A Lady for Lord Randall (Brides of Waterloo)

‘How you have come this far without being strangled, madam—’

She laughed at that.

‘Never mind, Lord Randall. Another hour and you will be rid of me.’

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time they reached Brussels. As soon as the carriage drew up outside the schoolhouse Lord Randall jumped down to hand Mary out.

‘Impressive,’ he remarked, looking at the large building, set back a little from the street.

‘Thank you. I am very proud of my school.’

‘Do your pupils board here, too?’

‘Most of them, although we do have a few day pupils, too.’ She hesitated. ‘I would invite you to take some refreshment with me, but...’

‘Yes. I must find my own lodgings, then get back to Roosbos as soon as possible.’

Mary nodded.

‘Goodbye, Lord Randall. And thank you.’

She held out her hand and he bowed over it, all very correct. He did not even squeeze her fingers before he released them and jumped back into the coach. She stood for a moment, watching the dusty equipage bowling away along the Rue Haute.

It was done, over. He was gone and there was no reason for them to meet again. She had no links with the military in Brussels and did not mix with the English families who had taken up residence in the city. They might send their daughters to her school, but they would not consider her their equal. Her social circle would be very different from the earl’s.

No, she thought, straightening her shoulders, she would not see him again.

* * *

Randall sank back against the squabs and closed his eyes. It was over. He had done his duty and delivered Miss Endacott to her home and now he need never see the infuriating woman again. By the time the coach rolled up to his quarters in the Rue Ducale his attention was wholly given over to military affairs. There were several messages waiting for him, including one from Wellington that would have to be answered before he could return to Roosbos. He gave himself up to the life he knew best, that of a soldier, a commanding officer.

* * *

It was not until he retired to his bed that Randall thought of Mary Endacott and even then it was not through choice. He could not get the damned woman out of his mind. Tired as he was, as soon as he closed his eyes it was her image he saw, the shy smile lurking in her green eyes, the little tilt to her head when she was puzzled. Try as he might he could not banish it, and when at last sleep claimed him, his wayward dreams relived that shockingly rousing kiss they had shared. She trembled in his arms, leaned against him, returned his kiss just as she had done in the gardens at Somervil, but in his dreams it did not end there. In his dreams their kisses grew even more passionate and he lifted her into his arms, intent upon taking her to his bed, but as he swept her up she faded, vanished and he was left with nothing but an intolerable, aching regret.

* * *

Randall stirred in his bed. The first grey fingers of dawn were creeping into his room. He covered his eyes with one hand, aware of the vague dissatisfaction of an unfulfilled dream. With a groan he threw back the covers and swung himself off the bed. There was much to be done. Work would prevent him thinking of Mary Endacott. He had never yet allowed a woman to distract him from his duties. But throughout the morning Mary’s image haunted him. When he left Wellington’s quarters on the Rue Montagne du Parc a woman’s laugh rang out. He looked around, expecting to see Mary and finding only a stranger.

‘This is madness,’ he told himself, hurrying away. ‘I have a duty to my troop, to my country. I have no time for such distractions.’

But without quite knowing how, he found himself heading for the Rue Haute.

* * *

Mary’s homecoming was greeted with pleasure by her staff. The school had run quite smoothly while she had been away, but some of the administration had had to wait for her return and there was plenty to be done, which helped to occupy her mind. She happily threw herself back into life at the school, but nevertheless, when Jacques, her manservant, came into the classroom late the following afternoon to tell her she had a visitor, she was more than a little disappointed when it was not the earl she found waiting in the little sitting room that doubled as her office.

‘Bertrand, this is a surprise. How do you do?’

Dr Lebbeke bowed and held out a large bouquet of spring flowers to her.

‘Very well, Mademoiselle Mary, I thank you. I knew you were expected home in the next few days and called to leave these to welcome your return.’

‘How delightful, thank you.’ She rang the bell and sent for a vase and water to be fetched immediately.

‘You made good time,’ he observed, handing her the flowers.