewhere. My visit with Grace Ellerby was rather disappointing in that regard. I had no opportunity to talk with her in private. Lord Steadwell’s daughters were always with us, and though they are dear girls, there were subjects I did not feel free to raise in their hearing. Besides, it seemed to me Grace was always looking over her shoulder, afraid or ashamed tha
t we might be seen together. I am delighted to find Hannah so much happier at Edgecombe… in spite of your terrible loss.”

  Clearly Sebastian could not have told his wife about their conversation regarding his marriage. Gavin was glad of that. He did not mind another man knowing the true state of it, especially one who could understand and sympathize. But it troubled him to think of Lady Benedict knowing what a poor husband he’d been. Her warm manner suggested that Hannah had never complained about him, even in private letters to her oldest friends. That showed admirable discretion and raised his regard for her even higher.

  “I do hope Han… er… Miss Fletcher is happy at Edgecombe. I hate to think how we would have managed without her these past weeks. My family owes her a great debt, and I am pleased if I can repay a small portion of it by whatever means. But since your company has been such a welcome diversion for me as well, you must not feel your presence is the least imposition.”

  “Thank you.” The lady inclined her head to acknowledge his reassurance. “It does not surprise me to learn that my friend has made herself invaluable to you. When we were at school, Hannah was the one on whom we all relied. I am glad she has found a position where her abilities and devotion are properly valued. As you may have gathered, ours was not an easy childhood.”

  Gavin nodded. He had heard enough to suspect that was an understatement.

  “Hannah’s memories of the Pendergast School are made even darker,” Lady Benedict continued, “by the loss of her dearly loved sister.”

  “She mentioned a sister.” Gavin leaned forward in his chair, eager to learn anything new about Hannah. “How did the child die?”

  “Typhoid.” Lady Benedict sighed. “Brought on by the wretched conditions of the place. Seven pupils died that winter, enough to raise questions and bring about a few reforms, which did not last. I wanted to tell you of it because your late wife reminded Hannah of her sister. I believe she was nearly as devoted to the countess as she was to little Sarah. As a consequence, she has taken her ladyship’s death harder than you might realize.”