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, andtonnishmarriages 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 careabout 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.”
