Chapter Ten
AS HE WAITED for the doctor to arrive and examine him, Gavin concentrated on the piece of paper he was endeavoring to fold into the shape of a bird. It was not an easy task for it required more patience, dexterity and concentration than he possessed. He’d persisted just the same and tried to follow his young son’s advice not to mind about that. His first efforts had been laughably bad, but he refused to let that deter him. It was not the product that mattered, after all, only the activity to occupy his attention and pass the time.
On both those counts it had succeeded.
Unlike reading the newspapers, which frustrated and agitated him, paper folding had a calming effect on his mind. And while it absorbed his attention, the time passed. Not as swiftly as when he was in Hannah Fletcher’s company perhaps, but enough. It also kept his thoughts from dwelling on his son’s governess quite so much.
A brisk knock sounded on his door, making his heart beat faster as he called out permission to enter.
But when the door swung open, only the butler and Gavin’s physician entered.
“Dr. Hodge to see you, my lord.”
“Thank you, Owens.” Gavin resisted the sudden fall of his spirits by reminding himself the physician’s arrival might set him free at last. “Good day, Doctor. I hope you will have good news for me.”
Setting his half-finished paper bird on the night table, he carefully turned onto his good side and tugged up his nightshirt to facilitate the examination.
“If I do, you shall have yourself to thank for it.” The doctor unwound the bandaging that bound Gavin’s wound. Then he rummaged in his satchel for tweezers and a pair of long-bladed scissors. “If I were a wagering man, I would have staked good money against you following my orders for a fortnight’s bed rest.”
With considerable care the doctor cut and tugged out the stitching thread that had held Gavin’s torn flesh together while it knit. “How on earth did you manage to stay still for so long? Did Miss Fletcher have you placed in a strait waistcoat? I would not put it past her. She strikes me as a very determined young woman.”
For some reason the doctor’s comment about Miss Fletcher stung Gavin worse than the removal of his stitches. “Determination is a fine quality,” he snapped. “Precious little would get done in the world if not for determined people, and even less would get changed.”
“True.” The doctor sounded amused. “I take it Miss Fletcher did not have you restrained or you would not be defending her with such vigor.”
“Of course she did not have me restrained!” Gavin snapped. “And I am not defending her, vigorously or otherwise. I was only making a general observation.”
“I see.” Doctor Hodge gave the most exasperating chuckle.
“I will admit Miss Fletcher managed to impress upon me the need to follow medical advice if I wish to recover my health.”
“The lady must have been most persuasive.” The doctor snipped off the last of Gavin’s stitches. “I wish she would speak to some of my other patients who are not inclined to heed me.”
Though he knew the doctor was only jesting, perhaps to distract him, the thought of Hannah Fletcher assisting another man did not sit well with Gavin. “You should cultivate your own powers of persuasion, sir. Miss Fletcher has quite enough to occupy her here at Edgecombe.”
Once again the doctor chuckled. Gavin could not fathom what the man found so amusing. “Does this mean I am allowed to leave my bed at last?”
“It does.” The doctor began to pack away his instruments as Gavin pulled down his nightshirt. “In fact, you may rise now, if you wish, to test your strength and balance.”
Gavin did not need to be asked twice. He was eager to be active again. Twitching aside the covers, he surged to his feet only to sink back onto the edge of the bed when the room began to spin and his legs gave way beneath him.
“Go easy now.” The doctor rushed around the bed. “I said you could get up. I did not invite you to run a steeplechase. Your legs will be weak from disuse, and you will need to become accustomed to standing upright again.”
Before Gavin could reply, a knock sounded on his door. The habit of a fortnight made him call out for the person to enter before he realized it might not be the best idea at the moment.
He had no opportunity to withdraw the invitation before Miss Fletcher strode in.
“I beg your pardon, sir!” she cried when she spotted him sitting on the bed in his nightshirt. She turned her gaze toward the mantel as if she spied something of absorbing interest there. “I heard the doctor had come and I was anxious to hear what he thinks of your recovery.”
She had come to check up on him. Two weeks ago, Gavin would have resented her meddling. Today he could not, for he knew Miss Fletcher had his welfare and his children’s at heart. Besides, if it had not been for her, he might have ignored the doctor’s orders and prolonged his convalescence.
“Dr. Hodge says I am doing well.” Gavin climbed back into bed to spare them both any further embarrassment. “He gives you all the credit for persuading me to follow his advice. I daresay he is right.”
“I only told you what you should do and why.” The lady seemed uncomfortable accepting his praise. “You were the one who had to comply with the doctor’s orders in spite of how disagreeable you found it.”
“Not nearly as disagreeable as I expected,” he countered. That was entirely thanks to her, though Gavin was reluctant to say so in the doctor’s presence.
Instead he changed the subject to one he should have raised earlier. “Tell me, Doctor, how soon do you think I will be fit to travel?”
His question brought an anxious frown to Hannah Fletcher’s face, which he regretted, though he could not let it stop him.
The physician considered for a moment. “That will depend upon the type and length of journey you wish to make. I would say you might manage a carriage ride to London in a week or so.”
“What about returning to the Continent by ship then travelling on horseback?”
The doctor shook his head. “Not for quite some time unless you wish to set back your recovery.”
Hannah Fletcher’s frown dissolved into a grateful smile, which she directed at the doctor. Gavin resented her smiling at another man, though he knew he had no right to.
He did not waste his breath disputing the advice he’d been given. He knew the other two would only unite against him. It did not help that part of him shared Miss Fletcher’s obvious relief at the doctor’s warning.
What kind of man did that make him? What kind of soldier? What kind of friend?
“If you will excuse me, then.” Gavin politely dismissed them both. “Miss Fletcher, would you be so kind as to show the doctor out?”
“Of course, sir.” She sounded a trifle suspicious that he had not argued with the doctor’s advice. “May I be of any other service?”
He nodded. “Kindly send along one of the footmen to help me dress. Once I am back on my feet, I must see about engaging a proper valet.”
“As you wish, sir.” Hannah Fletcher seemed so much more formal and servile in her manner than she had only a few days ago. To his consternation, Gavin found himself looking back on that part of his convalescence with an odd sense of wistfulness.
Would his lordship continue to follow the doctor’s advice now that he had been allowed to rise from his sickbed? Hannah peered out the nursery window for the twentieth time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lord Benedict’s carriage.
The earl had not objected when his doctor told him it would be some time before he could safely travel to the Continent. Nor had he questioned precisely how long “some time” might be. Those were encouraging signs, surely.
Perhaps she had managed to persuade Lord Hawkehurst that he was capable of being as good a father as he had been a soldier. With that assurance, he might not feel so compelled to take on sole responsibility for capturing Napoleon Bonaparte. He might also realize what an unacceptable risk such a mission could pose to the welfare of his children.
Much as she hoped that was the case, Hannah found it impossible to savor her victory. She could not forget reading how much money and how many men it had cost to defeat Bonaparte for a second time. What if he did return again? She feared her mind would never be quite easy on the subject until the former emperor had been captured and brought to justice.
A tug on her skirt jolted Hannah from her disquieting thoughts. She glanced down to find Peter staring up at her with an expectant air. “Do you see your friends yet, Miss Hannah?”
She was about to say no when a flicker of movement drew her gaze back to the lane. A fine travelling coach had just turned off the road, heading toward the house.
“I do see them.” She spoke in a breathless rush. “They are coming! We must go down to greet them.”
“Me, too?” A wide grin lit up the boy’s solemn little face.
“Of course.” Hannah seized him by the hand and they headed off at a brisk pace. “Lady Benedict will be pleased to meet you, I’m sure. She likes children.”
That was not the only reason Hannah wanted her young pupil with her when she met her friend again after so many years. She hoped Peter’s presence would smooth over any awkwardness during their meeting. In truth, she was not certain how she ought to behave toward Rebecca now that her old friend had become the wife of a viscount.
It was kind of Lady Benedict to want to visit the friends of her youth. But would she soon realize there was now a wide gulf separating them?
Peter’s mama had found a way to bridge that gulf, Hannah reminded herself, though lately memories of the countess provoked an ache of guilt inside her. Perhaps she should treat Rebecca the way she had Lady Hawkehurst—never too familiar or presuming upon their prior acquaintance, but with the deference befitting her friend’s new station in life.
Bringing Peter along to their first meeting would be a subtle way of acknowledging her position in the earl’s household.
As they descended the great staircase to the entry hall, the boy asked, “Should we find Papa and tell him the guests are here?”
The question caught Hannah off guard. Would Lord Hawkehurst want to be on hand to greet the Benedicts? Though he had extended them the hospitality of his house, they would be coming to visit her, not him.
“I’m not sure where we might find your father now that the doctor has allowed him out of bed.” That was true and as good an excuse as any, though it gave Hannah a pang to speak of it. How accustomed she had grown to knowing where to find the earl at all times and being free to visit him as often as she could devise an excuse.
As she and Peter reached the foot of the stairs, his lordship came striding toward them from the direction of his study. “I hear our guests have arrived. Owens proposed a formal reception with all the staff lined up to greet Lord and Lady Benedict, but I abhor such stuffy ceremony. I hope they will not feel slighted by a small family welcoming party.”
Several things struck Hannah at once. The first was how well the earl looked. No one would ever guess that less than three weeks ago he had collapsed from loss of blood and been close to death. After spending so many days and nights sitting by his bedside, she had forgotten what it was like to look up at him. He appeared taller than she remembered—his shoulders broader. The rest and nourishment of his convalescence seemed to have agreed with him. The chiseled hollows of his face had filled out nicely. Hannah could not recall ever having seen him so smartly dressed and groomed.
No doubt his fine appearance was meant as a compliment to Lord and Lady Benedict. But that made it a roundabout compliment to her as well, which she appreciated. So much so that she found herself lost for words.
“F-family?” she managed to stammer.
For an instant Lord Hawkehurst looked almost as disconcerted as she felt, but he quickly recovered his composure. “You are the twins’ godmother, after all. That makes you rather a member of the family. Don’t you agree, son?”
Peter gave a vigorous nod. “Mama often said Miss Hannah was like part of the family.”
The child’s innocent mention of his mother and her kindness shook Hannah. She had no business being here, taking the late countess’s place.
“Just so,” said the earl with a forced smile. “Now we had better go greet our guests before they decide they are not welcome at Edgecombe.”
“We cannot have that,” Hannah agreed, giving Peter’s small hand a squeeze.
Now that the moment had come to meet one of her friends in the flesh again after so many years, she found herself as anxious as she was eager.
Lord Hawkehurst threw open the great front door and beckoned her out. Clinging tightly to her young pupil’s hand, Hannah emerged into the summer sunshine.
The viscount’s carriage had just come to a halt. A footman in formal livery scrambled down from his perch to open the door and unfold the steps for his master and mistress to descend.
Lord Benedict climbed out first, made a brief bow toward the Edgecombe party then turned to help his bride alight. Hannah approved the gentleman’s looks. He carried himself with distinguished bearing and his features were balanced in pleasing proportions. When he took his wife’s hand and led her forward, Lord Benedict’s face radiated affection and pride in her.
To Hannah’s relief, she recognized her friend at once. Though dressed in a flattering gown of blue-green muslin and a smart hat trimmed with matching ribbons, Rebecca still had her full, dark brows, generous mouth and features that conveyed an ideal blend of strength and softness. It took every ounce of self-control Hannah possessed to remind herself that her friend was now the wife of a peer.
“Welcome to Edgecombe, Lord and Lady Benedict.” She dropped a proper curtsy but could not suppress a smile of fond familiarity.
“Hannah Fletcher!” Rebecca swooped toward her with no thought for rank or decorum.
The next thing Hannah knew, she was being embraced and kissed with the vigorous affection of a long-lost sister. Any worries about proper deference were swept away by a powerful wave of joy. She held her friend close, repeating her name as if it were the most beautiful word in the language. Her eyes misted with tears of happiness, and for once she let a few of them fall. She heard an answering sniffle from Rebecca.
At last they drew back to find the three gentlemen regarding them with indulgent puzzlement.
Peter was quick to articulate what they all must be thinking. “Why are you weeping, Miss Hannah? Did your friend hurt you when she hugged you so tight?”
“Not in the least.” Hannah chuckled at the child’s question as she dashed away her tears with the back of her hand. “I will explain it to you later, though I am not certain any man can properly understand.”
It was not only seeing her friend again, so little changed, that overwhelmed her with emotion. It was also the unexpected assurance that Rebecca’s elevated position need not spoil the closeness they had once shared.
“Speaking of men, allow me to present my husband.” Rebecca drew Hannah toward the viscount. “He could not have given me a more cherished wedding gift that this opportunity to see you and my other dear school friends again. Sebastian, this is Hannah Fletcher, of whom I have told you so much. My friends and I owe her such a debt. We would all have suffered a great many more punishments at school if she had not helped us with our studies and made certain our beds and possessions were always kept tidy.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Lord Benedict.” Hannah swept him a curtsy that was a token of sincere respect. Any man who had been such a staunch advocate of Britain’s military forces and also made her friend so happy deserved her wholehearted approval.
“That will not do, Miss Fletcher.” The viscount held out his hand to her. When she clasped it, he bowed low over her hand. “You must call me Sebastian for I look upon you and your friends as much my sisters-in-law as dear Hermione.”
The affection for Rebecca that shone in his eyes seemed to reach out and encompass Hannah, too. In spite of that, she was still not certain she could bring herself to address a viscount by his Christian name.
“You are very kind, sir.” She returned his smile with greater warmth than she had ever extended to anyone upon their first meeting. “Now allow me to present your host, Colonel the Earl of Hawkehurst and his son, Lord Edgecombe.”
“A pleasure.” Lord Benedict and the earl bowed to one another then shook hands. “I cannot begin to thank you for your generous offer of hospitality.”
“It is an honor to welcome you and your wife to Edgecombe.” Lord Hawkehurst bowed over Rebecca’s hand. “As Miss Fletcher can attest, I have long desired to make your acquaintance. I believe we shall have many matters of mutual interest to discuss during your stay.”
Peter hung back, watching the adults’ introductions, perhaps still a bit troubled by seeing his governess in tears. Now, at a nudge from Hannah, he stepped forward and bowed to the guests as she had shown him.
Rebecca stooped to the child’s height. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Edgecombe. I have heard such fine reports of you from my friend’s letters. To hear her tell it, there is no better or cleverer boy in Kent, if not the whole kingdom. I look forward to learning the truth of that for myself.”
I was difficult to tell who looked more pleased to hear Hannah’s praise relayed—her young pupil or his father.
The boy cast Rebecca a shy smile. “Do you have any children?”
Hannah stifled a little gasp then cast the earl a look that begged him not to mind his son’s innocent question.
Rebecca and her husband exchanged a fond, private glance. Then she shook her head. “None yet, but we would very much like to someday.”
“We have twins,” Peter announced. “They are quite nice. Perhaps Papa and Miss Hannah could tell you where they got ours and you could get one from there, too.”
Lord Benedict laughed heartily at the child’s innocent remark. The earl pretended to join him, though Hannah sensed he was not amused.
Meanwhile her cheeks blazed. Peter’s comment implied that the babies belonged to his father and her. It was all very well to treat her as a member of the family, but she was not, nor would she ever be. Poor Lady Hawkehurst had asked Hannah to watch over the children, not to take her place in their lives!
Gavin had hoped that having her friend to stay at Edgecombe would make Hannah Fletcher happy. Her rapturous reaction to Lord and Lady Benedict’s arrival convinced him the visit would be a great success. But as the four of them dined together that evening and the conversation flagged, he wondered if he had been mistaken or if he’d done something wrong.
Miss Fletcher had scarcely said a word since they sat down, except brief answers to direct questions. She had resisted the invitation to dine with him and their guests until he pointed out how ridiculous it would be for him to entertain her friends while she ate in the nursery. Only when he suggested that they might all dine with his son in the nursery had she relented. Now every time the footman took a dish away or brought another she cringed as if she feared the servant might strike her.
For the life of him, Gavin could not make out what he had done to offend her. If she and Lady Benedict were not going to keep up the usual table talk, he had plenty he wished to discuss with the viscount. He’d planned to wait and raise the subject after the ladies retired to the drawing room. But the awkward pause in conversation needed to be filled, and he had no skill at small talk.
“Lord Benedict, I have been almost as anxious for your arrival as Miss Fletcher. Tell me, are you any better informed than the newspapers about the whereabouts of that infernal Bonaparte?”
As he awaited the viscount’s reply, Gavin took a bite of tender roast veal. After a fortnight of invalid food and many weeks on army rations before that, he savored the well-prepared, flavorful dishes. From the foot of the long dining table, he noticed Miss Fletcher’s expression darken, but he chose to ignore it. If she objected to this avenue of conversation, she was free to speak up and direct it elsewhere.
Lord Benedict gave a wry chuckle. Gavin had never met a man in such perpetually good spirits. The viscount’s cheerful disposition did not match the reports Gavin had heard of him over the years.
“I must confess I never pay much attention to the press.” Lord Benedict gave a carefree shrug. “Consequently, I have no idea what they may or may not know. However, I did speak with an acquaintance from the Foreign Office while we were in London. There is some consternation that Wellington and Blücher did not demand custody of Bonaparte as a condition for the surrender of Paris.”
Gavin gave a vigorous nod of agreement.
“To be fair,” the viscount continued, “the military situation is still unsettled, and many of the French do not want King Louis back on the throne at any price. Wellington may have felt that having the Allies seize Bonaparte would put a spark to the tinder. I am inclined to trust the duke’s instincts in such matters.”
“As am I,” Gavin replied with less than complete conviction. “But to risk Bonaparte getting away altogether…”
“Every French port is being patrolled to prevent that from happening,” Lord Benedict assured him. “Every ship of His Majesty’s navy is on full alert.”
Hannah Fletcher did not say a word but concentrated on her dinner as if trying to make herself invisible. Yet Gavin sensed her agreement with the viscount.
“So I have been frequently reminded.” He cast a significant glance in her direction.
She pretended not to notice.
“There are reports that Bonaparte is in Rochefort seeking passage on a frigate,” Lord Benedict added.
The frustration Gavin had been trying so hard to suppress threatened to boil over. “If his whereabouts are known, or even suspected, why can a select detachment not be sent to intercept him before he slips away?”
Was he angrier with the Allied commanders’ puzzling lack of action or with himself for accepting the doctor’s advice so tamely? Had he seized on any excuse to remain at Edgecombe, where he’d begun to feel truly at home for the first time he could recall?
“Do you not trust the Royal Navy?” Lord Benedict inquired in a bantering tone. “I assure you they are anxious to redeem themselves after allowing Bonaparte to slip away from Elba five months ago. I believe they will do everything in their power to prevent him escaping again.”
“I hope so.” Gavin wanted to believe the viscount, for it might silence his nagging conscience.
Since nothing he’d heard from Lord Benedict so far had set his mind at rest, Gavin decided he should steer the conversation in a different direction—one the ladies might be happier to follow.
He glanced at the viscount’s wife, whose attractive looks also suggested warmth of heart and strength of character… very much like her friend Hannah Fletcher. “I gather you intend to visit all your school friends, Lady Benedict. Is Miss Fletcher the first?”
The lady shook her head. “We began with the nearest and plan to venture farther afield as we go on. Edgecombe is the second stop on our bridal tour. Our first was to Grace Ellerby in Berkshire. I was delighted we were able to secure an invitation to Lady Maidenhead’s Victory Ball for her.”
Gavin thought it rather premature to celebrate victory with Bonaparte still at large. Out of consideration for Miss Fletcher, he refrained from voicing his opinion.
Lady Benedict glanced toward her friend. “I did not recognize Grace when I first saw her wearing a hideous old cap and spectacles. But when she joined us for the ball she was a vision of loveliness.”
“I still say there is something very odd going on with Miss Ellerby,” the viscount declared as a footman exchanged his well-cleaned plate of veal for a dish of Dover sole in caper sauce.
“Odd in what way?” Gavin asked.
“Let us just say your hospitality is very welcome after the rudeness of her employer, Lord Steadwell. I had hoped to pay the gentleman my compliments, but he would not receive us.”
“Steadwell?” Gavin muttered the name to himself for it had a familiar ring. “Rupert Kendrick—he was a few years ahead of me at school. He seemed a decent enough fellow back then.”
He recalled a quiet, rather gangly lad who had been much kinder to the younger boys than most. Another reason Rupert Kendrick stuck in his memory was because the older boy had so clearly preferred his home to their school, quite the opposite of Gavin.
“Steadwell has a reputation for diligence in the House of Lords.” Viscount Benedict seemed puzzled by the baron’s recent behavior toward him. “I could usually count on his vote for any legislation in support of our military forces.”
Lady Benedict paused over her fish. “I doubt Lord Steadwell was reluctant to receive you, my dear.”
Her husband scowled. “What do you mean by that?”
The lady gave a faint smile of regretful resignation. “You know, and do not pretend otherwise. Not everyone is as blind to rank and position as our present host. Some people deplore the idea of a viscount marrying a mere governess. You cannot deny when we first met, you would have been one of them.”
Lord Benedict squirmed in his seat. “I was a daft fool who let one unfortunate experience sour my opinion on a number of matters. Thank goodness you came along to show me the error of my ways. If that is Lord Steadwell’s problem, I hope he gets an undeserved opportunity to correct his error, as I did.”
The viscount’s words made Gavin wonder if he’d been given similar opportunities to make things right. With his comrades in arms, who had sacrificed their lives when they should have been finished with war? With his young children, who might have been deprived of their mother because of his actions?
If so, he should be grateful for those opportunities… and he was. He only wished he could do right by them both, rather than trying to accomplish one at the expense of the other and tearing himself apart in the process.