Page 1 of Surrender to the Earl
1
Oxfordshire, England, 1843
Robert Henslow, Earl of Knightsbridge, late of the Queen’s army, paced the drawing room in Lord Collins’s modest country mansion and debated how best to see to the welfare of the baron’s daughter—considering he’d never met her before. Robert had spent the six-week journey home from India pondering this dilemma, but he was no closer to an answer. He hoped he wouldn’t have to tell her the real reason: a military decision he’d help make had cost the life of her husband, Martin Blake. The guilt would never leave him, but at least the nightmares had ceased in the last year.
Blake hadn’t been the only man to die. Two others in their regiment had met a bloody end, including their commander, leaving Robert and two of his good friends to feel the need to make amends. He had made Mrs. Blake a widow, and he didn’t know how to make that right.
Robert was staring broodingly at the rolling grass fields of the park and the gold-and red-tipped trees when he heard the first chords from a piano in a nearby room. The sound grewinto a merry melody, reminding him of a springtime awakening during this blustery autumn day.
And still Lord Collins did not come.
Robert decided to investigate the next room. It only briefly occurred to him that it might be impolite, but he was an earl, and his father had bred into him the loftiness of his title. It hadn’t taken the army long to beat the worst arrogance out of him, but he still had his moments. So he went back out to the entrance hall and peered through the next doorway into a small parlor. A young woman sat alone at the piano, her eyes closed, her face luminous as she enjoyed her music. Her light brown hair was caught simply at the back of her head, and it gave a faint sheen in the shaft of sunlight streaming through the window. She looked neither tall nor short, a perfectly average figure clothed in a dark blue day dress with a bit of lace above the bodice. Her face held him, with its pixieish pointed chin, slanting eyebrows, and the hollows beneath her cheekbones that made her striking rather than truly beautiful.
And then she started to sing, her voice angelic, her expression distant, as if her music took her away from her life, from the pain of loss.
He took a step into the room, and she suddenly stopped, although not even a floorboard had creaked.
She tilted her head at an angle, her face turning toward the doorway, her gaze off to the side. “Is someone there?”
She was blind. This couldn’t be Mrs. Blake. Surely her husband would have said something during the six months they’d served together. It must be a sister, he told himself. But his stomach was clenched tight, and he had an instinct for the truth, after all his years with the army.
“Forgive me for intruding,” he said, then cleared the roughness from his throat. “I am Knightsbridge, come to visit Lord Collins and Mrs. Blake.”
Her face smoothed into a polite expression. “The Earl of Knightsbridge? Mr. Blake’s fellow officer?”
“He wrote of me?”
“My husband was not given much to letter writing,” she said candidly, “but I heard your name more than once.”
Heard. Of course, the letters would have been read to her. Mrs. Blake was blind, and from the perfection of her features, it was not a recent injury. Had she been born that way? He found himself powerfully curious to know everything about her. She was a blinded invalid, who’d never have a normal life. And it certainly made him think differently of Blake, who’d seemed a shallow, though good-natured, man. To marry a blind woman, he must have had depths of compassion Robert had never seen.
Before they could exchange another word, an older man came up behind Robert and made a polite coughing sound. Robert stepped out of the doorway.
“Good afternoon, Father,” Mrs. Blake said, her tone impassive rather than loving.
Lord Collins was a portly man, with long, gray, muttonchop sideburns and a red face. Without responding to his daughter, he eyed Robert with interest and said, “Knightsbridge?”
Robert gave a brief bow. “We have not met, sir, but it is a pleasure.”
“Come in, sit down,” the man said heartily.
Robert had heard this unctuous tone of voice before. Mrs. Blake smoothly slid off the piano bench and crossed the room. She didn’t use a cane, only allowed her hand to gently slide along the back of a chair as if to navigate. She pulled the bell cord hung in the corner, then glided with unerring accuracy back to a small sofa across from him. He almost warned her about the low table between them, but she obviously knew it was there. Her father didn’t seem to notice her movements at all.
“Audrey, your brother and sister aren’t here?” Lord Collins asked, faint disappointment in his voice.
Mrs. Blake shook her head. “Edwin is shooting this afternoon, and Blythe is visiting a friend in the village.”
Lord Collins grimaced. He probably wanted both of his daughters to meet an earl—or maybe just the sighted one, Robert speculated.
A young footman dressed in dark livery entered the room and bowed.
“Please have Cook prepare us a tea tray, Richard,” Mrs. Blake asked.
It was obvious she knew the workings of the household, and controlled the servants as the mistress of the home. Robert was impressed.
Lord Collins turned a speculative glance on him. “To what do we owe this visit, Knightsbridge?”
“As I mentioned to your daughter, I served in India with Mr. Blake. I know two years have passed since his death, but I’ve only just returned to England permanently, and I thought I would pay my respects and condolences.”
