A Lady for Lord Randall (Brides of Waterloo)

‘Well, you are too late,’ retorted Lady Sarah. ‘Gideon and I have already spoken to some of them and if you are going to be so disagreeable I shall go back to Gideon now. He does not scold and bully me at every opportunity. But do not worry, I shall return once the review starts to look after poor Gussie. Good day, Miss Endacott. I hope we shall meet again.’

Mary gave a little curtsy. ‘It is unlikely, my lady. I rarely have time to leave my school. Today was an exception.’

Lady Sarah’s look was decidedly sceptical. She glanced from Mary to Randall and back again, but without another word she turned and cantered away, Colonel Bennington Ffog following in her wake.

‘That girl has been given far too much of her own way,’ growled the earl.

‘She is a young woman and, like a bird about to fly the nest, she is trying out her wings,’ said Mary. ‘It must be difficult for you, my lord, being head of such a family when your military duties keep you from home so much.’

‘I have had little to do with my siblings,’ he admitted. ‘My mother has always managed things at Chalfont, while I pursued my army career. Until now it has worked very well.’

‘You mean you have handed down your dictates and they have all followed them.’

‘Not at all. I am not such an autocrat as you think me, madam.’ There was the briefest hesitation before he said slowly, ‘Perhaps I should have taken more interest in them all.’

‘There is still time, sir. When this war is over.’

‘If I survive.’

A shiver ran down Mary’s spine at his words, uttered in such a matter-of-fact tone. Instinctively she put up her hand, as if to push away the thought. To distract herself, she turned back towards the barouche.

‘I wonder how much longer Bert—Dr Lebbeke—will be?’

‘Why would you not see me?’

The earl’s question was not unexpected. It had hovered between them from the moment he had come up to her, but it did not make responding to it any easier.

‘You. I.’ Mary stopped, gathering her wits, which had an unfortunate tendency to desert her when the earl was present. ‘It...’ she tried again. ‘It frightens me.’

‘My indomitable Mary. I did not think you frightened of anything. Even Bonaparte.’

‘Well, you are wrong. And I am not your Mary!’

She felt his hand on her elbow, the briefest touch, but it sent a prickle of anticipation skittering over her skin.

‘I would not have you frightened of me.’

Her heart clenched painfully. It was not the earl who frightened her. It was her own feelings. She desired him, so much that it was like a physical pain. She tried to concentrate upon the events in the carriage, glad that something was happening at last. Bertrand was climbing down. He was smiling, so it must be good news. As she watched him approach, Randall’s deep voice murmured in her ear.

‘I shall call on you tomorrow. We will talk then.’

There was no time to reply. Bertrand was addressing the earl.

‘Your sister was feeling the effects of the heat, my lord. She is a little better now, but she must stay out of the sun for the rest of the day. I advised Lord Blanchards to take her back to Brussels, but she will stay for the review.’

‘The devil she will,’ retorted Randall. ‘I will talk to her; perhaps if I add my voice to Blanchards’s we might persuade her.’

‘You will not do it, my lord,’ said Bertrand. ‘She is determined to see the duke.’

‘Is she, by God,’ exclaimed Randall furiously.

Mary touched his arm. ‘Speak to her, my lord, and express your concern. She will appreciate that, I am sure, even if she will not leave. Then go back to your men and prepare for the review. Show your sisters and His Grace the Duke of Wellington that Randall’s Rogues are a troop to be reckoned with.’

He hesitated for a moment, frowning, before he strode off to speak to his sister.

‘Bon, Mademoiselle Mary. A stirring little speech.’

‘Was I too patronising, Bertrand?’ Mary asked anxiously as she watched Randall remonstrating with his sister.