Free The Earl's Honorable Intentions by Deborah Hale Page A

Hannah protested, wanting the report to be true quite as much as the earl seemed to wish it proven false.
    “Even if the report is correct—” the earl drummed his fingers on the bedclothes “—that is no guarantee Bonaparte will not be sent into comfortable exile once again, long enough to lay plans for his next return to power. I cannot allow that to happen!”
    His fingers ceased their drumming and clenched into a tight fist. “Week-old news and unsubstantiated rumors—I must have more accurate information! Has there been any reply from my letter to the Foreign Ministry?”
    “Not yet.” Hannah spoke in a soothing tone she might have used with young Peter when he was upset. “But it has only been one day, and I daresay the Ministry has plenty of business to occupy it at the moment.”
    Her words seemed to ease the worst of his agitation. The earl’s fingers unclenched, and he exhaled a deep, slow breath. “You are right, of course. Perhaps we will receive an answer on Monday. In the meantime, put a pin in the map at Compiègne . ”
    Hannah laid down the newspapers and did as he’d bidden her.
    “Are you only following the doctor’s orders so you can recover enough health to return to your regiment?” Hard as she tried to keep her tone neutral, notes of challenge and accusation crept in.
    The earl must have heard them, for he responded accordingly. “What if I am? I owe a duty to my country.”
    “You have a duty to your children. ” Hannah wanted to throw up her hands in exasperation. “Or do you care nothing for them?”
    Discretion warned her it was not her place to question her employer’s feelings toward his family. But beneath that insistent warning, a quiet insight dawned on her. How could his children mean more to him than his military career? He had lived with it night and day for years. But he had spent very little time with Peter, and he had never even seen the babies.
    If she hoped to make the earl’s obligation to his children something more than an abstract concept, he would need to get to know them. What better time to do that than this fortnight while he recovered?
    “Of course I care for them!” The earl bridled. Clearly her question made him defensive. “They are my children, after all. Besides, I know what it is like to grow up without a mother.”
    He did? Hannah’s gaze flitted toward the portrait above the mantel, which showed a dark-haired young woman dressed in an elaborate brocade gown of the past century. She had never thought to inquire how long ago the previous countess had died. History seemed to be repeating itself at Edgecombe.
    “I am relieved to hear that you appreciate your paternal responsibilities, sir. For the children’s sake, I urge you to give up any idea of returning to your regiment. It is clear General Wellington will vanquish Bonaparte. And surely the Allies will have learned their lesson about the folly of leaving such a man at liberty. Let others deal with him. He is not your responsibility, but your children are. You cannot risk your life while they need you.”
    Lord Hawkehurst flinched at her words as if each one had dealt him a blow. “I appreciate your concern for my children, Miss Fletcher, but you must understand that I cannot rest until I am certain there is no possible way Napoleon Bonaparte will ever return to power. I made a vow to a dying comrade, and I must honor it.”
    A dying vow? Hannah folded the newspaper with trembling fingers. How could she ask his lordship to abandon such a sacred promise when she had made a vow of her own—one that ran contrary to his?

Chapter Five
    H ad he managed to get through to Miss Fletcher at last?
    Gavin marked the change that came over her face when he’d mentioned his vow to Molesworth. The resolute thrust of her chin faltered, and the challenging flash of silver in her blue-gray eyes muted. Had she assumed his determination to return to duty was only a headstrong whim? A love of war? Perhaps a