by Deborah Hale
Her vehement, defensive refusal stung Gavin much more than he’d expected. Could she give him no hope at all—no opportunity to change her mind?
Had she considered all the advantages he could offer her—a substantial fortune and everything it could buy, a fine estate, servants, not to mention a position in society that would outrank even her friend, Lady Benedict?
Of course she had not considered any of those things, he realized with a flash of admiration, because they meant little or nothing to her. She only cared for what truly mattered—devotion, loyalty and faith. Perhaps a tiny scrap of pride as well?
He could not begrudge her that since at the moment his pride hung in tatters. He’d offered Hannah Fletcher everything he possessed only to have it hurled back in his face.
Gavin scrambled up from the floor. Such a pose of supplication did not suit him. “It never crossed my mind that you were angling for a proposal. If I’d imagined you were, I should never have offered. It only occurred to me what an excellent arrangement it might be for all concerned. But if you disagree…”
“I do.” Hannah thrust the words at him the way she might have brandished a weapon to ward off an attacker.
But he was not trying to do anything that might hurt her – quite the opposite in fact.
Hannah shook her head. “Can you imagine the gossip it would cause if you wed your son’s governess when you should still be deep in mourning for his mother?”
She wrapped her arms protectively around herself and took a step back from him.
Gavin flinched from her reproach. “I did not realize you cared so much about what other people might say.”
He certainly did not. As long as he could face the tribunal of his own conscience, nothing others said had any power to trouble him. But Hannah’s reference to mourning Clarissa had troubled his conscience.
What did it say about him as a husband that he had proposed to another woman so soon after her death? He wasn’t certain which was worse—that or the fact that he’d seen nothing wrong with it until Hannah confronted him. She cared more about his late wife than he did. What could induce her to marry a man she must consider incapable of loving a wife or making her anything but miserable?
“I do care about others’ opinion of me.” Hannah took another backward step, putting more distance between them. “Is that so wrong? You refuse to care what anyone thinks of you so you will not be hurt by their disapproval. But in order not to care about their opinions, you cannot allow yourself to care about them. That is no way to live.”
Her sharp insight touched a very sensitive place in Gavin’s heart. It did more than touch—it flayed the spot raw then rubbed salt into the wound. How could he set himself to win the heart of a woman so capable of hurting him? If he failed, as he feared he might, she could make his life a far worse torment than his troubled marriage to Clarissa ever had. He should be grateful Hannah Fletcher had not only rejected him but revealed her true colors into the bargain.
“I would rather be indifferent to the opinions of others,” he growled, “than be so desperate for their approval that I would turn a blind eye to all their faults and never do anything I might enjoy for fear of losing their regard. If that is what you call love, I want no part of it!”
Her features twisted in a stricken look that pierced Gavin as painfully as that shot at Waterloo. Only this time it seemed to strike closer to his heart. How could he have said such things to Hannah after all she’d done for him and his family? How much worse would his condemnation hurt if she had let herself care about his opinion? Though it proved his point, Gavin could not take the slightest crumb of satisfaction.
No wonder she had refused to wed him. Prudent as she was, Hannah would not want to run the risk of caring for a man who might only hurt her, as her father had done by sending her away. From watching his marriage to Clarissa, she would have seen how capable he was of making a wife unhappy.
He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for what he’d said and to beg her forgiveness. But a stern voice from the darkest recesses of his heart insisted it might be better for her to despise him than give him more power to hurt her.
Hannah made a visible effort to marshal her composure and somehow succeeded. Gavin’s admiration for her grew and with it his bitter regret that he had shown himself so unworthy of her regard. Part of him wished she would rage and abuse him severely enough to destroy his feelings for her. Then perhaps her rejection might not inflict so deep a wound.
But when she spoke, her voice conveyed more pity than anger. Even his pride could not resent her pity, for it was kin to affection, however distant. “Is that how you feel about your children, too? Are you afraid to become close to them in case they might turn against you the way you did against your father? Is that why you would rather pursue a course of vengeance against Bonaparte in spite of the hazards it might pose to your family?”
Gavin wanted to deny her accusations in the strongest possible terms, but he was not altogether certain they were untrue.
Hannah seemed to take his guilty silence as confirmation. “Is that why you proposed to me—so you would be free to abandon your children with a clear conscience? If it is, then you must be very desperate indeed. Fortunately, I am not so desperate to secure your approval that I would be willing to assist you. Not for a fortune or a title or anything material you could offer me. There is a great deal I would do for you if you asked me, but I will not make it easy for you to desert your children.”
He had no intention of deserting his children, but it was no use trying to persuade her of that when she was so determined to doubt him. Could there be any clearer sign that she had no regard for him and never would? Gavin tried to tell himself that was better for her and perhaps even for him. But it did nothing to ease the wretched ache in his chest.
“Please do not go,” she pleaded in a husky murmur. Her full lower lip began to quiver.
Gavin found himself overwhelmed with yearning to still that vulnerable tremor with a kiss.
Perhaps Hannah sensed his unseemly desire. She caught her lip between her teeth and brought it under control without any assistance from him.
“Leave Bonaparte’s fate in the hands of destiny,” she continued. “Concern yourself with what will become of your children instead. I know you doubt your ability to be an ideal father, but I can assure you an imperfect parent is better than none.”
Her voice broke on that last word, and Gavin sensed her tightly bound composure would soon shatter as well. Though reason and prudence warned against it, he could not deny the instinctive urge to comfort her. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, bearing him toward her. His arms rose, aching to enfold her.
But she refused to accept anything from him, even simple comfort. Before Gavin could reach her, she spun around, bolted through the door and fled. He had just enough sense, or perhaps cowardice, to keep from going after her.
Even if Napoleon Bonaparte’s future had been settled entirely to his satisfaction, Gavin knew he would still want to get away from Edgecombe for a few days. He needed to distance himself from the volatile feelings between him and Hannah and decide how to proceed.
He feared he had made it impossible for the two of them to live under the same roof after this. And if one of them must go, he had no doubt which of them his children needed more.
Chapter Fourteen
HAD SHE MADE a terrible mistake by turning down Gavin’s proposal? Since the earl had asked her to marry him, Hannah supposed it must be permissible to think of him by his Christian name.
After fleeing the drawing room, she spent the night tossing and turning in her bed, tormented by second thoughts. Perhaps if he had worked up to the subject a bit more deliberately, rather than springing his proposal on her, she might not have refused so ungraciously. But she’d been taken aback by the suddenness of it and he had already roused her antagonism with his plan to go away to London.
At first she could only assume he had taken her question about
who would care for the children as a broad hint that she would be the best candidate. It grieved Hannah that he could believe her capable of such disloyalty to his late wife. Yet her conscience reproached her about the feelings she had developed for him so soon after her ladyship’s death.
Even his denial could not dispel the sickening shame that fueled her hostile reaction to his proposal. If he had given the least sign that his offer was motivated by any emotion more tender than desperation, her heart might have gotten the better of her reason. It might have led her to accept with as little thought for the consequences as he had shown by proposing to her in the first place. But he had made it clear that his only concern was for convenience. He wanted a reliable, capable woman to bring up his children while he went chasing off after Bonaparte or whatever other excuse he might use in the future to abandon his family.
If she did not care for Gavin, and could be quite certain she never would, then Hannah might have been able to give him the answer he claimed to want. But how could she consign herself to a marriage like the one that had made his late wife so very unhappy? She had seen first-hand what it did to a couple when one loved but the other could not or would not return the feeling.
Despite his accusation that she martyred herself in a pathetic effort to secure approval and affection, Hannah could not reconcile herself to a future of such unhappiness. Nor could she stand to become another reason he might use to avoid spending time at Edgecombe, as if he needed any more.
What was that sound? In the dark silence of the sleeping house, Hannah thought she heard something. She sat up in bed and strained to catch it again. Were her ears playing tricks to distract her from her turbulent thoughts?
Perhaps she ought to check on Peter, just to be certain. At least it would give her something to do besides lie there with her mind racing in a dozen disturbing directions at once. Anxious not to make any noise that might disturb other light sleepers in the house, Hannah rose, pulled on her dressing gown and lit a candle. By its flickering flame she crept out into the wide corridor and padded off toward the nursery. The closer she approached, the clearer she could hear an urgent whisper of voices.
Easing open the nursery door, she called softly, “Is anything the matter?”
“We didn’t mean to disturb you, miss,” replied the nursemaid, who perched on the edge of Peter’s bed. “The young master woke from a bad dream and I haven’t been able to settle him.”
The girl gave a weary yawn. “He’s been asking for you. Perhaps you might have more luck getting him back to sleep.”
Hannah felt tired, too, but it wasn’t anyone else keeping her awake. “Go back to bed, Maisie. I shall see what I can do.”
Taking the nursemaid’s place at her young pupil’s bedside, Hannah snuffed the candle and reached out until her hand encountered the child’s silky hair. She gave it an affectionate ruffle. “Now, what is all this fuss about a dream that made you wake poor Maisie?”
Peter gave a moist sniff that tugged at Hannah’s heart. How often, when she and Sarah were children, had she held and comforted her sister in the night?
“I dreamed you were going away, Miss Hannah, just like Mama and Papa. I didn’t want you to leave, but you said you m-must!”
“It was only a dream.” Hannah’s brisk governess manner melted as she gathered the anxious child into her arms. “I am right here and not going anywhere, so you mustn’t fret.”
Was that true? her conscience demanded. Would Gavin Romney continue to employ her after the uncivil manner in which she’d refused him and the impertinent remarks she’d made about his character and conduct? He had given as good as he got in that regard, but he was the master of the house while she was little better than a servant. He would be perfectly within his rights to dismiss her. Even if he did not, she still feared he might come to harm and his children’s guardians would hire someone to take her place.
“Shh.” She held the child in her arms, pressing her cheek against his hair. The prospect of being parted from Peter alarmed her even more than the dream had frightened him. While his fears were only a fancy of his sleeping mind, hers might be all too real. “Try to go back to sleep. You might have a more pleasant dream next time, perhaps one about riding horses with your father.”
“We will only go riding in my dreams,” Peter replied in a plaintive murmur, “now that Papa is leaving for London.”
“He says he will not be gone long.” Hannah held the child close, determined that no one would take her from him. “The two of you can go riding again when he returns.”
“You said Papa would not go away if I did not want him to. But now he is. How do you know he will come back?”
How indeed? Hannah wondered. But she could not upset the child further by sharing her doubts with him. “I should not have been so quick to speak for your father. He told you the truth when he said he was obliged to go to London. We must trust that he meant it when he said he would only be gone a short while.”
Could she trust Gavin to keep his word? Her feelings for him insisted that he was a man of honor and truth who did not go back on his promises. But experience had taught her that those she cared for could not always be trusted to keep their word. Especially when it came to staying or leaving. Was that why she’d felt so certain Gavin would never return to Edgecombe—not because he had given her any cause to doubt him but because she was incapable of trusting those she most cared for?
“I suppose we must give Papa a chance.” The child sounded wary, as if he sensed that granting his father that opportunity would leave him vulnerable to disappointment.
“You are very wise for your years,” Hannah said as she eased him down onto his pillow.
Thinking back on Gavin’s proposal, she wondered if she had been hasty and selfish in her response. There was far more at stake here than her personal happiness. She had the children to consider. How would it affect them if she were to leave Edgecombe? Peter’s nightmare would come true. And who could tell what it might do to the little ones to lose a close attachment at such an early age?
If their father was resolved to provide them with a governess for a mother, he surely would, for he was a vastly determined man. The next governess he hired, then offered to marry, might not think twice about securing such an advantageous match, even without love. But could a person like that be trusted to place the needs of the children above every other consideration?
Who was she to judge anyone else? Hannah’s conscience demanded. Had she considered the children’s needs when she’d hurled Gavin’s marriage proposal back in his face? Her heart had been full of fear for her own happiness. But how could she ever be truly happy if she was separated from the children? If she must be unhappy either way, should she not choose the path that promised the happiest future for three little ones she cared for very much? Besides if Gavin did as she feared and abandoned his children to her care, his absence might cause her less misery than if they continued to live under the same roof while she cherished feelings for him that he could not return.
With a decision made out of reason and love rather than fear and selfishness, the knot of tension inside Hannah began to ease. The repetitive stroking of Peter’s hair and the slowing of his breathing helped, too. Her thoughts settled into deeper channels, and she soon caught herself nodding off. Certain the child had fallen back to sleep, Hannah left her snuffed candle and groped her way back to her own room.
First thing in the morning she would go to the earl and beg his pardon for the things she had said in the shock of the moment. Perhaps he would have reconsidered his mad notion to marry her by then, but she hoped an abject apology might prevent him from dismissing her.
She fell asleep to the rhythmic ticking of her small mantel clock and woke to it again some hours later.
“Past nine? Oh, dear me!” Hannah bolted from her bed and dressed with excessive haste.
She flew down to the breakfast room to find it empty of all but a faint aroma of coffee.
�
��Jane,” she called to the head parlor maid as she bustled by. “How long ago did Lord Hawkehurst take his breakfast?”
“Ages, miss,” Jane replied. “Must have been all of two hours. I overheard his lordship say he wanted to get on the road to London before the sun rose too high.”
“A wise decision.” Hannah tried not to let her distress show. It would not do to add fuel to any gossip about her and the earl. “What I had to say to him will keep until he returns.”
When might that be? she wondered as she headed back to the nursery, prepared to comfort Peter if he was upset by his father’s departure. Would she have the opportunity to apologize to Gavin? Would she even get the chance to speak to him again?
Could he stand to face Hannah Fletcher again after the fool he’d made of himself and the insulting things he’d said to her? Each mile his coach travelled away from Edgecombe, Gavin’s sense of relief grew while his spirits sank.
Being cooped up alone in the carriage box for hours on end was almost as bad as being bedridden for a fortnight. There was nothing to distract him from his nagging regrets as Hannah had done so ably during his convalescence.
What had made him think she might countenance a marriage proposal so soon after his wife’s death? He should have waited at least until he returned from London. That would have proved he had no intention of abandoning his children… or her. It would have given her no reason to assume he only wanted to wed her so he could desert the children in future.
A deliberate, prudent man would have waited, but he was neither of those things. He was a man of action and impulse, always speaking and doing first, leaving the thinking until later. He had seen an opportunity to keep Hannah at Edgecombe long enough to win her heart and he had seized it.
His father, a prudent, deliberate man if ever there was one, would have reproached him for his impulsiveness. But Hannah might have regarded it in a more positive way, calling him spontaneous and decisive. Would she ever recognize his better qualities after this? Or had he demonstrated how few of those he possessed, especially qualities that might make him a tolerable husband?