And he was also full of regret that he’d brought up the subject of his brother, Neil. They were only two years apart, and they should have been close, but their father had been a firm believer in raising up his sons to be competitive. Their tutor had taken that one step further and set them against one another to “spark their competitiveness.” All it did was ruin their relationship, and made Robert retreat into his books. When Neil had died, Robert became the focus of their father’s fanatic need to control everything around him. And so he had to follow him around day after day whenever he was home for holidays, learning the man’s obsessive methods for controlling his estates, watching other men cower to his father’s bullying. Only one man could not be cowed, and that was a retired military officer who lived in their village. Robert would often seek him out to hear his adventures—which was probably why he bought a commission himself, when he felt himself turning into his father.
Robert was glad when they arrived at the pond and the beaters had begun their work. Birds took flight, and he aimed and shot. Some men had a servant reload one gun while they shot another, but Robert reloaded quickly by himself. Birds plummeted from the sky, and dogs brought them back without taking a single bite.
Several hours later, as they walked back toward the manor carrying bags of birds for the evening meal, Robert happened to glance down another path, and to his surprise, he saw Mrs. Blake walking with a plainly garbed woman. The sainted lady’s maid?
Since he was already at the back of the small group of men, he simply turned down the path toward Mrs. Blake. She was far enough away that he had time to watch her move, still without the aid of a cane. She kept her head high, as if smelling crisp air redolent with recently picked apples and hearth fires.
“I’m sorry my sister distracted you, Knightsbridge.”
Robert turned his head to find Edwin Collins catching up with him. “Not a bit. I thought I’d say good morning.”
“It was foolish for her to be out when we’re shooting,” Collins said, his breath huffing. “She could have been hurt.”
Robert almost pointed out that she wasn’t anywhere near the pond, but he let Collins pull ahead of him and draw Mrs. Blake aside. The man spoke intently for several minutes, while Mrs. Blake’s expression remained impassive. The other woman, red-faced, looked off as if she wasn’t listening.
At last Collins strode back toward his friends, pausing to give Robert a look. Obviously realizing he had no say in what Robert did, he only gave an impatient nod and strode away.
The servant said something to Mrs. Blake, and her head came up quickly as he approached.
“Forgive me, Lord Knightsbridge,” she said coolly. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I heard nothing, Mrs. Blake. It simply looked like a brother and sister conversing.” But he knew he’d seen a warning. Apparently only Miss Collins was allowed to consort with their guests.
She gave a grim smile. “That is kind of you.” Her expression eased and she turned her head slightly toward her servant. “This is my lady’s maid, Molly. Molly, the Earl of Knightsbridge.”
It wasn’t often a woman introduced a peer to her servant; he admired that about her.
Molly sank into a deep curtsy and her blush emphasized her freckles. “Good morning, milord.”
He smiled at her. “The two of you make quite a sight on an early morning.”
Molly bit her lip, even as Mrs. Blake asked dryly, “You mean like Punch and Judy?”
He laughed. “Not at all. It is inspiring to see you out and about, without even a cane. I hope my admiration isn’t offensive.”
“It is not, my lord,” she said at last, a faint smile curving her lips.
“May I walk with you?”
“You may.”
He took her arm and placed it on his, and she seemed surprised.
“I know you can walk unassisted, but there is something about an autumn morn with a lovely woman on your arm that a man can’t resist.”
“You are a charmer, my lord,” she said, shaking her head.
Molly fell behind them as they began to walk toward the garden, giving them enough room to speak privately.
“You don’t need to treat me like this,” Mrs. Blake said at last.
He glanced down at her in surprise. “Like what?”
“Like you’re flirting with me. We both know you’re playing a part.”
“I am so glad you see through to what you think I’m doing.”
She gave a soft laugh.
