Surrender to the Earl (16 page)

But her own concerns continued to simmer.

T
he next day, Audrey received an invitation for tea at Mrs. Edgeworth’s. On the following day, she and Blythe went at the appropriate hour. Blythe had been quite insistent that Audrey didn’t need Molly or Lord Knightsbridge, and Audrey told herself she was like any normal woman, attending an event with her sister.

It was actually a good feeling, and so rare. She didn’t know what was going on with Blythe’s conscience, or how long her sister intended to visit, but Audrey wasn’t questioning it.

Robert had had to go to London on business, so it had been a quiet few days without him. Blythe still seemed to think Audrey’s days could be spent in ladylike relaxation and pastimes, and Audrey was feeling a bit frustrated with her. Didn’t her sister realize that someday she’d have her own household?

Mrs. Edgeworth lived in a little stone house within the village boundaries. Audrey already knew from Mrs. Sanford that the woman was a widow who considered herself one of the village matriarchs. She was stern but fair, and tireless in her volunteer work. She sounded like the perfect person for Audrey to get to know. There were four other ladies in attendance: Mrs. Warton, the vicar’s middle-aged wife; her daughter, Miss Warton, newly engaged, whose voice rang with happiness that still sounded surprised about her good fortune; Lady Flitcroft, the wife of a local baronet, who was so quiet Audrey often forgot she was in the room; and Miss Yardley, a young friend of Miss Warton’s, who was mostly focused on her coming-out next Season in London.

Audrey had sensed their curiosity as she and Blythe entered the parlor, but they’d seemed eager to know her. Her status as the blind future countess must be very intriguing. She hoped to win them over as herself, so that when she broke off the engagement, they’d be sympathetic friends.

When Mrs. Warton went off to see why the sandwiches she’d ordered hadn’t arrived, and Blythe was speaking to Miss Warton on her other side, Audrey spoke to Miss Yardley, seated to her left.

“I’m sorry that Mrs. Warton is embarrassed by her servants,” Audrey said, shaking her head. “We can be so dependent on them. At least I am, although I imagine that is obvious.”

Miss Yardley lowered her voice and seemed to lean nearer. “If you don’t mind a little gossip, I am very curious about your servants.”

“Why is that?” Audrey asked politely.

“I heard that Louisa Sanford is trying to say she went away to be married.”

“I’ve been told her name is Louisa Roebuck,” Audrey said cautiously.

“My mother’s housekeeper claims that is all fiction to try to protect her reputation. She was never married!” Miss Yardley’s voice was breathless with the intrigue.

The tea seemed to settle uneasily in Audrey’s stomach. “You are claiming the child is illegitimate?”

“My housekeeper insists it is so! She says Louisa was always fast, and sadly reaped what she sowed. She should have left Hedgerley permanently, but apparently Mrs. Sanford didn’t wish to force her, so she returned with this fiction of a dead husband.”

“That is very sad,” Audrey murmured. “I hope it is not true.”

Miss Yardley, probably sensing that Audrey wasn’t going to add any gossip, turned to the lady on her other side, leaving Audrey to think troubled thoughts.

Was this the secret that the Sanfords had been hiding, their daughter’s shame? By driving Audrey away, did they think they could move Louisa back to Rose Cottage with them?

After light sandwiches, iced cakes, and more discussion of the Female Aid Society’s next fund-raising dance in the local Assembly room, Audrey and Blythe rode home in the curricle. Blythe had been delighted to drive, and Audrey found herself teasing that someday Blythe would have to let
her
drive on a flat, open road.

They spoke briefly about the various guests, and Blythe seemed more cautious than Audrey about Audrey’s acceptance.

“I know they probably stared at me,” Audrey said. “I don’t mind, since their behavior put me at ease. Though you had difficulty accepting my blindness, others might be able to see past it.”

And then Blythe burst into tears, and Audrey wondered if she was going to have to take over the reins anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Audrey said. “Do dry your eyes, Blythe. We’re putting the past behind us, remember? I should not have brought it up.”

But although Blythe was able to finish driving home, she was not to be consoled that day, and fled to spend the rest of it in her room. This sensitive side to her sister was new, and Audrey didn’t know what to make of it.

She played mournful tunes on the piano and tried to consider what she should do about the rumors concerning the Sanfords’ oldest daughter, and wished she could discuss it with Robert. She missed him far too much for a woman who firmly believed she could live without a husband. Was it her place to confront them, so they knew what people were saying? Or perhaps they didn’t care, as long as they misled
her
, the woman who had the power to let the entire family go. Then, how would they support their grandchild?

By nightfall, she’d decided to do nothing—their shame wasn’t her business, and perhaps the gossip wasn’t even true. Yet, it would make more sense, why they were trying to mislead her . . .

Wouldn’t it?

Chapter 16

B
efore dinner the next day, Audrey waited in the drawing room for Blythe, feeling chilled from the dreary, misty rain that had fallen all day. She may not have been able to see it, but the steady patter of rain was like someone strumming every last nerve. The dampness seemed to seep into the house. She’d been warm in Molly’s bedroom, where Molly had begun to write the invitations for the new annual tenants’ feast. It would take several days to do, since Molly still needed to rest after an hour of writing.

But since Audrey had come downstairs, she’d begun to shiver. With a sudden determination to prove that she wasn’t helpless, she knelt before the hearth and felt the empty coal grate. There was a bucket of coal nearby, and plenty of kindling. So she began to pile the kindling, and with a match, encouraged a steady flame, feeling the heat with her hands, trying to judge it. The kindling had to be hot enough to spark the coal. Eventually she shoveled on small coal chips and waited for their ignition, feeling even that little bit of warmth.

“So you’re doing the work of your servants now?” Robert suddenly asked.

She gave a start and had to put out a hand to keep from toppling into the coal grate. “My word, Robert, what happened to our signals?”

“I didn’t think we ever settled on one.”

“There was that handy invention, the knock,” she said dryly.

But even as she tried to be calm and sarcastic and oh so above it all, her heart pounded at the sound of his voice, and she felt all warm and happy inside.

Oh, this wasn’t good. She was getting too caught up in him, too used to his help, his presence, his sensual attention.

She swallowed. “I didn’t want to bother the servants as they prepared for dinner. I tried to do this myself.”

“Not bad,” he said, coming to stand above her.

She could almost feel the warmth of him, the vibrancy, as he stood beside her, his limbs so near.

“I think the coal chips are hot enough to add larger. Shall I?”

“No,” she said, taking up the little shovel again, and by the sensation of warmth, adding more large pieces. She heard a few fall off, but that didn’t matter. At last, she stood up, dusting her hands against each other, knowing she would have to wash up before dinner. “How was London?”

“Still rather sparse. But your sister seemed to put word in the right ears, for everywhere I went, people asked about our engagement. You are the mysterious woman no one has ever met, and you swept aside my normal soldier’s caution.”

“Powerful, aren’t I?” But she couldn’t help her laughter.

“One of my distant cousins wanted to host an engagement party.”

Her laughter died. “Oh, my. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s the first time we’ve ever taken notice of each other. And, of course, I am an earl, and to host such an event would be quite the accomplishment.”

“You’re so cynical. Perhaps he just wants to get to know you, since you’ve been gone nine years.”

“Maybe.”

She heard his approach, and suddenly, she wanted to forestall however he might attempt to weaken her senses. “The servants tried another little trick.”

“Doing what?” he asked flatly.

“They said there was no milk for breakfast, that the dairymaid had been having problems with our cows.”

“Audrey—”

“So I went out to the dairy barn myself, only to hear that the dairymaid had sent in the pails before dawn, as she did every morning.”

“Damn those Sanfords.”

She laughed. “I’m starting to find it all amusing. So I told them they must have misplaced the pails, and please make certain I had some at lunch. They’ll have to try harder than that.”

“You almost sound like you’re enjoying this little competition.”

“It’s a challenge I mean to win.”

“Hold still,” he suddenly said, from much closer.

She gave a little gasp as he cupped her face with one hand, and used the thumb of his other to wipe down her cheek.

“Coal dust,” he murmured.

He didn’t move away, and she stood there, her face so warm, cradled in the strength of his rough hand. Without even knowing what she meant to do, she slid her hands up his chest, then neck, until she felt his rough cheeks.

“Let me see you,” she whispered.

“Of course,” was his hoarse answer. “But how?”

“Like this.”

Beneath her exploring fingers, his cheekbones were high and proud, and the hollows below showed his lean face. His chin was square and blunt, and his lips, which had felt soft against hers, had a full lower lip, and a more narrow upper. His nose was as lean as the rest of his face, with a little bump near the bridge.

“You broke your nose?”

“Not all by myself.”

She smiled, even as she continued her exploration. She was gentle moving over his closed eyelids, felt the blunt, manly shape of his brow and the silkiness of his hair falling forward over it.

“You are very handsome,” she murmured, still letting her fingers trail through his hair above his ears, then sliding back over his scalp and to his neck again.

“Can you imagine what I look like, from a simple touch?” he asked.

“I think so. But I’ve always been able to imagine you. It’s your voice, so very evocative, so . . . different.”

Robert didn’t have to imagine at all. He could drink in the beauty of her, even as he held her face in his hands. Her full moist lips were meant for his kisses, and those eyes might not see him, but they decorated her face with golden light, the light of her gentle spirit within.

He kissed her then, each of them holding the other’s face, their bodies swaying against each other, each brush of her breasts against his chest sending a hot wave of desire straight to his groin.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

He lifted his head to see Miss Collins standing in the doorway, her gaze taking them in before turning aside.

Audrey stepped away so quickly, he had to grab her to make sure she didn’t send her skirt sweeping across the coal grate.

“I’m not going to fall,” she said crossly, her face red with embarrassment.

“I—I should have knocked,” Miss Collins said, “but the door was open.”

Robert gave her a smile. “It was simply the kiss of an engaged couple who’d been separated too long.”

“I’m sorry three days was too long for you,” Audrey said with faint amusement.

He grinned down at her. “It was too long for you, too.”

Miss Collins frowned as she stepped farther into the room. “Audrey, what is that dirt across your skirt?”

Audrey winced. “It must be coal dust.”

“Did you fall into the hearth?” Miss Collins asked, her voice rising in worry.

“Not at all. I started the coal fire myself and couldn’t see where I knelt.”

“But that is the servants’ duty,” Miss Collins said in bewilderment.

“And I can do it almost as well. I enjoyed the challenge.”

“And the dirt?” her sister continued.

“I don’t always have to be a burden,” Audrey said, brushing past Robert and heading toward her sister. “Excuse me while I change.”

“I never said you were a burden,” Miss Collins called.

To her credit, she sounded forlorn. Perhaps there really was hope for Audrey and her sister to become closer.

Miss Collins came back inside and went to the window, looking out as if she could find the answers to all her problems in the misty rain. Or else not wanting to face him.

“Lord Knightsbridge, did you get wet on your ride over?” she finally asked.

“My cloak kept the worst from me. And I’m used to dealing with the weather.”

“Ah, I had almost forgotten. Was there even snow in India?”

“Worse snow than England usually sees, at least in the mountains of Afghanistan.”

The silence lengthened again.

“What do you think of this situation with the staff?” Robert asked in a low voice.

Miss Collins glanced at him over her shoulder. “You mean their furtive behavior? It’s almost as if they meant to hide the baby from us. Considering they don’t know of Audrey’s grief after her own died, it doesn’t make sense.”

He must have gaped at her, for her eyes went wide and she covered her mouth.

“She never told you,” Miss Collins whispered. “Oh, heavens, what have I done but reveal secrets that weren’t mine to reveal?”

“She lost a baby?” It was as if the earth moved under his feet, changing everything he ever thought he could do for her. “Tell me.”

“But I shouldn’t—”

“You already did, and unless you want me to tell her exactly where I found out, you will finish explaining this to me.” He walked toward her, each syllable emphasized with his footfalls.

Miss Collins squeezed her eyes shut. “It must have been too painful for her to speak of. She grieved far worse for the baby than she ever did for her husband.”

“She was with child when he left.”

She nodded, her head bobbing even as the first tear spilled down her cheek.

“Tell me everything,” he ordered, in the voice he used when he expected to be obeyed.

Miss Collins swallowed. “She found out just after Mr. Blake left. After word of his death, she went into labor early and the babe was born dead. A little boy . . .” She trailed off for a moment, then seemed to rally as she looked him in the eye. “My father was relieved. His attitude . . . it sickened me. I admit I was uncertain about Audrey’s ability to raise a child, and there are always those who believe a blind woman could also give birth to a blind baby, but . . . her grief was terrible to witness, and for some time, I worried over the state of her health and mind.”

Robert found himself sitting down heavily in a chair, his hands moving through his hair to clasp his bent neck as he stared at the floor. Miss Collins’s words pounded into him as if they were blows landed from a boxer.

“I think this house saved her, in some sense. She began to concentrate on Rose Cottage, and her future independence, and even when Father refused to permit her departure, she never gave up.”

She paused a long moment, as if waiting for him to speak, but he had no words.

“She must not have wanted your pity,” Miss Collins continued in a low voice.

Pity? Robert felt far more than that—guilt, gut-clenching guilt that a decision he’d help make to release prisoners, a decision against the orders of his commander, a decision he just assumed was right and just, had not only taken the lives of three good soldiers, including Audrey’s husband, but had caused the death of her unborn child. He couldn’t make that right with just an escort to her new home and some shaky estate advice. My God, he’d only been doing what was convenient for him, as if he knew best—another trait of his father’s.

No, he’d give her what every woman deserved—marriage, and the chance to have another baby.

He would bring admiration and desire to this marriage, not pity, and
tonnish
marriages often began with less.

“My lord?” Miss Collins said in a hesitant voice.

He lifted his head, filled with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt since he’d sold his army commission. “Yes?”

“Are you going to tell Audrey you know about the baby?”

“No. I want her to tell me herself.”

“Oh.” She looked relieved, even as she used her fingers to dab at the corners of her eyes. “Whatever you think best.”

They spent several minutes in silence, Miss Collins staring at the window that ran with rivulets of rain, and Robert sitting still, seeing nothing as he tried not to imagine Audrey’s grief.

When Audrey returned, he felt in control again, certain that he was at last doing the right thing. He smiled at her, warm with the knowledge that he’d never let her go. The hard part was going to be convincing her that they should make their engagement real. He had time to proceed slowly. After all, she opened to him more and more with every kiss and caress.

He met her halfway across the room, taking her hands, startling her.

“Sorry,” he murmured, raising her gloved hands to his lips.

“I haven’t been gone that long,” she said with amusement.

“It seemed long.” And that wasn’t a false statement. His whole life and purpose had changed since she’d been gone, and it felt good.

“I imagine you’re hungry,” she said. “Shall we go in to the dining room?”

He was becoming used to the three of them eating together like a family. As he helped each of them into their chair, and then took his own, he said, “I found I couldn’t wait to be back here sharing a meal with the both of you. The dining rooms at Knightsbridge Hall are cavernous and full of echoes, and I have no one to talk to.”

“Oh, that sounds lonely,” Audrey said.

“Does it?” He tried to put meaning into those words, knowing he couldn’t say, because of Miss Collins, that he had thought Audrey wanted endless evenings alone.

She blushed as she took a sip of her wine, as if maybe she understood his point, yet determination lifted her chin. She’d worked too hard for her approaching independence to care about meals alone. And she’d have Molly—he could see her mind working. But Molly might want a life, too. Robert had heard about Francis mooning over her.

“You must admit,” Audrey began, “that you missed peace and quiet when you were in the army.”

“Sometimes. But I’d like voices and laughter in my home, and right now there’s only the silent servants and me.”

“Soon there’ll be Audrey,” Miss Collins pointed out.

“Yes, and I’m glad,” Robert said quietly.

Audrey shot him a quick, bewildered look. She didn’t know where he was going with this.

“Audrey has always been in my life,” Miss Collins said quietly.

Audrey and Robert both turned toward her.

“I don’t remember much before the scarlet fever, but I think you held me all the time.” Miss Collins wasn’t looking at either of them, her head turned just to the side.

“I taught you to walk,” Audrey whispered. “Your first baby smiles were for me. I remember what they looked like, so sweet and loving.”

A single tear ran down Miss Collins’s cheek. “I used to feel so guilty that I survived the scarlet fever unscathed.”

“Blythe, no! I was so glad of your healthy recovery.”