A Lady for Lord Randall (Brides of Waterloo)

‘And you think this will do the trick?’ she asked him, when she could command her voice.

‘No, but it is a start.’

She risked looking up and for the first time she noted that he was wearing his morning coat of blue superfine.

‘You are not in uniform.’

‘I am no longer a soldier.’ He came towards her. ‘I am going home, Mary, to Chalfont. And I would like you to come with me. You need not fear that the family will not receive you. Word has already reached my mother of the part you played in my rescue. I should not be at all surprised if she were to fall on your neck and call you the saviour of the Latymors.’

When she did not speak he hurried on.

‘You cannot know the agony I have suffered since you left me. I was a fool not to trust you, I know that now and I do not expect you to forgive me for it, but if you will give me time, I will try to make it up to you.’

He dropped to one knee before her. Her hand went out when she saw him wince and before she could snatch it back he grasped it. She could no longer avoid looking at him and he held her gaze.

He said urgently, ‘Marry me, Mary. Let me spend the rest of my life showing you just how much I love you. You were right when you said I was afraid of life, but you have changed that. You taught me to laugh, Mary, and to love. Now I need you to teach me how to live my life without the Rogues. Recovering from the bullet wound has given me time to think. I never knew love, real love, until I met you, Mary. I told you of my boyish infatuation and you know that I have not lived the life of a saint, but all that is in the past now. I am begging you to marry me, my dearest love, because I know that without you there is no future happiness for me.’

The naked anguish in his eyes tore at her heart. She could not hold back a sob.

‘Oh, Randall!’

With an agility that surprised her he sprang up and dragged her into his arms. She surrendered to his kiss, her lips parting, senses swimming as the familiar longing rushed through her from her hair to the tips of her toes. The blood was singing in her veins, but even as her body thrilled to his touch she remembered her resolve and she struggled to free herself, taking care not to push against his chest.

‘Randall, I cannot marry you. Please do not ask it of me.’ She hung her head. ‘I explained it all to you in my letter.’

He gathered her hands in his own, holding them tightly.

‘Would you mind if we sit down?’ He added apologetically, ‘I am not yet fully recovered.’

Immediately she was all concern.

‘Oh, yes—yes, of course.’ Mary guided Randall to a sofa, but as he pulled her down beside him she recovered her wits sufficiently to say hotly, ‘And what in heaven’s name was Jacques thinking of to let you in? You may be an earl, but I gave specific instructions that if you called he was to say I was not at home!’

/> ‘Do not blame your man; Lebbeke insisted I should be admitted.’

‘Bertrand?’

‘Yes, he was crossing the hall when I arrived.’ He grinned. ‘He is my doctor and realised my situation was most grave.’

She forced herself not to smile and gently disengaged her hands.

‘I am very sorry, Randall, but your coming here can make no difference. I cannot marry you. I have thought about it constantly since the night of the ball and I know it would never work between us. I must refuse you, my lord.’ She hunted for her pocket handkerchief. ‘Please do not try to change my mind.’

‘Very well.’

Mary wiped her eyes and tried hard not to feel disappointed. He sighed and leaned back against the sofa.

‘War is a simple thing, compared to love,’ he said. ‘In war we know the enemy and pound away until they, or we, are defeated. To love someone is a very much more subtle and difficult thing. The object of our affection becomes the most important person in one’s life, their happiness is paramount, even if it means you have to sacrifice your own. You say our worlds are very different and that is true. I was born a peer of the realm and I am a soldier. I am trained to fight against revolution, you were raised to fight for it. What was it you wrote in your letter? To marry me would be a betrayal of all your parents believed in. But is it a betrayal of what you believe in, too?’

‘Yes—no.’ She bit her lip. ‘I thought it was, but I have changed, since knowing you.’ She waved her hand. ‘But that is beside the point now. Even though I love you we are too different. We should be in eternal conflict.’

‘Would we? Your parents taught you that only love can bind two people together, did they not? Love and a commonality of intellectual interests, is that not what you told me when we first met? Have we not discovered these past few weeks that we have many things in common? Our dislike of pretension, for example, and abhorrence of injustice. Think back on the time we have spent together. There has been no lack of conversation, has there?’

‘No,’ she murmured. ‘Although I have no idea what it was we found to discuss.’

‘Nor I. You must remember that I am a soldier, Mary, so you will forgive me if I refuse to give you up without one last battle. We have our differences, but I do not believe they are irreconcilable. I believe we can be happy together, and I know I am asking you to risk a great deal more than I, but I am willing to spend my life trying to make you happy. The world is changing, Mary, and I must change, too. I am going back to England, to take up my responsibilities at Chalfont Abbey. It is time I looked after my family. Gideon is dead, Hattie and Gussie are happily settled, but there are the boys, who have not yet left school. And Sarah, of course. You pointed out to me that she is no longer a child. She will go her own way, with or without my blessing, but I want her to know I shall always be here to support her, whatever she does.

‘I have left the running of the estates in Mama’s hands for too long. She believes in the old order but I believe in a new one, so it will not be easy, there will be battles along the way. I cannot change the world overnight, but I can give my people education and better housing. I also want to make some form of reparation to my father’s natural children. Flint has an independence—’