A Lady for Lord Randall

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Mary was not sure she believed him, but she took some chicken and added a little rice and vegetables from the selection before her.

The meal proceeded comfortably enough; they kept the conversation to unexceptional topics and Mary’s anxiety eased. She was able to enjoy her meal and the wine that accompanied it, so that by the time the covers were removed and a small dish of sweetmeats placed upon the table she felt quite comfortable in the earl’s company.

‘You said experiences, Miss Endacott. Have you made many crossings?’ he asked, pushing the little dish towards her.

‘No, this will be my third.’

‘And how long have you lived abroad?’

‘About seven years. I joined my parents in Brussels when I left Miss Burchell’s school.’

‘But your family was originally from England?’

‘Yes. Papa went abroad in the short-lived peace of Amiens. He had friends in Brussels, so he decided to settle there rather than in France.’

‘Ah. His radical ideas drew unwelcome attention in this country, I suppose.’

Lord Randall’s tone held no hint of condemnation and she answered with more frankness than she was wont to show to any but close friends.

‘Yes. His support for the revolutionary government in France brought him a notoriety he did not deserve. He was outspoken, yes, he supported the new government and the redistribution of wealth, but when he realised that democracy, true democracy, was being crushed in a reign of terror he spoke out against it, just as vehemently. Alas, it was too late, his name was too closely associated with the revolution. It was very hard on Mama, especially after...’

‘After what, Miss Endacott?’

She hesitated and forced herself to speak.

‘My sister died that same year.’

‘That must have been very hard for you.’

‘It was.’ She touched her napkin to her lips, avoiding his eyes. That subject was too painful to dwell upon, even after all these years. ‘My father had run up considerable debts, too, and the only way to avoid debtors’ prison was to flee the country. He and Mama set up a girls’ academy in Brussels, based upon the precepts of Mary Wollstonecraft, but it was not a success.’ Talking of the school was safer ground. She even managed a wry smile. ‘The Bruxelloise were no more progressive in their thinking than the English. Very few wanted to give their daughters an education that would rival or even surpass that of their sons, so Papa was obliged to abandon his high ideals and include more dancing and pianoforte lessons, at the expense of Latin and Greek. When I joined them I became a teacher at the school.’

‘Really? But you could not have been more than a child yourself.’

‘I was seventeen. Very well qualified to teach the younger ones, I assure you. Your sister was at the same school, my lord, you must be aware that Miss Burchell’s establishment gave us an excellent education.’

‘It gave Harriett a lot of dangerously progressive ideas,’ he retorted.

Mary laughed. ‘Teaching women to think for themselves is not dangerously progressive, Lord Randall.’

The look he gave her indicated that he disagreed.

‘And you took over the school when your father died?’

‘Yes. He had insisted I continue my studies when I joined him, so I was able to teach the older girls, too, by then.’

‘When did he die?’

‘Four years ago. My mother had passed on twelve months earlier, so I was alone. I took control—there was nothing else to be done. If I had sold the school there would not have been enough funds to support me for very long.’

‘Could you not have considered marriage?’

Her brows went up. She was comfortable enough now in his presence to challenge him.

‘You would advocate wedlock, when you will not contemplate it for yourself? That is rather hypocritical, my lord.’

‘Not at all. I freely admit that marriages can be successful, if one is fortunate. Hattie and her husband, for example, are very happy together.’

‘I am sure that is not merely a matter of chance, my lord. As with anything that is worth having, a happy marriage has to be worked at, by both parties.’

‘I am sure you are right,’ he conceded. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘But if not wedlock, was there no man amongst your radical acquaintances who would support you?’

She shook her head.

‘There has never been anyone for whom I have felt strongly enough to give up my independence.’

‘No one? Not even for a, er, temporary liaison?’

‘Do you mean have I had a lover?’ She met his eye without flinching. ‘Not one, Lord Randall.’

If she had expected to embarrass him into an apology, she did not succeed. He merely held her gaze.

‘No. He would have to be a very special man to win you, Mary Endacott.’

The compliment was unexpected and her cheeks flamed. Quickly she looked away, concentrating on choosing another little treat from the dish of sweetmeats while he continued as if he had said nothing amiss.

‘So you became a schoolmistress. It could not have been easy for a young lady on her own.’

‘It was challenging, certainly, but I had been involved in running the school since I arrived in Brussels, so I knew what was required. I abandoned the last vestiges of the radical education Papa had envisaged for his pupils and concentrated upon providing an excellent education for young ladies of refinement. Besides English, of course, and arithmetic, we teach geography, natural history, French and Italian, dancing classes, singing, harp and pianoforte. I was obliged to include some religious instruction, although it went sadly against the grain, but I salve my conscience by also teaching Latin and Greek, natural philosophy and Classics to the older children.

‘Word spread and the school began to grow, slowly. The Endacott Academy for Young Ladies is now one of the foremost establishments in Brussels, and not only for the Bruxelloise. I have a large number of English pupils, too.’ She smiled. ‘My father was not the only one whose financial situation made it expedient to leave England. However, I insist that fees are paid in advance.’

‘I admire your spirit. It takes courage and determination to make a success of such a venture.’

‘It was certainly hard work, but it is easier now. I have good staff working for me.’ She smiled. ‘What have I said? Why do you look at me in that way?’

‘I beg your pardon. I was searching for a word to describe you.’

She sat back, raising her hands in mock alarm.

‘Obstinate?’ she asked him. ‘Brazen? Infuriating?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Indomitable.’

Shock rattled through Mary. Was the earl paying her another compliment? She looked down at the table, unable to trust her voice and in truth not knowing what to say. Just when she thought she could be comfortable in his company he rocked her off balance. She thought again of the Latymor motto. Semper laurifer. Hattie had said it meant always succeed. Mary preferred to translate it as we never fail. To surprise.

From the corner of her eye she saw Lord Randall take out his pocket watch.

‘I have sent the carriages and the baggage on ahead to be loaded on to the yacht,’ he said brusquely. ‘We can walk to the harbour from here and since we have more than an hour before we need to board I suggest we go to bed.’ When she recoiled he gave an impatient sigh. ‘Not together, madam. You claim to be an intelligent woman, so please use that brain of yours.’

‘I was, my lord. I was remembering what you proposed to me!’

‘When I made you that offer I was under a misapprehension. Since then I have endeavoured to treat you with respect. But I am a soldier, Miss Endacott. I speak plainly and if that offends your sensibilities then I am sorry for it, but you’ll get no soft words from me.’

‘No,’ she muttered, ‘I am beginning to realise that.’ She rose. ‘But you are right, my lord. An hour’s rest now will stand me in good stead for the crossing, since I may not be able to sleep once we are at sea.’

She left the room with her head held high, but she had the uneasy suspicion that Lord Randall would consider she had flounced out. Semper laurifer. Never fail. To infuriate!

* * *

When they left the inn Mary was pleased to note that the wind had dropped a little and a good moon sailed high above them, bathing everything in a silvery light. The harbour was bustling with activity and noisy with boisterous male voices. She was glad of the earl’s arm as they made their way along the quay to a sleek, tall-masted ship, its outline black against the night sky. Lord Randall guided her up the narrow gangplank to the deck, where the captain was waiting.

‘Welcome aboard, sir. I have had a cabin prepared for the lady, as you instructed. Jack will show you the way now, miss, if you’d like to follow him.’

They had moved across to a large opening in the deck of the yacht and Mary stopped.

‘Oh, I...’ Her words trailed off as she saw the cabin boy disappear down the ladder-like steps into a dark void.

‘Allow me.’

Before she could protest Lord Randall had scooped her up and thrown her across his shoulder. The action was so unexpected that words failed her. Keeping one arm wrapped about her thighs, he made his way one-handed down the steps. Her cheeks were scalding as he set her on her feet and she was thankful that it was too dark for the waiting cabin boy to see her embarrassment. She was thankful, too, that she could not see his face clearly in the dim lamplight. He might well have been smirking, but all she could make out was his hand coming up to tug at his forelock.

‘This way, if you please, m’m.’

Mary hesitated. She wanted to rip up at the earl for his cavalier treatment of her, but he was already making his way back up on deck and she was obliged to swallow her indignation and follow Jack to her cabin.

It was small but surprisingly comfortable and as soon as she was alone she stretched herself out on the bunk while the heat of embarrassment faded. How dared he manhandle her in such a fashion, as if she was nothing more than a sack of wool? And he had carried her so effortlessly, as if she had weighed no more than a feather. She did not know when she had last felt so helpless. It had been most unpleasant, to be at the earl’s mercy like that. If only he had given her some warning, some time to prepare herself.

The yacht was rocking gently. Mary turned over and cradled her cheek on her hand. He had not even offered her an apology. Really, the man was impossible. He had no manners, no finesse. No wonder he had to pay for his, his pleasures as he called them. Surely no woman would want his attentions. But here she found herself remembering the glint in his blue eyes, the way his rare smile had sent her heart racing, the way her senses reeled when he had kissed her. He might well be able to please a woman, if he were to exert himself...

* * *

‘Miss Endacott! Miss! We will be arriving in Ostend very soon.’

The cabin boy’s shouts penetrated Mary’s dreams. She stretched, luxuriating in pleasantly sensuous feelings that still lingered until reality stepped in and she sat up quickly. Heavens, had she been dreaming of Lord Randall? She crossed her arms and hugged herself, trying to recall her dreams, but they had flown, leaving only the vague sense of well-being.