Randall rode back to Brussels, pushing Pompey to a gallop wherever he could, as if he could outrun thoughts of Mary. He must concentrate on the coming fray, it would not be long now. He had sent a message to Bennington Ffog, asking him to release Gideon for dinner that evening. Randall had seen little of his brother while they had been in Brussels and he thought he should spend some time with the boy, especially with a battle looming.
* * *
When he walked into his lodgings on the Rue Ducale his first question was whether there had been a reply.
‘Yes, my lord, Major Latymor will be dining with you: he sent a messenger with the news, not half an hour ago.’
‘Thank you, Robbins. I suppose it must be the dress uniform tonight.’
‘Yes, indeed, my lord. I have it all ready for you.’
Randall stifled a sigh and went through to the bedroom with his man close on his heels. It was not that he disliked his uniform, just the pomp that wearing it entailed. To be paraded around the ballroom like some sort of trophy—he thought of Flint’s disgust at being asked to make himself respectable this evening: perhaps he and his half-brother were more alike than he was prepared to admit.
* * *
Randall was just wondering whether to put dinner back when Gideon came in, apologising, but not very sincerely, for being late.
‘You are off to the Richmonds’ afterwards?’ he ended, taking in Randall’s uniform, complete with an impressive number of medals. ‘I was not lucky enough to get an invitation, hence my undress this evening.’ Gideon indicated the ankle-length frock coat which he now shrugged off and threw carelessly over a chair.
‘Luck, do you call it?’ said Randall, handing him a glass of wine. ‘I would as soon not be going.’
‘It is your title,’ replied Gideon sagely. ‘The duchess wants all the nobility she can muster in her rooms tonight.’
Randall held his peace: his young brother was prowling restlessly about the room, nervous, unsure of himself and Randall had no wish to sound conceited by admitting that Wellington himself had commanded his attendance.
They sat down to dinner, Randall doing his best to show an interest in the conversation and putting aside the thought that he would much rather be dining with Mary Endacott. He found his brother’s stories a trifle tedious, relating the tricks and pranks that he and his fellow cavalry officers had indulged in over the past few weeks. Randall tried to be generous. They were little more than boys, after all, and Gideon would not be the only one who had not yet been tested in combat. There was a brittleness about him, a bravado which Randall had seen many times in young men before they went into their first battle.
* * *
By the time the covers had been removed and the brandy put on the table Gideon was looking a little flushed, his blue eyes over-bright. Randall poured them one glass each, then deliberately put the stopper back in the decanter and pushed it out of reach.
‘Have you seen Sarah today?’ he asked casually.
‘Aye, we went riding this morning.’
‘She and Gussie should have left for Antwerp by now.’
‘Well, they haven’t gone,’ replied Gideon, unconcerned. ‘You worry too much, Justin.’
‘I thought you said I did not interest myself enough with my family.’
‘Aye, well that’s as may be, but Sarah and I are of age now, you know. You need not concern yourself over Sarah, I never do.’
Randall’s frown deepened.
‘Perhaps it would be better if you did.’
‘She will go in the morning, I am sure, but she has an invitation to the ball tonight.’
‘The devil she has!’ Randall sat back in his chair and tried to curb his irritation. ‘You might not think it, the pair of you, but I do have your best interests at heart.’
‘I doubt that,’ retorted Gideon bitterly. ‘Why, you would not even buy me a commission.’
Randall’s brows went up.
‘You never asked it of me.’
‘No, because I knew what it would have been if I had done so! You would have told me to wait a few more months, and by heaven if I had done that then I should have missed all the fun of Brussels.’