by Deborah Hale
“Shall I come along?” she asked. “Or would you gentlemen prefer to be on your own?”
“Of course you must come, Miss Hannah.” Peter’s tone suggested that the answer should be obvious. “The babies will want to see you.”
“I agree, Miss Hannah.” As Gavin rose, he savored the opportunity to address her by her Christian name, as his son did. “We need you with us.”
He cast a silent plea for her assistance. He would feel more confident of his parenting efforts if she were there—like the boost it gave troops heading into battle to know there were reinforcements ready to come to their aid. Peter clasped hands with his governess then held out his other hand to Gavin, who was happy to take it. Together they headed off to the stables where Gavin ordered a small, gentle pony saddled.
The next several hours passed swiftly and enjoyably. Gavin was pleased to discover that although his son did not have his natural aptitude for riding, the child clearly loved horses and was eager to learn. Little Alice and Arthur had recently begun to laugh and engaged everyone with their infectious chortles and gurgles. Gavin wished he had more opportunity to chat with Hannah, but he was obliged to keep his attention fixed on the children. In spite of that, he was aware of her presence and her warm approval of his efforts.
They returned to the house hungry for tea. Gavin wondered what Hannah would say if he asked to remain in the nursery and eat with her and Peter.
That thought fled his mind when the butler bustled toward them, holding out a letter. “For you, sir. From Lord Benedict, I believe.”
Reluctantly Gavin let go of his son’s hand, took the letter and broke the seal. As he scanned the viscount’s spiky scrawl, he muttered the words under his breath.
“Are they coming back to visit again?” asked Peter. “Is that what it says?”
“I hope it is not bad news,” Hannah murmured.
“Not… exactly.” Gavin tried to make light of it so as not to worry his son. Yet coming on the heels of this very pleasant day, the news definitely cast a shadow. It reminded him of the price others had paid so he could enjoy a peaceful afternoon with his children. “But there is a matter with which Lord Benedict could use my help. I may have to go away for a little while.”
His effort to sound casual could not have succeeded, for his son’s expression grew anxious and Hannah’s downright stormy.
“You’re going back to the war, aren’t you?” Peter demanded. “Mama was right. You do only care about fighting!”
“Hush now.” Hannah dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the child. “We talked about this, remember? I’m certain your father will not go anywhere if you do not want him to.”
How dare she make such a promise on his behalf? Gavin glared at her. Hannah glared back, even as she stroked his son’s hair and murmured words of gentle reassurance. How could such a caring, nurturing woman have such a core of iron? The contrast puzzled Gavin until he recalled how gentle mother animals could turn positively ferocious in defense of their young. Hannah Fletcher might not have borne his children but he sensed no one would love them more or fight for them more fiercely than she.
“I am not going to war.” He strove to sound certain but not harsh. “The war is over. I want to prevent another one from starting, so I will not be called away from Edgecombe again. I am only going up to London. I should not be gone for long.”
Though Hannah continued to comfort his son, Gavin glimpsed a flash of fire in her eyes. He knew he would not be going anywhere if she could prevent him.
Chapter Thirteen
“HOW CAN YOU think of going away now?” Hannah tried to ignore the look of shock on the earl’s face when she stormed into his bedchamber after only a cursory knock.
It was a grave breach of propriety for her to come here. But she’d grown so accustomed to it while he was bedridden that she scarcely gave the matter a thought. Besides, what she had to discuss with him was more important than propriety. “You heard your son—he is afraid you are going off to war again and may never return!”
Once she spit out the words that had been burning on her tongue ever since he’d received that cursed letter, Hannah realized she and the earl were not alone. He turned toward a young footman, who was folding garments into a travelling case. “Perhaps you can finish that later, Matthew.”
Before Matthew could reply, his master reconsidered. “On second thought, keep on with your work. Miss Fletcher and I will talk in the drawing room instead.”
“Very good, your lordship.” The footman returned to his task, but not before Hannah spied a glint in his eyes that suggested her confrontation with Lord Hawkehurst would soon be the subject of gossip below stairs.
The earl stalked out of his bedchamber and down the corridor with Hannah hurried to keep up with him.
“Why did you have to make such a fuss about this and fret my son?” he muttered. “I am only going to London for a few days… and perhaps to Plymouth.”
“Why must you go anywhere at all?” It bewildered Hannah to find herself so vexed with the earl again after her feelings toward him had undergone such a dramatic change.
Earlier in the day she had watched him with his children, trying so hard to do what did not come naturally. Her heart had warmed toward him more than ever. Yet the moment he’d mentioned the possibility of going away, outrage had reared within her, fueled by other feelings she did not understand.
“What did Lord Benedict say in his letter?” She found herself angry with the viscount, too. Why must he trouble a wounded soldier with news that could only distress him and perhaps set back his recovery?
The earl did not reply until they reached the drawing room. Then he rounded on her with hands clasped behind his back. His rugged features clenched in an intimidating scowl. “Lord Benedict writes that the situation with Bonaparte is far from settled in the way we would wish. Some radicals argue that if a man is to be imprisoned he is first entitled to a full trial by jury. They want a judge to issue a writ of habeas corpus. If a writ is served, who knows how long a trial and appeals might drag on with the defendant on British soil the whole time?”
He began to pace back and forth. “Sebastian is also troubled by reports from Torbay. Boatloads of gawkers are crowding around the Bellerophon while Bonaparte puts on a show of charm for them. He is a dangerous man, even without an empire or an army behind him. He has a nefarious ability to bend others to his will. Sebastian reports that Bonaparte has written to the Prince Regent as one brother monarch to another—of all the infernal impudence! He claims it was never his intention to surrender to the Allies, but only to seek asylum in Britain. So far his letters have been intercepted, but who knows what might happen if one reaches its destination? The prince is so capricious and easily influenced. I would not be surprised if he took pity on Bonaparte!”
The earl would never rest while the man responsible for so many British deaths remained free on British soil. Hannah had no doubt of that. And London was not such a long journey. Yet she could not escape the distressing certainty that if Gavin Romney left Edgecombe, he would never return.
“Surely the government would never permit such a thing,” she argued. “Your place is here, and your first duty must be to your children. They have already lost their mother. What if some harm should befall you?”
“In London?” The earl gave a rumble of derisive laughter. “Even my fusspot of a physician admits the journey there will do me no harm. Besides, the resolve of the government is only as strong as that of its members. So many representatives from both houses of Parliament have gone to the country for the summer. Sebastian says every possible voice is needed to press for Bonaparte’s immediate transportation to Saint Helena.”
Hannah was running out of reasonable arguments, which made her desperate. “Are you certain that is not simply an excuse to get away from Edgecombe and your children?”
“It is no such thing!” He flared up at her. “And I resent your accusation.”
Hann
ah held her ground, though inwardly she winced. Was she deliberately trying to destroy any friendly feeling the earl might have for her? If so, she seemed to be succeeding… which pained her almost more than she could bear.
Abruptly the earl stopped pacing and inhaled a slow, deep breath. When he spoke again, his tone was not angry but bewildered and concerned. “Why can you not see reason? Do you think so little of me that you believe I would abandon my children or put myself in harm’s way when they need me?”
His dark eyes ached with misery. How many people who’d mattered to him had condemned him as a failure because he had not conformed to their expectations? Hannah could not bear to become another on that list. Yet how could she let him go without a fight when part of her was so deeply convinced he would never return?
“It is not that.” Suddenly her knees felt too weak to sustain the weight of emotion pressing on her heart. She sank onto the nearby sofa.
“What is it, then?” The earl sat down beside her, angled toward her. “I promise you I will not be absent for an hour longer than necessary. In the meantime, I know the children will be in safe hands with you to watch over them.”
“My father promised that Sarah and I would only have to stay a little while with our aunt after our mother died.” The words spouted from her mouth, yet Hannah felt as if she was listening to someone else—someone she could not prevent from speaking. “After our father died, Aunt Eliza promised we would only have to go away to the Pendergast School for a little while. Yet she would not take us back even when Sarah fell ill.”
She should not be telling him these things! Hannah clamped her lips together to keep from saying anything more. Yet even as she chided herself for burdening the earl with her long-forgotten troubles, she could not deny the deep sense of relief and rightness it brought her to confide in him. For the first time, she realized what a painful impression those long-ago events had left on her. Was it possible they continued to influence her decisions and actions the way his lordship’s past did to him?
“I see.” His brief utterance was infused with a tender blend of understanding and consolation.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah saw him lean toward her. Did he mean to offer her the comfort of his arms? Much as she wished he would and much as she longed to accept, she knew it was too great a risk. What if she lost control of her tightly bound emotions? Her tongue had already run away with her. What might be next?
She flinched, as if from approaching danger, though it was her own feelings that alarmed her more than any possible action of his.
When she started, the earl drew back abruptly. He reached for her hand and clasped it as a friend might. “I am sorry you had to endure such hardships, Hannah… Miss Hannah… Miss Fletcher. I hope you will not think ill of me for saying I understand what might have led your father to act as he did. The responsibility for two young daughters must have seemed daunting to him. He may have feared he could not look after you properly.”
Might that be true? Hannah wished she could believe his explanation. It would be balm to her heart, which still ached from the memory. But it was not that easy.
She shook her head. “It was my fault. If I had done a better job keeping house and minding Sarah, Father would not have been obliged to send us away to Aunt Eliza. But the chore girl was such a lazy slattern and she would not listen to me. The dinner burnt night after night then Sarah fell and got a great bump on her head.”
There, she was doing it again!
Clearly the earl’s nearness made it impossible to keep her guard up. Hannah forced her mouth shut and tried to rise from the sofa.
But he refused to release her hand. “How old were you then—nine… eight?”
“Six.” The word slipped out in spite of her determination to hold her tongue.
“Six years old and trying to keep house?” His lordship’s voice was husky with pity for the child she’d once been. “I do not wonder that your father sent you away for your own good, so you would not be burdened with such heavy responsibility for your young years.”
Hannah tried to wrest her hand from the earl’s grasp, but she could only manage a token effort. The steadfast strength of his touch was too comforting to resist.
But she could not meekly accept what he had said, even though she recognized a ring of truth in it. “I did not mind the responsibility. I would rather have done every scrap of housework myself than be sent away. I had to work at Aunt Eliza’s house anyway and make myself useful so she would not begrudge our presence.”
This sudden inability to maintain her defenses frustrated Hannah. One tiny crack in the dam of her accustomed reserve was letting emotion gush out, enlarging the fissure as it burst forth. But that release eased the pressure she had long felt inside—pressure that had grown almost intolerable during the past few weeks.
She must stop talking about herself and her past. It would only make the earl defend her father, with whom he clearly sympathized. Perhaps he might even persuade her that neither she nor her father was to blame for what had happened. She needed someone to hold accountable, someone on whom to vent her long-buried anger. It was easier to blame herself than her father. But she could not bear to think of Peter or the twins growing up with that kind of burden in the years to come.
“I am not saying what your father did was the right thing.” His lordship’s mellow murmur grazed over the hurting places in her heart like a consoling caress. “I only meant I am certain he did not do it to punish you, but rather to protect you as best he could. He may have been mistaken, but I believe he acted out of love for you and your sister and tried to do what he thought was right.”
Was the earl talking about her father, Hannah wondered, or was he seeking to defend his own choices, of which she disapproved? If she returned to their original subject, it might get him away from this one, which stirred up too many intense, painful memories.
“Even if what you say is true, I had no way of understanding at the time. What was I to think except that Father sent us away because my efforts had fallen short?” Hannah risked a brief, sidelong glance at the earl to find his chiseled features set in a pensive look.
Clearly she had struck as tender a nerve with him as he had with her. But he did not have a ready reply to her question, which gave her the opportunity to emphasize her point. “If you go away, I fear Peter will feel as I once did—that he is somehow to blame. And if any harm should come to you, what would become of him and the twins? Who would care for them without being tempted to enrich themselves upon the estate?”
“Only one person comes to mind.” The earl continued to clasp Hannah’s hand as he slid off the sofa to kneel before her. “Say you will marry me, Miss Fletcher. Then neither of us will need to fear for my children’s future. If you agree, I shall fetch a special license back with me from London.”
A marriage proposal from the earl? Hannah wondered if she had fallen asleep and dreamed this.
He sounded so eager—almost as if he wanted her because he cared for her, not simply as a convenient guardian for his children. But she knew his regrettable history of marrying for the wrong reasons. And she had seen how bitterly unhappy such a marriage could make a woman who was reckless enough to let herself care for him.
This was the perfect solution to so many of the difficulties that had been plaguing him, Gavin realized as he blurted out his unexpected marriage proposal and waited for Hannah’s answer. Why had he not thought of it sooner?
He would never be able to find a better mother for his children than the governess and godmother who was already so devoted to them. If he made Hannah his wife, then she would have no need to worry about leaving Edgecombe to find a husband and start a family of her own. Secure in the knowledge that she would have the authority to care for the children no matter what happened to him, she could stop fretting at the prospect of him stirring a step from home. And he would no longer be torn between acting in her best interests or his children’s.
He had no
illusions that she cared for him as he had come to care for her, but this arrangement would give him all the time he needed to win her affections. He would do what she had so wisely advised—keep at it, trying harder and harder until he finally succeeded. He might not possess natural ability as a husband and father, but he’d made considerable progress at the latter. Surely he could do the same with the former if he put forth sufficient effort.
Not that it would be an effort to make Hannah feel cherished and valued. He could scarcely wait to begin!
All those thoughts raced through Gavin’s mind as he knelt, waiting for Hannah to realize what excellent sense his proposal made for her and him and the children. But the expectant silence stretched on longer than it should if his offer had found favor with the lady.
Gavin searched her face for some sign of how she intended to respond. Her expression appeared vacant, as if she had received a piece of shocking news and could not decide what to make of it.
That was his fault, of course. He’d been so carried away by his sudden flash of inspiration that he had not stopped to consider how astonishing his proposal would be for her. But surely once she recovered from her surprise, the advantages of such an arrangement would become obvious to her.
“You need not answer right away,” he ventured when he could bear the suspense no longer. “I expect you will want to take some time to think the matter over and reach a decision.”
His words seemed to shake Hannah from her bemused silence.
“Not at all.” She shot to her feet, pulling her hand from his grasp, which had gone slack. “I cannot marry you, Lord Hawkehurst, not even if I had a week or a month to consider your offer. I hope you did not think I was angling for a proposal just now. Nothing could be further from the truth. I only meant to point out the vulnerable position in which you could place your children if you endanger your health by chasing off after Napoleon Bonaparte.”