Surrender to the Earl (3 page)

“Hold on, miss, I’m looking for a pin.”

Audrey gritted her teeth until she felt Molly pluck the offending pin from her hair. “Well?”

“You’re mighty interested in the earl,” Molly pointed out. “I wonder why that is.”

Audrey couldn’t tell her the truth—not yet. Even Molly might think she risked too much, going off with a stranger. “I hear Blythe’s interest, and so I’m curious on her behalf.”

“So are you wondering if this earl will finally take your sister off your hands?”

Audrey grinned. “You know me too well, Molly. Now what does he look like, so I can decide if he meets Blythe’s standards.”

“Oh, he does,” Molly said with easy humor. “He’s an earl, and he’s young and handsome.”

“I could tell all of that just by listening to her breathless chatter.”

Molly laughed. “But as for what he
really
looks like . . . he’s got the blackest hair, like a shadow in the night.”

“I think your Irish stories are coming out.”

The maid snorted. “That’s a compliment, Miss Audrey, and you know it. As for the earl, his eyes are this intense green, very vivid. Think of clovers, and you’ll know the color. He has laugh lines at his eyes and mouth, which I always consider a good sign in a man.”

Laugh lines
were
a good thing. He must have gotten beyond the tragedy that had caused his business partner to lose hope. She admitted her own curiosity, but it was hardly something on which she would ever intrude.

“You and all your experience with men,” Audrey said with mock seriousness.

Molly giggled. “Don’t you remember my ma saying that?”

“Not exactly, but it sounds like her.” Audrey sighed at the warm memories of her nanny, who, like her own mother, had treated Audrey as if she were a normal child, insisting she use her utensils correctly and even that she walk like a lady, though her hand might be following along a wall.

“Did I hear right, that his lordship knew your husband?” Molly asked.

“They were in the same regiment in India. You know Martin didn’t write much,” she said dryly, “but he did mention the earl. They’re from the same parish. The earl’s country seat is only a few miles from Martin’s house.”

“You mean your house,” Molly said, her voice quiet and serious.

“Yes, my house,” Audrey echoed. “He only wrote of his lordship in passing, his excellent skills on a horse. He might even have said he was brave—I think. If you can even count Martin’s opinion for anything.”

“Hmm,” Molly said, still slowly drawing the brush through Audrey’s long hair. “Now I think you need to do as you told your father, and rest. Just try to close your eyes.”

“I won’t be able to. All of the guests are arriving.”

“And at last you’re going to be a part of it.” She squeezed Audrey’s shoulder. “You know Mrs. Gibbs is taking good care of them. You work too hard, Miss Audrey. You should insist Miss Blythe help you.”

But they both knew Audrey wouldn’t. And it wasn’t just that Blythe didn’t care enough to do a good job—Audrey was simply afraid that if she didn’t prove herself indispensable, they’d put a blanket on her lap like an old woman and never let her do anything again.

When Molly had gone, Audrey sat in the window seat, the window partially open to the cool autumn air. She could remember the view, had forced herself to think about it often so the memory wouldn’t blur. The park surrounding the house had always been lush and green, but on this side was a lovely garden with winding pathways Audrey knew by heart. Off in the distance would be the rolling fields separated by hedgerows, the summer grain already harvested, fields being plowed for the winter wheat crop.

But although she tried to distract herself by remembering the grounds, she kept going back to Martin. Her father
had
warned her, she mused, but she hadn’t wanted to believe him, had thought he only had selfish motives to keep her at home—but she should have seen beyond that. Martin had been visiting a school friend in their village when Blythe had had her first coming-out party. Blythe had thought every man should focus on her, but it was Audrey whom Martin focused on. In some ways, Audrey didn’t think Blythe would ever forgive her for “luring” a husband so quickly. Audrey understood now that she’d been susceptible to Mr. Blake because she felt unloved after her mother’s death, so grateful to be admired for her courage. And she’d really had no illusions—they’d never professed love to each other, and she knew he was a younger son. But she’d never imagined that the moment he had his hands on her dowry, he would purchase a commission in the army and leave her with her family so he could “see the excitement of the world.” She’d had her first hope of freedom, until he’d cruelly denied her.

Of course her father wouldn’t allow her to go to Martin’s home, then or now. But she’d spent the weeks leading up to her wedding dreaming of being mistress of her own household, with the authority to do what she wished,
go
where she wished. And instead, her life changed barely at all—until she’d realized she was with child.

She’d been gloriously happy that their rather inadequate wedding night had still given her such a wondrous gift. Her father had been disappointed, her sister almost fearful, but not Audrey. She had been confident she’d meet the challenge, knew that having her own child to love would change her life forever. The baby grew inside her, and its first movements were like the touch of butterfly wings. Soon, it seemed to want to escape, and she loved the feel of its little feet pushing on her.

Then came the news of Martin’s death. She didn’t suffer terribly with grief, for they hadn’t loved each other. But her child wouldn’t have a father, and she might never have been allowed to raise it as she wanted. Her father could even have had the baby taken away from her. She’d lived in fear of this—until the worst happened. She’d gone into labor too early, and the baby died.

For several months, she’d existed in despair, especially when her brother expressed relief that at least she wouldn’t have a blind baby. Did everyone wish she hadn’t been born? Realizing how dangerous her thoughts were, she’d focused on the manor she’d inherited, a place of her own, where she would have independence and never risk losing herself again.

But she wouldn’t tell any of this to the earl, for fear he’d pity her. She didn’t want his pity; she wanted his help—as long as he seemed trustworthy.

But how was she going to convince him to take a blind woman away from her home against her father’s wishes?

Chapter 3

R
obert came down to the drawing room before dinner and found Blythe Collins holding court like a princess, and Mrs. Blake nowhere to be seen. Were they keeping her out of the way? he wondered uneasily. Five young men were in attendance besides himself, and all turned to stare at him with curiosity. Several even looked familiar. But Lord Collins approached him first, leading a young man who resembled him in nose and in slightly expanding girth.

“Knightsbridge, this is my son, Edwin Collins.”

Robert bowed to the other man, who looked near his own age, his expression pleasant and curious—not like a man who’d gone along with keeping his sister trapped against her will. Robert had to remind himself to be objective, to consider both sides.

“Good evening, my lord,” Collins said. “It was kind of you to visit my sister. She is doing well, eh?”

Robert cocked his head. “You would know better than I.”

He blinked. “Yes, you’re right, of course. Come, let me reacquaint you with the men you might know, and those you don’t.”

Robert allowed himself to be drawn away and introduced to the group surrounding Miss Collins. He had been at Cambridge University at the same time with several of the men, but others had only come to London after his departure. Though he made the first overtures of conversation, it was hard to concentrate after he saw Mrs. Blake enter the room.

She walked without the aid of a cane, just occasionally ran her hand along the wall or across a piece of furniture. He noticed she stayed along the walls, and wondered if that was so she wouldn’t accidentally bump into a guest. She inspired head turnings, and more than one of the men asked who she was. He felt bothered on her behalf that even her brother’s friends didn’t know her identity. She found the chair she was looking for and sat down.

“She’s my blind sister,” Edwin Collins said. “She insists on doing everything on her own, so you don’t need to worry about her.”

She didn’t rate an introduction? Robert thought in astonishment. He was about to excuse himself and join her, when Miss Collins called his name.

As if Mrs. Blake had realized his intent, he saw her don the faintest smile—or did she simply understand that her sister would want his attention?

Miss Collins offered her hand, and he bent over it. She wore her hair in the most elaborate dark brown curls, shiny and smooth. She had her sister’s pixie chin, but was of a more delicate frame. Instead of her sister’s golden eyes, hers were light brown, but they sparkled with pleasure on being the center of male attention. She was young yet, he knew, so he could not fault her for enjoying herself.

“Good evening,” he said smoothly.

“I am so glad you agreed to stay, my lord. Did my brother introduce you to everyone?”

“He did indeed. I look forward to the challenge of testing their marksmanship against my own.”

“Those poor birds,” she said, almost giggling. “But I must confess—they do taste delicious.”

He smiled. “Then I shall do my best to make sure your dinner table is full of good things to eat.”

“I imagine you are quite the marksman after serving in the army. My brother can use a good challenge, since he always bests his friends.”

“Ah, but he’s my host. I’ll try to be fair.”

He glanced once again toward Mrs. Blake, who sat very still, a serene expression on her face, her head cocked forward as if she were listening to everything going on around her. Still, no one had approached her.

“Miss Collins, shall I bring your sister to you? I’m not certain you can see her from here.”

Something dark flashed in her eyes. “Audrey doesn’t enjoy crowds the same way we do, my lord, so please forgive her shyness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I can imagine how difficult it is to see only blackness, to be at a disadvantage to everyone else. Yet she moves about so easily.”

“She knows every space in this house,” Miss Collins said. “Heaven forbid we move a piece of furniture.”

“That is a sensible precaution, of course, and good of you to consider her situation.”

He almost missed the brief wince, but it was there. Miss Collins was obviously not ignorant of the situation. But growing up with a blind sister, it was probably easy to imitate the way one’s father treated her. Easy, yes, but disappointing, especially when age, maturity, and sympathy should have made her behave otherwise.

“Still, I cannot enjoy myself knowing she is alone,” he said. “Excuse me, please.”

He bowed, and this time she wasn’t so careful about hiding her anger, as if she were jealous of her own sister. But then he did the math in his head. Blake had been recently married when he’d arrived in India, so that had probably put Miss Collins on the cusp of coming out. Had she been newly on display, only to find her blind sister snaring a wedding proposal instead of her?

Robert moved through the small crowd and reached Mrs. Blake. She was obviously aware of his arrival, for she lifted her head expectantly.

“Good evening, Mrs. Blake,” he said.

“Good evening, Lord Knightsbridge.”

“My voice gives me away?”

“And your courtesy,” she reminded him, lowering her voice. “I trust you see that I was not exaggerating my dilemma.”

She needed help—he could see that. But how to know what was best for her? Robert disliked feeling indecisive.

Before he could speak further, the butler announced that dinner was served. Mrs. Blake rose smoothly to her feet.

“Shall I escort you, ma’am? I believe the order of precedence will be satisfied that way.”

“And so my sister can’t be too angry?” she asked wryly.

He smiled. “You know her very well, of course.”

“Of course. You’ll enjoy her company at dinner, since she made certain she was seated at your side.”

“I was once rather used to scheming females, Mrs. Blake, although I may be out of practice.”

She stilled, and her smile died. “And I don’t mean to be another one, my lord.”

“Forgive me—I was not classifying you as such. I was merely making light of a peer’s attractiveness to unmarried ladies.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry. I am being too sensitive.”

Robert guided her into the dining room until she touched the back of her chair, then after she sat, pushed the chair in for her. She smiled up at him.

With his inclusion, the numbers were uneven. He sat at one end, near the host and his younger daughter. Mrs. Blake sat at the other end, at her brother’s right. Her brother started talking to the person on his left, and Mrs. Blake’s other dinner partner turned to the person on his right. It was as if she weren’t even there between them. More than once, he wanted to call across the centerpiece to her, but knew she wouldn’t appreciate the attention.

As it was, many people glanced at her surreptitiously to watch her eat, and he found himself clenching his jaw, even as he realized he was doing the same. When the footman came around with each course, he would whisper something to Mrs. Blake as he set whatever was being served on her plate, placing each selection carefully. Mrs. Blake ate quite normally, and the glances at last died away.

Dinner grew more and more awkward, because even as Miss Collins spoke to him about the countryside or London or the friends they might have in common, he kept glancing at Mrs. Blake and wishing this dinner over. And that probably didn’t help Miss Collins’s disposition, but he wasn’t exactly feeling charitable toward her. At last the ladies retired to the parlor, and the men remained behind to drink and smoke and plan the schedule for their shooting party. Robert had little to add, except to quietly agree he might give them some competition if they challenged his shooting. They all seemed so . . . young, even though several were near his own age. Perhaps “young” was an incorrect word; “naïve” was probably better. Except for a jaunt to France or Italy, none of these men had traveled the world or risked their lives. All took their families and way of life for granted. Robert couldn’t blame them, since he’d once felt the same way.

But now he’d experienced the wait before battle, when one looked to each side and wondered which fellow soldier—friend—would survive. He’d experienced the joys of triumph, and the terrible, hollow sadness of death, and knowing one bore responsibility. He’d been hungry and freezing—he’d almost lost several toes in the Afghan mountains when they’d first taken over Kabul. But that had been the worst of his injuries. He’d felt almost miraculously incapable of being harmed. And perhaps that had saved him, but not some of his friends.

A
udrey heard Blythe enter the parlor rather than the drawing room to await the men, and she knew that meant a musical evening at the piano. Audrey didn’t blame her for wanting to display her talents; it was expected of a young lady.

But soon Audrey wished she’d fabricated an excuse to check on something in the kitchen. Blythe was full of icy silence. Audrey couldn’t guess what she was doing until she heard Blythe curse under her breath. Needlework—she always pricked her finger when she was upset.

She didn’t know why her sister was so agitated after her voice and laughter had filled the dining room. After hearing Lord Knightsbridge’s occasional chuckles, she’d felt a momentary worry that her family would coerce the earl to
their
side. But then she remembered his sincere wish to help her, the widow of his fellow soldier. Could she trust in that?

Audrey retrieved one of her embossed books from a shelf and began to read. The letters were large and raised, but she still had to move her fingers across slowly. Though she’d read this one many times, embossed books were expensive, and she didn’t have easy access to her money. Usually Molly read aloud to her from the library, and the two of them had enjoyed exploring the world of books together.

Blythe’s unending silence saddened as well as frustrated her, and at last she had to speak. “You sound like you’re enjoying yourself with Edwin’s shooting party, Blythe.”

“I am.”

At least she’d answered, even if her voice was clipped and angry.

“I thought the guests seemed to take pleasure in the meal.”

“Trying to earn a compliment, Audrey?”

Audrey sighed. “I was making polite conversation, which might be all I ever have with you. It makes me sad.”

Blythe made no response, and for the millionth time, Audrey wished she could see her expression. They suddenly heard a door being thrown open, and a genial burst of laughter from the men as they crossed the entrance hall.

The men swept into the room in a rush of exuberance, their very presence a powerful wave of maleness Audrey had never experienced. She was usually asked to retire to her room when her brother had company. But not this time. She had Lord Knightsbridge to thank for that. She was able to experience all their deep voices, the many scents of cologne and perspiration, the movement of air as if the young men couldn’t stand still in anticipation of their hunt.

Someone bumped her leg, and she heard a young man say, “Forgive me, Mrs. Blake,” in a voice so loud Audrey almost reared her head back.

Mildly, she answered, “Apology accepted, sir, although next you might try apologizing for the assault on my ears.”

When chuckles swept around her, it was a little dizzying to imagine so many people in places she couldn’t predict, couldn’t see.

Someone sat beside her, and the cushions angled down from the weight. She balanced herself carefully.

“Interesting book, Mrs. Blake.”

Lord Knightsbridge, she thought, relaxing. “It is, my lord, one made especially for the blind. You can feel the letters, if you’d like.”

He did so, his fingers light across the page, but beneath the book, she could feel the faint pressure of them trailing across her thighs. It made her shiver, and she pressed her lips together. What was this? Such a strange sensation. The others continued to converse; it was reassuring to think no one watched them.

“It is good to know you have access to the world of books,” he said.

“I am fortunate to have a lady’s maid who will read for hours on end in the evening. Right now, we are studying the countries of Africa.”

“Ah, you are a scholar.”

Her cheeks felt hot—was he actually making her blush? “No, I am not so talented.”

“What else do you do to pass the time?” he asked, then added, “If you do not mind telling me.”

“I don’t mind honest curiosity, sir,” she answered. She wet her lips, knowing that how she portrayed herself would influence his decision. Conversely, his behavior would influence her as well. “I love to walk. I’m out every day with my maid, to strengthen my health and enjoy the air. I ride as well, although I sometimes need to be guided.”

“Sometimes?” he echoed.

The surprised amusement in his voice wasn’t condescending.

“My gelding, Erebus, knows his way about the estate, as do I.”

“Erebus,” he echoed. “Greek god?”

“Excellent memory, my lord. The god of darkness.”

“Aah,” he said, and the amusement was back. “Shaped like mist, not a man. Appropriate. Please continue with your pastimes.”

He was well read. She liked that. “As for indoor amusements, besides reading, I can crochet and knit. We all know how important needlework is to a lady,” she added dryly.

He laughed, and more than one conversation died.

Suddenly, Blythe spoke up in the silence. “So what are you two discussing that is so amusing? Do share!”

Audrey was surprised to feel a gentle understanding for her sister. Blythe also knew what it was like to worry about the future. She had been out for three years now, and though she’d turned down several inappropriate proposals, a good match had not presented itself. Blythe no more wanted to grow old in this house than Audrey did. Whenever Audrey grew angry with her sister’s impatience and temper, she tried to remind herself of this.

“We are discussing needlework, Miss Collins,” Lord Knightsbridge said.

Someone guffawed.

“I myself used to have terrible hobbies for a young future earl,” he continued.

“Oh do enlighten us, my lord,” Blythe urged.

“I thought myself quite the scholar and intellect.”