Page 3 of Surrender to the Earl (Brides of Redemption #2)

“Then it was the investment that people questioned?” Audrey asked warily. Had she just beseeched an unscrupulous man to take her away from her home?

“This doesn’t concern you, Audrey,” her father said.

She’d heard that her whole life.

“But, no, nothing underhanded was discovered, only bad judgment.”

“And he was only twenty,” Blythe said. “Anyone can make foolish mistakes at twenty.”

“You’re twenty,” Audrey couldn’t help pointing out.

“Oooh!” Blythe said with a groan. “You are impossible to speak with!” And she marched out, her slippers making scuffing sounds on the stairs.

Audrey sighed and was about to follow her.

“Audrey, I would like a word.”

She remained still as her father brushed past her to close the door.

“I could confine you to your room,” he said in his I know best voice.

She clenched her teeth together so hard she felt a spasm in her jaw.

Then she calmed herself. She had intrigued Lord Knightsbridge, she knew, and he felt obligated to do something for her.

If she were confined to her room, it might make him even more determined to help.

I can’t lose here, she told herself firmly.

But she didn’t want to be confined, to hear other people having fun, to be unable to even sit among them.

“But confining you would cause talk during a shooting party, since Knightsbridge has already met you,” he continued, heaving a sigh. “So I must trust you to be circumspect in your dealings with him. Your sister deserves her chance to shine.”

“Father, the man is an earl,” she insisted. “He will not be interested in a blind woman, except for compassion’s sake. I am no threat to Blythe.”

“See that you remember that,” he warned her. “You didn’t before.”

She could feel him take a step toward her, and much as he’d never physically harmed her, his complete control of her was threatening enough. It was as if the air around her shrank, and she could smell the cologne he used to mask his body odor.

“I warned you about Blake,” he reminded her for the thousandth time.

“And you were right,” she said, trying to sound humble instead of furious. “Believe me, it is a lesson I have not forgotten.”

“Good.” He stepped away. “What do you have planned for dinner tonight, once all the young men have arrived?”

She briefly, impassively sketched out the menu for him, while her mind churned at her helplessness.

He would confine his own daughter, but for talk and her usefulness to his guests.

It had happened before, when she’d been cloistered alone and miserable but for Molly.

Every time she thought herself immune to her family’s subtle humiliations, another rose to wound her again.

“You look tired, too,” he suddenly said. “You should rest before dinner. I don’t want Blythe to have to take over coordinating the meal. She needs to be free to converse and make our guests feel at ease.”

Audrey sighed. “I do feel tired, Father. I’ll spend a quiet hour in my room.”

But once there, she couldn’t truly rest. She let Molly help her out of her gown into a dressing gown over her chemise and petticoats, the better to lie down.

Throughout, the maid chatted about the other young men who had arrived, four more of them.

Molly was her own age of twenty-five, and Audrey remembered she had dark blond hair and freckles across her nose.

Once Audrey had sheepishly asked if Molly still had them, and Molly had only laughed and said they’d since spread across her face.

Audrey had then explained that the people she’d last seen as a seven-year-old must now look different, but she had no way to tell.

Molly had told her to touch her face and feel the difference.

To Audrey’s amazement, she really could “feel” the contours of Molly’s pert nose and apple cheeks and imagine what she must look like.

Though grateful for Molly’s thoughtfulness, she knew she could ask no one else, especially her family, for such a personal favor.

So she just had to go by what she remembered of them.

Molly’s conversation came to the forefront when the maid said, “I caught a glimpse of his lordship in the hall.”

“What does he look like?” Audrey asked with a bit too much eagerness. Now she was sounding like Blythe.

“Don’t go moving your head while I’m trying to brush your hair, Miss Audrey.”

Audrey had tried for years to have the maid call her by her Christian name, but she refused—although she did agree that “Mrs. Blake” was too formal for their relationship.

And it was a true relationship, not mistress and servant.

Molly was her dearest friend in the world, closer than her own sister.

With no one else could Audrey be herself, ask silly questions, make mistakes.

In front of her family, she had to always be at her best, for fear they’d start to treat her as an invalid again.

Her mother had put a stop to that, but Audrey never felt safe now that she was gone.

She kept waiting for someone to suggest there were hospitals for people like her.

“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 heard Blythe’s interested, 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?