‘I beg your pardon,’ she said again. ‘I was thinking of what would be best to do for my school.’ She comforted her conscience with the sop that this was not a complete lie. ‘I know there are rumours that the Allies will carry the war into France, but it is by no means certain. Some parents have taken away their children already, others are preparing to do so, but some will be left in my care because their parents are abroad and I must be ready to remove them from Brussels, if it becomes necessary.’
‘I urged you to leave here weeks ago.’ He shook his head at her, saying with mock severity, ‘You are too independent, Mary.’
‘Now why do you say that, Bertrand, when you know I have taken your advice and secured a house in Antwerp? When the time comes I shall remove there with my staff and pupils. My quandary now is when to go, if at all. It is commonly believed that Napoleon will not come here.’
‘One can never rely upon Bonaparte doing what is expected of him. He will seize his chance and when he does he will move very quickly. It would be better if you were not in Brussels when he strikes.’
‘I know that.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Thank you, Bertrand, but I do not think you need to worry. I shall make my plans and prepare my staff and pupils. We will be ready to quit the city at a moment’s notice. Yet while the duke thinks it safe to remain then I shall do so.’
‘Ah, this Wellington. You place great faith in him, I think.’
‘I do.’
‘And his officers too, perhaps. Such as your friend Lord Randall?’
Mary shook her head.
‘I have only seen him once since I returned to Brussels, the day you called, do you remember?’
‘How could I forget? I thought then I had a competitor the most serious.’
She forced herself to laugh at that.
‘What nonsense you speak, Bertrand.’
‘Because I am fearful of a rival for your affections?’
She released his arm and stopped, saying in a tone of mild rebuke, ‘Bertrand, you know we agreed not to speak of that. I value your friendship, but there can be nothing more.’
‘Can there not?’ He was looking down at her, smiling, and she had to admit that he was very handsome with his black hair and dark eyes, and until she had gone to England she had thought that, perhaps, one day she might agree to be more than friends, but now she knew that could never be. She felt nothing more than a mild liking when she was with him. He did not stir her; she did not feel as if a sack full of butterflies had been opened in her stomach whenever he looked at her. Not like a certain artillery officer, just the thought of whom set her blood pounding and created such an ache of longing inside that she wanted to burst into tears.
So she shook her head, saying sadly, ‘I am afraid not, Bertrand. Please let us not speak of it again.’
He sighed.
‘Eh bien.’ Bertrand pulled her hand on to his arm and they began to walk on. ‘But we are friends, non?’
‘Mais oui,’ she replied. ‘Always, I hope.’
‘Then I shall invite you to take a day out with me on Monday next. There is to be a grand cavalry review near Grammont.’
‘Oh, but I cannot, Bertrand, I have too much work to do—’
‘You are not so busy, you have told me so yourself, and now you say that many of your pupils, they have gone home. Your excellent teachers are quite capable of running your school without you for a day.’
‘When you put it like that I do not seem to have any choice.’
‘Exactement. It is settled, then. I shall bring my cabriolet to collect you Monday morning.’
* * *
The day of the Grammont review dawned bright and sunny and Mary found herself looking forward to it. Bertrand collected her punctually and they made good time, arriving before noon at the flat plain on the banks of the River Dender. It was a perfect arena for showing off the massed troops, who were even then assembling. Mary had to admit the lines of hussars and heavy dragoons made a colourful spectacle against the dark backdrop of the woods. Gazing out across the plain, Mary realised they had been misinformed, for amongst the ranks of cavalry were batteries of horse artillery, the men scrubbing and polishing everything, including their horses, ready for inspection.
Many civilians had driven out from Brussels and they were gathering on a slight rise which would give them a good view of the review. As Bertrand drove the cabriolet to join them Mary spotted a dashing cavalry officer riding beside a lady in a pale blue habit. They made a striking picture, both mounted on pure white horses, but it was not the elegant image they presented that made Mary’s breath catch in her throat. The man was not Randall, she knew that, he was not quite so tall, yet something about the officer’s posture, the way he sat his horse, his hawk-like profile made her think of the earl. It must be Randall’s younger brother, Gideon Latymor. Harriett had told her he was a cavalry officer. But the lady—the resemblance between them was too great, she could only be his twin sister.
She glanced around nervously, wondering if the earl was present. Did he know Lady Sarah was in Brussels? That would not please him; he would want his sister safely out of the way, if there was a battle coming. But even so Randall would want to speak to Sarah today, and if he came this way he could hardly fail to see her, Mary, sitting with Bertrand in an open carriage. She quickly shifted her parasol, shielding herself from the handsome young couple and hoping, if the earl did appear, that her presence would go unnoticed.
‘We have some time before the review begins, I think,’ said Bertrand. ‘Would you like to get down and, what is it you English say—pull out your legs?’
His question diverted Mary. Her eyes danced and she replied with a laugh in her voice.
‘Yes, Bertrand, thank you, I would very much like to stretch my legs.’
She allowed him to help her down. The couple on their matching horses had ridden off to join a party of cavalry officers some distance away, but Mary decided it would still be wise to walk in the opposite direction, where they were less likely to bump into Randall.
The scene spread out on the plain before them was one of bustling preparation. Men ran about, riders cantered to and fro, the artillery pieces were being pushed and pulled into position and polished until they gleamed. She could not be sure, but she thought she recognised Randall’s troop in their dark blue uniforms, the officers with a red sash about their waists. Bertrand asked her if she wanted to take a closer look at the artillery and she quickly declined.
‘That is, unless you wish to do so?’ she asked him, aware that her reason for avoiding the guns was perfectly selfish. However, she could not be sorry when he shook his head.
‘I have seen the damage these machines of war can do. They hold no fascination for me.’
‘No, of course. They look very peaceful now, but when they are unleashed upon an enemy...’ she shuddered ‘...I do not like to think of it.’
‘Then do not. We are here to enjoy the spectacle they make, and to take from it some comfort. The duke is clearly setting out to show that his army is far superior to Bonaparte’s.’
They had reached the far end of the ridge and turned to retrace their steps.
‘What will you do?’ Mary asked him. ‘If war comes will you stay in Brussels?’
‘But of course.’ For a moment his cheerful insouciance disappeared. ‘My services will be in great demand, whichever side wins.’
Mary did not know what to say to this and they walked on in silence. They had almost reached Bertrand’s cabriolet when Mary recognised the big horse trotting towards them. And its rider in his dress uniform, a dark blue coat with gold lace and scarlet facings. His long legs were encased in pantaloons so white they made his dappled grey horse look even grubbier than usual.
She told herself sternly that she did not believe in war and disapproved of the milita
ry, yet she could not stop the flutter of admiration when she looked at Randall—he looked quite magnificent. Nor could she prevent the breathlessness that afflicted her and made her incapable of speaking as the earl drew rein in front of them. Thankfully Bertrand was not so tongue-tied.
‘Lord Randall, bonjour.’
‘Dr Lebbeke.’
A quick peep at his face was all Mary allowed herself. Beneath the shade of his cocked hat his countenance was as inscrutable as ever, but when she looked away she could feel his blue eyes on her. He would see the colour in her cheek, note her ragged breathing and he would draw his own conclusions.
And they would be correct. She fluttered her fan, mortified to think she was so transparent where Randall was concerned.
Bertrand was speaking and she tried hard to concentrate.
‘Your artillery troop is here, today, milord, the infamous Randall’s Rogues?’
‘Yes, Doctor, they—’ The earl was interrupted by sounds of a commotion coming from the nearby carriages. ‘What the devil is that?’
‘It is coming from the barouche over there,’ observed Mary, pointing. ‘Perhaps someone is ill. Bertrand, do you think you should—?’
‘Mais oui. I will see what I can do.’
‘A lady has collapsed, I think,’ said Mary, watching him dash across to the barouche.
‘By heaven, that’s Blanchards’s carriage,’ exclaimed Randall. ‘It must be Augusta.’
He jumped down and would have rushed off, but Mary caught his arm.
‘Wait! Let Bertrand see your sister first. He is a doctor, after all.’
‘Yes, of course.’
He looped the reins over his arm and they made their way towards the carriage. A crowd was already gathered about the barouche, where Bertrand was attending Lady Blanchards while her husband was giving orders for the hood to be raised. It was clear Lord Randall was anxious to know what was happening and Mary offered to hold Pompey while he spoke to his brother-in-law. The earl was back a few minutes later.
‘It appears Augusta has had a touch too much sun, nothing more serious. When she swooned Blanchards panicked and set up a hue and cry, foolish fellow.’
‘Pray do not be so hard upon him,’ protested Mary, half-laughing. ‘He was concerned for his wife.’
‘No reason to set everyone in uproar just because Gussie fainted off. A few moments’ consideration would have told him it was only a trifle.’
‘Not everyone can apply such cold logic to a situation,’ she retorted.
‘You think me cold, Miss Endacott?’ When she did not reply he shrugged. ‘I have already explained to you I am a soldier, I am trained not to make a fuss over such a trifle.’
‘But she is your sister!’
‘What has that to say to anything? She is not in any danger, and besides your doctor is looking after her.’
‘He is not my doctor.’ Mary closed her lips together firmly, wondering why she had been so eager to stress the point.
‘Yet you are on first-name terms.’
‘We are good friends,’ she replied coldly. ‘Nothing more.’
She hunched a shoulder and stared towards the Blanchards’s carriage, hoping Bertrand would return soon and she could leave this disconcerting man.
‘I did not expect to see you today,’ said the earl. ‘I take it you did not know I should be here?’
She did not even think of prevaricating.
‘No, I did not.’ She looked over her shoulder at the colourful ranks of horses and men that covered the vast plain. ‘I am surprised your Rogues were allowed to take part, if all you say of them is true.’
‘Oh, it is true, Miss Endacott. I had to threaten them with the rope’s end to get them into in any shape to be presented to the duke and his entourage.’
‘Even the officers?’
‘Especially the officers.’
She laughed. ‘And your mascot? That shaggy hound I saw at Roosbos?’
‘He is here, but tied to a gun carriage. He is far too undisciplined to let loose. He might well attack Blücher. Or, even worse, Wellington.’
‘Heaven forbid!’
‘That would cause an uproar. He should not be here at all, of course, but it seems the animal is greatly attached to Major Flint and makes a great fuss if they are separated. At least being a dog one can tie him up to keep him out of harm’s way.’
She noted the edge to his voice as he uttered these last words.
‘Would you prefer that the civilians had stayed out of harm’s way, too, my lord?’
‘Not you,’ he said quickly. ‘No. It is my sister. My sisters,’ he corrected himself. He waved towards the carriage. ‘To my mind they would be safer in England. It was only when I arrived here that I learned Blanchards had brought Gussie and Sarah to Brussels. They were in Paris when news of Bonaparte’s escape from Elba became known. I advised my mother to write and summon them home, but to no avail.’
‘It is fashionable to be in Brussels, Lord Randall. It is where everyone of importance is gathered.’
‘They should be in London, especially now. I have just learned that Gussie is increasing.’
‘I am sure they will leave, should it be necessary.’
‘And what of you?’ he asked her. ‘Will you quit Brussels?’
She nodded. ‘I have made plans to take my school to Antwerp.’
‘That is very wise.’
They were standing side by side and Mary kept her eyes fixed upon the barouche, where Lady Blanchards was now shaded by the hood.
‘My school is everything to me,’ she said. ‘It is all I have.’
And it is the reason I cannot throw my cap over the windmill for you.
A high, anxious voice interrupted her thoughts.
‘Justin! What is it, why is everyone gathered about Gussie’s carriage?’
The young lady in the blue riding habit was trotting towards them, but now she was followed by a different cavalry officer, a florid-faced colonel with black pomaded curls and a startlingly black moustache, every bit as dark and glossy as the horse he was riding. The earl’s mount sidled restlessly and Randall put one hand up to smooth its grey nose.
‘Our sister is feeling a little faint, Sarah,’ he replied. ‘No need for you to fly into a pelter. It is nothing serious and there is a doctor with her now.’
So Mary was right, she was Randall’s younger sister, Lady Sarah Latymor. Mary took the opportunity to study her. She was much fairer than Randall, but had the Latymor nose and the same blue eyes, which Mary realised now were studying her with unfeigned interest.
‘And who is this, Justin?’
Randall performed the introductions and Mary saw the speculation deepen in Lady Sarah’s eyes when he explained that they had travelled to Brussels together. Lady Sarah’s companion brought his horse a little closer and subjected Mary to what she thought was a predatory smile.
‘On your private yacht, eh?’ he said. ‘That was dashed good of you, Randall. We must do our bit to please the ladies, what?’
The earl did not reply to this sally, but said coolly, ‘Miss Endacott, let me present Colonel Bennington Ffog.’
‘My brother’s commanding officer,’ murmured Lady Sarah, as the colonel flourished a bow over the horse’s neck and almost came unseated when the animal sidled and sidestepped nervously. She glanced again towards the carriage. ‘If there is nothing to be done here for the moment, I think, Colonel, that we should be getting back. Your men will be wondering what has become of you.’
‘No, no, fair lady,’ the colonel disclaimed gallantly. ‘I am entirely at your disposal.’
‘Oh, that is so kind of you, when I know you are so busy,’ murmured Lady Sarah, with a sweet, vague smile.
Mary glanced at Randall and was
not surprised to see that his lips had thinned and he was watching this display stony-faced.
‘But I cannot keep you from your duties, Colonel,’ continued Lady Sarah. ‘How mortifying it would be if the duke should arrive and your men were not in position. I will ride back with you now and have another word with Gideon, if I may, then I shall return here to look after my sister.’
‘She is meant to be looking after you.’
Lady Sarah responded to Randall’s interjection with a bland smile. ‘Gussie knows I shall come to no harm while I am riding Castor. And when I return, perhaps there will be time for you to take me to see your artillery—’
‘No!’
Randall’s forceful refusal brought the eyes of both ladies upon him, but it was Colonel Bennington Ffog who replied.
‘No, no, Lady Sarah, I wouldn’t recommend that at all. Dashed unpleasant fellows, all of ’em. They ain’t called rogues for nothing, believe me. Why, I’ve even had their insolence directed towards me. Dregs of the earth they are, ma’am.’
‘Not so much dregs, more the scrapings of the privy,’ added Randall with grim humour. ‘But the colonel is right; they are not fit company for any lady. I would not only advise you to keep your distance, I would go so far as to positively forbid you to go near them.’
‘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.
A Lady for Lord Randall Page 9