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.”
Hannah 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.”
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.