Page 4 of Surrender to the Earl (Brides of Redemption #2)

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; “na?ve” 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.

Audrey 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?