A Lady for Lord Randall (Brides of Waterloo)

As the day wore on the rain eased and by the time they reached the woods at Roosbos the sun was shining. The coach turned off the highway and made its way along a track that bore signs of recent heavy traffic. Soon they reached the fields where the earl’s artillery troop was camped. Mary gazed out at the chaotic jumble of tents, wagons and horses. In amongst them were the gun carriages, their heavy barrels gleaming in the sunlight. With a curt command to her to stay in the coach Lord Randall jumped out and strode across to the nearest camp fire. The men seated around it scrambled to their feet as he approached.

After her experiences on the yacht she did not attempt to disobey him, although she did let down the window glass so that she could see and hear better. The earl’s commanding voice came clearly across to her.

‘Sergeant, where is Major Flint?’

‘Gone off to see Major Bartlett, sir. Shall I go fetch ’im?’

‘No need, Hawkins. I shall be back later, once I have found my lodgings in Brussels.’ He was interrupted by a sudden deep barking and a large shaggy dog came bounding towards him. Mary caught her breath, expecting the animal to launch itself at Randall in a ferocious attack.

‘Sit!’

The command caused the animal to skid to a halt before the earl, where it remained, panting and looking up slavishly. Randall’s next words were quietly spoken, but Mary noticed how his men stepped back nervously.

‘What the devil is this animal doing here?’

‘That’s Dog, our new mascot, Colonel,’ said one of the men cheerfully. ‘Major Flint found ’im. He didn’t seem to have no home so the major adopted him, so to speak.’

‘Hmm.’ The earl gazed down at the dog, who responded by putting back his ears and hanging out his tongue as he gazed up, hopeful of a soft word. He received only Randall’s hand resting briefly on his shaggy black head. ‘Very well. Make sure he doesn’t get in the way.’

‘Here comes Major Flint now, Colonel.’

The soldier’s words were drowned out by the dog’s ecstatic yelping as an officer came towards them. He was walking casually, as if in no hurry to meet his commanding officer. Mary’s first thought was that he was as shaggy as the mascot. Her second, when he came up to the earl, was how alike they were.

His hair was a darker brown than Randall’s and longer, but they were much the same height and build, and when he stood face-to-face with his colonel their profiles were strikingly similar. They spoke for some minutes before Randall came striding back to the carriage. Mary quickly sat back as the earl climbed in.

They began to move and when he made no attempt to speak she asked, as carelessly as she could, ‘Is Major Flint a relative of yours, my lord?’

She did not miss the tightening of his jaw, the slight hesitation before he replied.

‘He is my half-brother.’

‘Ah, one of the...er...by-blows you mentioned.’

‘Yes.’

His terse response suggested she should not say any more, but she was curious.

‘You said there is no room for sentiment, my lord, so I take it Major Flint is a good officer?’

‘Let us say I would rather have him on my side than against me.’ When he found she was watching him he added impatiently, ‘There is no love lost between us, madam, so pray do not be thinking there is any family feeling involved. Flint is just one of many bastards my father sired. He could not keep his hands off any woman, be it lady or laundry maid.’

‘A typical nobleman, then.’

He turned to her, more haughty and aristocratic than ever, but at least his anger put to flight the bitter, brooding look.

‘No, madam, not a typical nobleman.’

She met his furious gaze with a bland smile.

‘I think it best to judge people as I find them rather than make assumptions, do not you, sir?’

For a moment she thought he might respond with a withering retort, then she saw his lips twitch.

‘Is that aimed at me, because I made, er, assumptions about you?’

‘If the cap fits, my lord.’

She heard him make a sound that was something between a curse and a growl.