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‘Then why not stay longer? I am sure if Mrs Bentinck cannot put you up my sister would be delighted to do so.’
‘She has already suggested it, but it cannot be, I am afraid. Business calls me away.’ She saw his puzzled look and laughed. ‘I am not a lady of leisure, my lord. I have to earn my living. If I were a scholar perhaps, or a poet or an author, then I might remain in Sussex and be busy with my pen.’
‘Oh? Are you in trade?’
That disturbing twinkle lit her eyes again.
‘Why, yes, of a sort. I must get back to my girls or—’ she corrected herself, a mischievous smile lilting on her lips, ‘my ladies, as I call them.’
A young man lounged up and laughingly asked Miss Endcaott to come and support him in an argument with his friends. When Randall bridled, incensed at being interrupted, the lady rested one hand on his arm.
‘You are not used to such freedom of manners, sir, but remember, no one here knows who you are.’ She rose. ‘Forgive me, I had best go, I have spent far too long with you already.’ Her eyes twinkled and she said mischievously, ‘My reputation would be quite ruined, you know, if I had one!’
Randall watched her walk away. He was intrigued. Who in heaven’s name was Mary Endacott? Not a scholar, she had said, but in trade. He regarded her retreating form thoughtfully. She had joined a group of gentlemen and was quite at her ease with them, laughing at their jokes and making a riposte of her own. She was not pretty in the conventional sense, but certainly attractive enough for the gentlemen around her to be captivated.
Some sort of trade. Involving ladies. And she had said she had no reputation to be ruined. Suddenly his sister’s words came back to him: ‘I trust you not to be shocked by the company we keep.’
Good God! His eyes narrowed. Was that what Hattie meant?
* * *
Mary tried to concentrate upon the conversation that was going on around her, but all she could think of was Lord Randall’s blue eyes and lean, handsome face. When she had seen him standing alone at the side of the room she had decided to take pity on him, knowing that the Bentincks’ unorthodox soirée would be a little daunting to a strange gentleman, and this man clearly was a gentleman. At first glance he looked quite slender and it was only when she drew closer that she realised it was his height that made him look perfectly proportioned. She had noted immediately the fashionably short hair—brown and sun streaked—and the exquisite tailoring of his coat. The dark blue Bath superfine fitted across those broad shoulders without a crease, its severity relieved by a white quilted waistcoat and the snowy white linen at his throat and wrists. He would be accustomed to society parties where the guests all knew one another and introductions would be carried out for any newcomer, to make sure their rank was acknowledged and understood. In an effort to put this stranger at his ease she had made the first move, only to have him look down his aristocratic nose at her. He had fixed her with that cool, aloof gaze and informed her that he was Randall, Harriett’s haughty and very proper brother.
Mary remembered the letters Harriett had received from him while they were at Miss Burchell’s Academy. Always short and to the point, advising Harriett of news—their mother’s removal to Worthing for a little sea bathing when she was recovering from influenza, their father’s ill health, his own promotion within an artillery regiment. Nothing chatty, nothing warm or comforting for his little sister miles away from the family home.
A servant had always been dispatched to take Harriett home so Mary had never met Justin Latymor and by the time the girls left Miss Burchell’s Academy he was a career soldier, not even selling out when his father died and he became the sixth Earl Randall. That Harriett was fond of her big brother was beyond doubt. She said he was the only one who had not lectured her upon her marriage to Theophilus Graveney, but Mary had built up an image of a cold, stiff-backed man, lacking in humour.
And so he had been, when she had first approached him. Or should she say accosted him? His tall frame was rigidly upright and he looked so hard and unmovable he might have been hewn from a single oak. He was clearly not accustomed to young ladies introducing themselves. Yet there was a sensitivity around those sculpted lips and there had been warmth and the suspicion of a gleam in those blue, blue eyes when he had spoken to Hattie. She had seen it, too, when he had surprised her by stepping aside to engage her in conversation.
‘You are allowing yourself to be dazzled by a title,’ she told herself sternly. ‘Shameful for one who believes in a meritocracy.’
Yet she could not get the thought of the earl out of her head. It did not help that whenever she looked about he seemed to be watching her. The idea brought an unaccustomed heat to her cheeks. It was so long since she had blushed that she had thought herself too old for such frivolity, but now she found that even at four-and-twenty a young lady could find herself attracted to a man. And not just any man, an earl, no less!
‘Mary, what are you smiling at?’
Mrs Bentinck’s voice brought her out of her reverie. Mary looked up. Her companions were huddled together to read an article in a recent edition of Cobbett’s Political Register, a publication that was known to induce indignation or outrage, but never laughter.
‘Oh, an old joke,’ she said swiftly. ‘My mind was wandering.’
Mrs Bentinck patted her arm. ‘What you need is sustenance. Everyone will be leaving soon and we will then have a little supper.’
She went off to see her guests out and Mary moved across to join Harriett, who was beckoning to her from the sofa.
‘We have been invited to stay to sup with you,’ she said, pulling Mary down beside her.
‘Oh.’ Mary found her gaze once more drifting to the tall figure of the earl standing before the fire. ‘But, Lord Randall must be exhausted if he only reached you today—’
‘Nonsense,’ said Harriett bracingly. ‘My brother is a hardened soldier and quite capable of staying up all night, if necessary, is that not so, Justin?’
Mary had thought the earl deep in conversation with Mr Graveney, but he turned his head and she found herself once more subjected to that piercing blue gaze.
‘Indeed it is, but it will be no hardship to spend a little more time here and in such delightful company.’
‘Why, Justin, that is quite the prettiest thing I have ever heard you say,’ declared Harriett, quite shocked.
Mary felt her friend’s speculative glance turned upon her and quickly looked away, busying herself with smoothing the wrinkles from her long gloves. When everyone else had left they went into the dining room where supper was set out, comprising cold meats, fruit and wine. Since informality was the order of the day Mary chose a seat between her cousin and Harriett. This put her as far as possible from Randall, which she thought safest for her peace of mind, so it was in horror that she realised her old school friend was rising from her seat, saying cheerfully, ‘Brother, dear, would you be kind enough to change places with me? I think I have a slight chill and would much prefer to sit a little closer to the fire.’
The next moment the earl was lowering his long frame on to the chair beside her. She tried to keep her eyes fixed upon her plate, but it was impossible not to look at his lean, muscled legs as he took his place. The black-stockinet pantaloons clung tightly to his thighs and she felt herself growing quite hot with embarrassment as her imagination rioted. Mary closed her eyes. Good heavens, she was not a schoolgirl to be so affected by a man.
‘Miss Endacott, are you quite well?’
The sound of that deep voice, rich and smooth as chocolate, did nothing to calm her, but the thought of making a fool of herself in front of everyone stiffened her resolve. She raised her head and managed to respond with tolerable equanimity.
‘Quite well, thank you, my lord. My thoughts were elsewhere.’
‘Thinking of the long journey you are to undertake at the end of the week, no doubt,’ said Mrs Bentinck, sitting on her other side.
Mary pulled herself together. She said gaily, ‘Oh, do not let us talk about me, I would much rather be distracted from the sad inevitability of leaving my friends.’
‘Randall, too, is leaving on Friday,’ put in Harriett.
‘Ah, to join Wellington’s army, no doubt,’ said Mr Bentinck. ‘Do you sail from Dover, my lord?’
‘Folkestone,’ the earl replied. ‘I have my own yacht there.’
‘Really?’ said Harriett. ‘I thought you had sold it.’
‘No. I sent it to Chatham to be refurbished.’
‘I told you he would not have disposed of it,’ declared Mr Graveney. ‘The rich must have their playthings, eh, my boy?’
‘It was used to carry some of our troops home from Corunna, was it not?’ Mary wondered why she had felt it necessary to jump to the earl’s defence, especially since it brought her to his attention once more.
‘Yes, it was.’
‘I think it was very good of you to join us this evening, my lord,’ declared Mrs Bentinck, relieving Mary of the necessity of saying anything more. ‘Mrs Graveney will have told you that our little gatherings tend to attract young men with rather revolutionary ideas.’
‘Which is why we enjoy your parties so much,’ cried Mr Graveney, waving his fork in the air. ‘For the cut and thrust of the debate. Some of these youngsters have fire in their bellies, eh, Bentinck?’
‘They do indeed,’ replied their host, ‘but most of them burn out as they grow up. One only has to look at Southey. Angry young rebel one day, tugging his forelock to the King the next.’
‘I rather fear expediency cooled a great deal of his radicalism,’ said Mary. ‘A poet must support himself.’
‘His principles must be in question,’ put in Lord Randall. ‘He could not otherwise relinquish them so easily.’
Mary shook her head. ‘I do not agree. Sometimes we have to compromise if we are to make a living.’
‘As you have done, Mary,’ Harriett added.
Mary felt the earl’s eyes upon her again and felt sure he was about to ask what compromises she had made, but before he could speak Mr Graveney introduced a new topic, which Mary took up with alacrity.
* * *
‘Well now, that was not such a bad evening after all, was it?’
In the darkness of the carriage Randall could not see his sister’s face, but he could hear the laughter in her voice.
‘Some of those young men would benefit from a little army discipline,’ he replied. ‘That would put their idealism to flight.’
‘But we need such men,’ argued Graveney. ‘Once these young fellows have formulated their ideas and matured a little, they will be the next to govern our great nation.’
‘If we have a nation by then,’ said Harriett. ‘The reports all say that Bonaparte has returned stronger than ever.’
‘That may be,’ replied Randall. ‘But this time he must face Wellington himself.’
‘And do you seriously believe the duke will be able to beat him?’
Randall thought of the seasoned troops not yet returned from America, the untried soldiers already waiting for their first taste of action, to say nothing of their leaders; the impulsive Prince of Orange, the bickering factions of the Allied forces. His response indicated none of his concerns.
‘Of course we shall beat him and this time it will be decisive.’
‘And you must soon go off to join your men.’ Harriett clutched his arm. ‘Promise me you will be careful, Randall.’
‘I am always careful.’
‘And you will take Grandfather’s sword with you?’
‘I never fight without it.’
He felt her relax. The sword was something of a lucky charm. Randall’s father had shown no inclination to become a soldier and the old earl had left the sword to his grandson. Randall had worn it at every battle, coming unscathed through even the heaviest fighting. He was not superstitious, but he knew his family placed great store by the talisman. He had been fortunate so far, but he knew his luck could not last forever.
Randall gave a little inward shrug. If this was to be the end, he hoped he would live long enough to see Bonaparte defeated. As for the succession, he had brothers enough to carry on the line. Thank goodness he had no wife to weep for him.
A vision of Mary Endacott came into his mind, with her dusky curls and retroussé nose and those serious green eyes that could suddenly sparkle with merriment.
As if reading his thoughts Harriett said, ‘I have invited the Bentincks to take tea with us on Wednesday. I doubt if Mr Bentinck will attend, but I hope Mary will come.’
‘Oh, Bentinck will be there,’ said Graveney cheerfully. ‘I told him I had acquired a copy of Hooke’s Micrographia and he is mad to see it. I have no doubt that you, too, would like to inspect it, my lord?’
Randall agreed, but was uncomfortably aware that he was even more keen to see Mary Endacott again.
‘Oh, fie on you, Theo, with your dusty books,’ cried Hattie. ‘I have something that will be much more diverting for Randall. If the rain holds off we will ride out together in the morning, Brother. You will like that, will you not?’
‘My dear, Randall has been in the saddle most of the day,’ her spouse protested mildly.
‘But he is a soldier and used to it, aren’t you, Justin? Surely you will oblige me by accompanying me tomorrow?’
‘To be sure I will, Hattie. I should be delighted to see what changes have occurred here since my last visit.’
‘Good. And I am lending my spare hack to Mary, who loves to ride. What a pleasant party we shall be.’
Even in the darkness there was no mistaking Hattie’s self-satisfaction. Randall sat back in the corner of the carriage and cursed silently. His sister seemed set on matchmaking.
Chapter Two (#ulink_3fa73179-87bb-567e-b180-8c95834a3c00)
Mary should not have been surprised when she looked out of her bedroom window the following morning and saw Lord Randall riding towards the house with his sister. He was staying at Somervil, so of course Hattie would want him to ride out with her. His horse had clearly been chosen for its strength and stamina rather than its appearance: a huge grey, so dappled that it looked positively dirty. However, she had to admit Lord Randall looked very good in the saddle. Her heart gave a little skip, but she quickly stifled the pleasurable anticipation before it could take hold. He was an earl, a member of an outmoded institution that bestowed power on the undeserving, and despite his attempts to be polite last evening, Lord Randall had made it very apparent he did not approve of her. His presence today was unlikely to add to her comfort.
Not that it mattered since she did not care a jot for the man. She was looking forward to riding out with Hattie and, if Lord Randall was with them, she would not let it spoil her enjoyment.
* * *
Harriett had promised to bring her spare horse for Mary, but the spirited little black mare that the groom was leading exceeded expectations and was clearly far superior to the elderly hack Harriett was riding. Mary expressed her concern as soon as she came out of the house to meet them.
‘No, no, I much prefer old Juno,’ said Hattie. ‘Besides, if you are only to ride out with me the once I would have you enjoy it.’
‘I shall,’ declared Mary, making herself comfortable in the saddle while the mare sidled and sidestepped playfully.
She was conscious of the earl’s eyes upon her, but he did not look pleased. Perhaps he would have liked to ride out alone with Hattie. Mary was aware of a little spurt of irritation. If so, that was hardly her fault. She turned the mare and rode beside Hattie, resolutely keeping her gaze away from Lord Randall.
Harriett led the way to open ground where they could give the horses their heads. As they galloped across the springy turf the earl kept a little distance behind, although Mary was sure he could have outstripped them had he wished to. Even when they slowed to a walk he showed no inclination to join them. By the time they turned for home Mary was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable and she decided to speak out. As they slowed to pass through a gap in the hedge she turned to address him.
‘I think you would rather have had your sister to yourself today, my lord.’
‘Nonsense,’ cried Harriett, overhearing. ‘Justin is always taciturn. He has no social graces, do you, Brother?’
‘One can enjoy riding without being obliged to chatter incessantly.’
‘Of course, but a little conversation would not go amiss,’ retorted Harriett. ‘For instance, perhaps you could compliment Mary on her gown last night. I thought it was particularly fetching.’
‘I never notice female attire.’
His crushing reply had no effect upon his sister, who continued blithely. ‘You cannot have failed to notice how well she rides, so you could praise her for that.’
‘Pray, Harriett, do not put me to the blush,’ protested Mary, trying to laugh off her embarrassment.
‘My sister is right. I am not one for female company.’
‘A gross understatement,’ declared Hattie warmly. ‘If ever I have a new gown I have to prompt him to say what he thinks of it, and even then he is very likely to make some devastating comment, if he does not like it.’
‘You cannot blame him for telling the truth,’ Mary pointed out.
‘Of course I can,’ replied the earl’s fond sister. ‘He has been too long in the company of soldiers. There is not a romantic bone in his body. And he is shockingly bad at compliments.’
‘I think Harriett is trying to say it is best to have no expectations where I am concerned, Miss Endacott.’ Lord Randall replied gravely, but there was a smile lurking in his eyes and Mary chuckled.
‘Thank you for warning me.’
‘No,’ went on Harriett with an exaggerated sigh. ‘My brother is a confirmed bachelor.’ Her eyes crinkled up as she added mischievously, ‘But we live in hope.’
