by Deborah Hale
The explanation soothed Gavin’s stinging conscience.
“You could not have known.” Hannah Fletcher was far quicker to excuse him than he was. “I should never have mentioned it. I should be grateful any place would take us after our father died. It might not have been an ideal situation, but I did receive an education that equipped me to earn a living. And I was fortunate to make some very dear friends.”
That seemed to remind Miss Fletcher of her letter, which had fluttered to the floor when she sprang from her chair. Now she stooped to retrieve it. “Shall I read you more from Rebecca’s letter? Did I mention her new husband is a viscount? Perhaps you know him.”
Gavin recognized a diversionary tactic when he encountered one. He had taken part in such maneuvers during the Peninsular Campaign. Their purpose was to distract the enemy from some point of weakness so it would not be recognized and exploited. He hoped Miss Fletcher did not consider him an enemy or suppose he would use any vulnerability against her.
“Us?” he asked in an offhand tone.
She did not appear to understand his question. “What about us?”
“Not us.” He gestured from himself to her. “When you spoke of that charity school you said, ‘I should be grateful anyone would take us.’ I only wondered who you meant besides yourself.”
“My sister.” Hannah Fletcher scanned the letter, her gaze flitting back and forth across the page. “Rebecca says the ceremony was lovely. It was a double wedding.”
“Older or younger sister?” Gavin interrupted the instant she paused for breath. “Where is she now?”
Miss Fletcher seemed to realize that her attempt at diversion was having the opposite effect. She looked up from the letter, meeting his gaze straight on. “Younger. She is now in the same place as your wife—with God.”
The stern gray of her eyes seemed to insist he would get no further information, while the soft blue silently pleaded with him to respect her privacy.
The latter had much more influence over Gavin. Quashing his curiosity, he turned his questions down a different avenue. “Who is this viscount your friend wed? Unless he served in the army, I doubt we are acquainted, but I may have heard of him.”
Miss Fletcher’s tense features relaxed into an expression of relief and gratitude. “Rebecca’s new husband is Sebastian Stanhope, Viscount Benedict. His brother married the young lady who had been Rebecca’s pupil for many years.”
“Benedict?” The name distracted Gavin’s thoughts from the subject of Miss Fletcher’s past. “I know the gentleman only by reputation, but that is enough to have earned him my esteem. There is not a man in Parliament who has done more to support Britain’s troops during this infernal war. I have long wanted to meet him and shake his hand.”
“He sounds like the sort of gentleman who deserves as fine a wife as Rebecca.” A smile of sincere happiness for the newlyweds lit Hannah’s face.
The sight stirred something in Gavin. At the same time, he could not help but contrast her approval of Lord Benedict with her attitude toward him. Clearly she felt he had not deserved Clarissa. She was probably right.
Fortunately her next words took his mind off that demoralizing thought. “From what Rebecca writes, you may get your wish to meet her husband. Lord Benedict is taking her on a bridal tour around the country to visit each of her friends. They will be in Kent the week after next, and she hopes I shall have time to see her. You should be on your feet by then, sir. If it would not be too inconvenient, perhaps you could spare me for a few days to meet with my friend. I have not had a holiday for some time.”
He should certainly be up and about by then, Gavin reflected. He would no longer need to rely on Miss Fletcher to keep him occupied. Somehow the prospect did not appeal to him as much as he expected.
“Of course, you must take as much time as you like to visit with your friend. You have shown exemplary devotion to my family in our time of need. You are more than entitled to a holiday.” Though he meant it with all his heart, Gavin could not stifle a strange empty feeling at the thought of Miss Fletcher going away, even for a short time.
“Where do Lord and Lady Benedict intend to stay when they come to Kent?” He wondered if the viscount might have friends or relatives in the area.
Miss Fletcher turned the letter over and continued to read. “Rebecca asks if I can recommend a good inn near Edgecombe. I must confess myself at a loss. Perhaps Mr. Owens would know. I shall ask him at my first opportunity.”
“I have an idea,” said Gavin. “Why don’t you invite Lord and Lady Benedict to stay at Edgecombe? That way you and your friend will have ample opportunity to visit. I daresay her husband and I can find plenty to talk about.”
Much as he had come to value Miss Fletcher’s society, he missed the company of male comrades.
“That is very kind of you to offer, sir.” Miss Fletcher shook her head. “But I could not presume to invite my friends to your house.”
“Rubbish.” Gavin waved away her objection. “Edgecombe has space enough to house an army. It is a waste to have so many rooms sitting empty when one or two might be put to good use. I am certain it would do the servants good to have a bit of company around the place.”
“But Edgecombe is in mourning,” she reminded him, with a hint of reproach that he could have forgotten. “Would it not be disrespectful to her ladyship’s memory to entertain so soon?”
Would it? Even in death he could not seem to do right by Clarissa.
“I am not proposing a house party,” he insisted. “Only a quiet visit by an old friend of yours. I am certain my wife would have approved, considering the staunch support you provided her when she needed it most.”
In truth, he was not entirely certain Clarissa would have agreed. For all the reliance she had placed on Peter’s governess, he’d sensed their friendship was rather one-sided. Gavin had no intention of letting that happen between him and Miss Fletcher. His family was already in her debt. Besides he would welcome her friends’ visit as much for his own sake as for hers.
That, he realized, might be the best way to win her agreement. “Please, Miss Fletcher, I would consider it a great favor if you would permit me to offer Lord and Lady Benedict the hospitality of Edgecombe. It would allow you to visit with your friend while still remaining available to supervise the children’s care. And I would very much like to make the viscount’s acquaintance. If anyone knows what is happening in France, and can foresee the likely consequences, it is he. Discussing the situation with him might put my mind at ease.”
She did not answer right away, and he did not try to rush her. Gavin sensed her conflicting inclinations battling for the upper hand.
“I know what you are doing,” she said at last. “Trying to make it seem as if I would be obliging you by agreeing.”
He tried not to look too guilty. “So you would.”
“You are a very poor liar, Lord Hawkehurst.” The way she spoke, with a silvery twinkle in her eyes and one corner of her lips arched, it was clear she meant the pronouncement as praise rather than criticism.
Gavin replied with a self-conscious grin, “Perhaps there are times when it is not such a bad thing to fail.”
Odd, that had never occurred to him before. Yet the more he thought about it, the truer it seemed. “My father used to say I had no subtlety. I reckon he meant I am hopelessly honest.”
“What else did your father say about you?”
Gavin shrugged as if to indicate he could not remember. Miss Fletcher had turned the tables on him—asking about parts of his past he would prefer to forget. Perhaps he owed her an answer to make up for his earlier prying.
It was more than that, though. Part of him wanted to open the door to his past just a sliver and let her peep inside. After all, she had seen him at his worst and weakest yet still found enough good to alter her poor opinion of him.
Why should the earl share something so private and perhaps unpleasant from his past after she had refused to answer hi
s questions about her sister with more than the barest crumbs of information? As her employer, he had far more right to inquire into her past than she had to quiz him about his.
Yet even as she recognized she had no right to an answer, Hannah could not help wanting one. It must be because his lordship had proven to be quite a different man than she had once judged him. Perhaps she felt it her duty to understand him better, as she had failed to do until recently. For good or ill, the events of his past had shaped him into the person he’d become, just as hers had.
The earl’s earlier revelation about his reason for marrying had taken her by surprise and made her wonder what more there was to discover about him.
Only yesterday that curiosity had driven Hannah to consult Mr. Owens. “I was not aware his lordship had an elder brother. I suppose you remember him well.”
“Indeed, Miss Fletcher.” The butler had beckoned her into the library to show her a fine portrait of a gentleman and two small boys. “That is the fifth Earl of Hawkehurst, his elder son Lord Edgecombe and the present earl.”
The older boy looked to be the age of Peter and very like him in appearance. His father sat in a chair with his arm around the child’s shoulders and a look on his distinguished features of affection bordering on reverence. The younger son wore the short gown of a three-year-old and sat on the floor some distance away, playing with a small spaniel.
“Lord Edgecombe was the apple of his father’s eye. A clever young man who showed considerable promise in politics.” Owens shook his head regretfully. “The earl took his death very hard indeed. He lingered long enough to see Master Gavin wed and an heir provided. I often thought if the earl had lived long enough to see how much the present Lord Edgecombe favored his late uncle, it might have given him something to live for.”
Had Gavin Romney’s father felt no reason to live for his younger son? Hannah wondered with more than a little indignation. But she had not dared ask Mr. Owens a question so critical of his late master.
Now she sat near the man who had once been that small boy playing with the dog. Had he not told her he understood horses better than people? Could that be because he’d more affection from animals as a child than from his family?
“My father was never short of things to say,” the earl mused after a long pause. “He was fond of observing that I had little aptitude for self-preservation.”
Inwardly Hannah bristled. It reminded her of the criticism the Pendergast teachers had inflicted on their pupils under the righteous guise of seeking to improve them. She had not come in for nearly as much of it as their intrepid leader, Evangeline, or Grace, whose beauty inspired envy and spite in those who were not her friends. Hannah had tried to accept any criticism directed at her in the spirit of improvement, but she’d bitterly resented disparaging remarks about her friends.
Now she hastened to defend Gavin Romney from his judgmental father. “Humph! All that means is that you are brave and unselfish. A man concerned only with self-preservation would not have ridden into enemy fire to rescue his friend.”
If she thought her words might raise the earl’s spirits she was mistaken. Darkness crept into his gaze, and it had nothing to do with the color of his eyes. “A fine rescue. It did not save my friend’s life, only put mine in jeopardy, which might have made orphans of my children. I thought you, of all people, would agree with my father that a poor sense of self-preservation is a serious failing.”
Hannah opened her mouth but found it impossible to produce a reply. Did the earl suppose she was like his father—critical of everything he did, every choice he made? She longed to deny it. But looking back she could not help but wonder if she had given him some justification. Had her years at the Pendergast School and a lifetime of striving to improve herself made her judge others too harshly?
“I must admit, for the sake of your children, I wish you could be more cautious.” That was not the only reason, though Hannah could not bring herself to say so. The thought of any harm coming to the earl chilled her. “But I cannot fault your courage or your willingness to risk your well-being for the sake of others. It is all part of what makes you the man you are.”
She hoped her tone conveyed her belief that he was a very good man in spite of the mistakes and weaknesses that made him human.
“As for your friend,” she continued, “his death was no fault of yours. Do you suppose he would have been better off if you had left him on that field?”
The earl thought for a moment. His gaze seemed to turn inward, as if reliving the incident in search of the answer to her question. “The French were not taking prisoners that I could see. I suppose he would be dead either way.”
That realization seemed to bring him some consolation, which pleased Hannah.
She fought the sudden urge to brush a lock of dark hair back from his brow as she might have done with his young son. “Thanks to you, Major Molesworth spent his last moments among his comrades, being cared for. And he died knowing you were willing to risk your life for him. Do not underestimate the value of such blessings.”
His lordship mulled over her words. “I would never have thought of it in quite that way. You bring a fresh perspective to many things, Miss Fletcher. Now, may I beg you to reconsider my offer to invite Lord and Lady Benedict to Edgecombe? I mean it when I say you would be doing me a favor.”
“Very well, then,” Hannah agreed, still somewhat reluctant. She could foresee considerable awkwardness in having her personal friend as a guest in the house where she worked. The position of governess in any household was ambiguous at best, hers more than most due to her friendship with the late countess. “Since you seem quite determined.”
“I am.” The earl appeared pleased at having gotten his way. “Though my father would have called it willfulness. If you would be so kind as to fetch your writing box, I wish to dictate a letter of invitation.”
Just then the mantel clock chimed.
“Is it that time already?” the earl cried. “I must say my convalescence is passing faster than I ever expected.”
He did not sound as pleased about that as Hannah expected.
His fortnight in captivity was more than half over. Gavin marveled at how swiftly it had passed. If he’d known how it would be, he would not have objected so strongly in the beginning.
Miss Fletcher’s schedule had broken the endless stretch of hours down into more easily endurable divisions. He seldom had an opportunity to grow tired of one activity when it was time to move on to the next. Often he and Miss Fletcher would fall into conversation and forget the schedule entirely as minutes and hours sped by.
He had originally demanded her companionship in a mistaken belief that their mutual antagonism would challenge and amuse him. Instead he’d discovered they had more in common than he’d thought possible. The visits with his small son and daughter had helped, too, much to his surprise. He was discovering their distinct personalities and noticing small changes in them as they grew. He was astonished to find he could handle an infant without sending the child into a frenzy of tears. And if the child did cry, he was capable of soothing it.
“It never occurred to me,” he remarked to Hannah Fletcher as they played chess while waiting for the Friday post to arrive, “that caring for infants was a skill one could learn, practice and improve, like riding or shooting. I always assumed a person was either naturally good with children—as you are—or quite hopeless, as I thought I was.”
Miss Fletcher moved her bishop forward. She was a much more cautious, thoughtful player than he. Sometimes that gave her an advantage. Other times his bold, decisive style of play brought him victory.
Now he sensed she was trying to suppress a self-conscious smile. Was it because she expected to win the chess match or because he’d said she was good with children? “Surely you have spent enough time with babies to see that nearly everything human beings do must be learned. I am no more naturally adept at caring for children than you or anyone else. But I have had a good
deal of practice and learned from my experience how best to handle them. It is all a matter of application and a desire to improve.”
“Are you certain of that?” Gavin moved a pawn forward to threaten her bishop. “Do you not believe a person may have special aptitude for certain things—music or languages or gardening?”
Or riding. Someone must have put him on a pony and taught him how to make it run and jump and stop again. They must have told him how to keep his seat and move with his mount so he did not bounce up and down like a sack of meal in the saddle. But it was so long ago he could not remember a time before he’d felt perfectly at home on horseback. Far more at home than he ever had in a schoolroom or attending a fashionable assembly.
Could he have acquired the skills necessary to excel in those situations as well, if only he’d applied himself? He had convinced himself it would be fruitless to try. Now he began to wonder if he’d been wrong.
Miss Fletcher studied the chessboard, pondering her next move and perhaps his question as well. Gavin looked forward to hearing her answer. Her opinions often disagreed with his, challenging him to weigh them more critically and sometimes look at the world in a whole new way. To his surprise, he was beginning to enjoy it.
His opponent had just grasped the bishop’s miter in her slender, deft fingers when Owens marched in bearing the day’s post.
“Very good reports from abroad, my lord.” The butler could not resist waving the newspapers in a gesture that ran contrary to his usual dignity. “Paris has surrendered!”
“It has?” Hannah Fletcher dropped the white bishop and knocked over several other chess pieces as she surged up from her chair to seize the post. “What a blessed relief!”
She scanned the newspaper and found what she was seeking at once. As Owens slipped out of the room, she began to read aloud so quickly her tongue tripped over some of the words. “We have at length the happiness to be relieved from the state of anxious suspense in which we have been held for the result of the expedition to Paris. Last night Lord Arthur Hill arrived with dispatches from the Duke of Wellington announcing the surrender of Paris on conditions on Monday last.”