A Lady for Lord Randall

by Sarah Mallory

  He paused. Major Sheffield was more of a soldier and less of a rogue than the others and that was the problem. He had not yet stamped his authority on his men and Randall could not risk taking him away from them at this vital juncture.

  ‘No,’ he said now, fixing Flint with a stare that would make lesser officers back away. ‘I need you there. Get yourself cleaned up and try, just try, to look like a gentleman for a change.’

  ‘I don’t see—’

  ‘You will smarten yourself up—that’s an order,’ roared Randall. ‘The duke may not be a stickler, but I’m damned if I’ll have you bringing my command into disrepute!’

  ‘Yes. Sir.’

  Those blue eyes, so very like his own, glared back at Randall. Damn his father for littering the country with his bastards. Having his half-brother in his troop was a constant reminder of the old man’s philandering. It brought back all Randall’s doubts about marriage and he felt a sudden chill, a fear of failing Mary.

  ‘By heaven, I will not disappoint her,’ he muttered.

  ‘Colonel?’

  He realised Flint was still standing there and he dismissed him with a growl. By God, he was getting too old for this.

  * * *

  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.’

  ‘Fun? Confound it, Gideon, isn’t it enough that there are two of our family already caught up in this war?’

  ‘You count that mongrel Flint as family?’ Gideon’s lip curled. ‘God knows why you advanced his career.’

  ‘Because he is a good officer who looks after his men,’ snapped Randall. ‘Something you have yet to learn.’

  With a curse Gideon threw himself out of his chair.

  ‘It is always the same,’ he said bitterly, ‘No one can do anything but you! Well, I have had enough. I have escaped from under your thumb, Justin, and I mean to distinguish myself in this campaign.’

  Randall regarded him in silence. It would be useless, inflammatory even, to remind Gideon that he had never been under his thumb. Perhaps it would have been better if he had taken more responsibility for his siblings, instead of leaving their upbringing to Mama, but she had always said that looking after the children was her only solace and after the hell his father had put her though, with his insatiable appetite for women, he had not the heart to interfere.

  He watched Gideon for a few moments. The boy was prowling up and down the room like a caged animal. At last he said quietly, ‘It is merely that I would rather you were safe back in Chalfont Magna.’

  ‘No! It is you who should be at the Abbey, looking after your interests. Mama cannot be expected to run your affairs forever, you know.’

  ‘I do know it, but it gives Mama an interest. Besides, we have an excellent steward and the present arrangement has worked very well for years.’

  Randall wondered if he should tell Gideon that he intended to go back after this engagement. But it was never wise to think too far ahead. He might not survive, and if that was the case, Gideon was the next in line. And if Gideon should fall? Well, there were the younger twins, but they were still at school and his mother would have to hold the reins for a few more years yet.

  He said, as much to reassure himself as Gideon, ‘I am not needed at Chalfont.’

  ‘Oh, aren’t you?’ Gideon retorted. ‘Do you know what our people think, Justin? They think you are just like Father.’

  ‘What nonsense. They know nothing about me.’

  ‘Aye, and that’s the trouble! Everyone thinks the reason you stay away from Chalfont Magna is that if you did your whoring there you would be wenching with your own kin.’ Gideon glared at him. ‘You should quit the artillery, Randall.
You are the sixth earl, your place is at the Abbey, not here. And if I had my way I would see that you were forced to go back and take up your responsibilities!’

  Randall jumped to his feet. ‘Why, you—!’

  ‘My lord.’

  Robbins’s entrance prevented Randall from replying. His man told him that one of the duke’s aides was downstairs and wanted a word. Randall excused himself, glad to leave the room before he said something rash. He had been close to losing his temper and uttering a blistering set-down to the insolent cub, and he really did not wish to do that, not tonight. Besides, on one point Gideon was right. He had left the running of the Abbey and the estates for too long in the hands of others.

  * * *

  When Randall returned, Gideon had put on his frock coat and was ready to leave. He was standing very stiff and regarded Randall with a defiant look.

  ‘Let us not part on a sour note.’ Randall put out his hand. ‘You are quite right, I should be thinking of settling down and leaving this business to younger fellows like yourself.’ He smiled. ‘I have no doubt you will acquit yourself well, Brother.’

  Gideon’s eyes slid away from his, but he reached out and gripped Randall’s hand for a moment.

  ‘Yes, that is—thank you.’

  ‘Goodnight, Gideon, and I wish you success. Truly.’

  He thought for a moment that Gideon would speak again, but he only nodded and quickly left the room. Randall listened to his footsteps dying away on the stairs, then with a shrug he called for Robbins to bring his hat and gloves and made his way to the Rue de la Blanchisserie and the Richmonds’ ball.

  * * *

  Mary did not enjoy her solitary dinner. When she had left Randall the streets had been busy with soldiers and wagons. There could be no doubting that the army was on the move. And yet the fashionable English would continue with their merrymaking. She thought of Randall attending the ball in all his military splendour. He would look magnificent, she was sure, but no more so than when he stood before her in the bedroom, quite naked, his lean body strong as whipcord, the muscled contours accentuated by the gleaming candlelight. She pushed away her plate. She would go to bed and try to get some sleep ready for her departure to Antwerp in the morning.

  She was in her sitting room, trying to compose a short note to Randall when Lady Sarah Latymor was announced.

  ‘No, no, do not get up,’ cried her visitor, flying across the room and waving her hand in a peremptory manner. ‘We are such friends now we do not need to stand on ceremony. I have come to invite you to the ball.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Mary’s eyes moved to Jacques, who had followed Lady Sarah into the room. He put a large box down upon a chair before retiring and closing the door upon them.

  ‘The Duchess of Richmond’s ball,’ said Sarah. ‘My sister is indisposed and cannot go with me. I have told her I have found a perfectly respectable chaperon. That is you, Miss Mary Endacott.’

  Mary stared in astonishment at her guest’s smiling face.

  ‘I hardly think that will satisfy her. Why, I do not know her.’

  ‘Well, she knows that you are a great friend of Harriett’s and she has seen you with Justin, too.’

  Mary felt her cheeks grow hot, but thankfully she was not obliged to reply, for Lady Sarah was continuing blithely.

  ‘It would be such a shame to waste the invitation.’

  ‘Surely you can go alone?’ Mary saw the shadow cross Sarah’s face and her eyes narrowed. ‘Is there some reason why you should not do so?’

  ‘Oh, well, Justin does not know I am still in town.’ She pouted. ‘He almost ordered Blanchards to take Gussie and me out of Brussels immediately, but if the duke has told Lady Richmond that she should hold her ball, there cannot be any immediate danger, can there? So Gussie said we may stay a little longer. She was eager to go tonight, but unfortunately her interesting state has made her very unwell and she is quite prostrate, poor darling. And so I thought you could come with me instead.’

  In spite of herself, Mary’s lips twitched. ‘You need a little moral support.’

  ‘Do you not want to go?’

  Mary hesitated. She had not wanted to go and be pointed out as Randall’s mistress, or snubbed because she was not one of the fashionable set, but to attend the ball with Lady Sarah would be an altogether different matter. And the thought of seeing Randall once more was very tempting. Sarah gave a little laugh and clapped her hands.

  ‘I can see by your face that you do wish to go. Come along, Mary, the carriage is outside, waiting to take us there.’

  Mary rose and shook her head, spreading her hands to indicate her sober gown.

  ‘I cannot go. I am not dressed for a ball, and it is nearly ten o’clock.’

  ‘Oh, no one arrives at these affairs early. Mary, do not be difficult.’

  ‘I am not being difficult, but—’

  Lady Sarah overrode Mary’s flustered denials by saying triumphantly, ‘And if you are going to tell me you have nothing suitable for a ball, I have brought you one of my gowns! It is only a muslin, so you need not think it is anything very special. There can be no objection to your wearing it.’

  Mary stared at the box that Sarah was holding out to her. Common sense told her to refuse, to send Lady Sarah away, but she could not resist carrying the box to the table and opening it.

  ‘Oh.’ She lifted out the gown and held it up. It was fashioned from the finest cream muslin, gossamer-thin and embroidered with tiny white flowers. ‘Oh, it is quite exquisite.’

  ‘I have never worn it,’ said Sarah carelessly, ‘it is too short for me, but it should fit you beautifully.’

  Mary stared at the pale confection and thought ruefully that it was far too virginal for her now. However, the thought of seeing Randall once more had taken hold. She smiled.

  ‘Give me ten minutes!’

  Slightly more than ten minutes later she was back in the sitting room, shyly asking Lady Sarah’s opinion. Recalling the Rogues’ uniform, she had added a dark red sash to the gown and threaded a matching ribbon through her curls. Another ribbon fixed her only ornament, a small cameo, around her neck and her finest Norwich shawl completed the ensemble.

  Lady Sarah clapped her hands delightedly.

  ‘You look very elegant, Mary! Randall will be so enchanted he will quite forget to scold me.’

  ‘Let us hope so,’ murmured Mary as her companion took her arm and led her out to the waiting carriage.

  * * *

  The house the Duke of Richmond had hired for his family was in the less fashionable lower town, but the lights blazed and even at this advanced hour a number of carriages were drawing up. Mary was relieved to think they would not be the last to arrive. She accompanied Lady Sarah into the ballroom where dancing was already in progress. The ladies were arrayed in all their finery and the majority of the men were in uniform, providing a glittering, colourful spectacle. She spotted Randall immediately, catching her breath when she saw his tall, upright figure resplendent in his long-tailed dress coat, the dark blue embellished with gold lacing and scarlet facings. As if aware of her glance he turned and met her eyes. The smile that lit his face put to flight any remaining doubts she’d had about attending. Lady Sarah was swept away by a crowd of laughing cavalry officers and Mary made her way towards the earl, as if there was some string between them, drawing her in. He took her hand and bowed over it.

  ‘You came.’ His blue eyes glinted, sending little bolts of excitement through her. ‘You will dance with me?’

  She blushed. ‘Surely there are other ladies who should take precedence.’

  ‘Not tonight. Do you realise we have never yet danced together?’

  ‘I do.’

  She was filled with exhilaration at the idea but when he went to lead her on to
the dance floor she held back.

  ‘I would have no misunderstandings between us, my lord. Your sister brought me, in Lady Blanchards’s place.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Do you not mind? You had advised them all to leave Brussels.’

  ‘How can I object, since her staying means I can now dance with you?’

  Mary flushed with pleasure, from her toes to the top of her head. She knew her cheeks would be pink and her eyes sparkling, but it no longer mattered. Let everyone see how she felt about the earl, how he felt about her. Tonight they would be happy and tomorrow... She would not think of the morrow.

  They took their place in the set and as they waited for the music to begin Mary looked around, desperately trying to find something to say rather than merely smiling like a simpleton.

  ‘I see Major Flint is here and looking very smart.’

  Randall gave a short laugh, his eyes flicking quickly to his half-brother.

  ‘Yes, he has been cutting me out with the ladies all evening, but I shall make sure I keep you well away from him.’ He leaned closer. ‘You are mine, Mary Endacott.’

  His words and his glowing look sent a shiver of happiness through Mary. The music began and she danced in a joyful haze. At one stage she found herself standing beside Sarah, who took the chance to bemoan the fact that her twin was not present.

  ‘I was sure Gideon would be here tonight, but Colonel Bennington Ffog says they only had a few invitations and the officers drew lots for them. I haven’t the heart to refuse to dance with all those who have asked me, not when they will be going off to fight at any moment.’ She pouted. ‘But I really wish I could have spoken to Gideon.’

  The movement of the dance separated them and Mary did not give Sarah another thought. She forgot about everything except the delight of being with Randall. They danced twice, three times and Mary protested that people would talk.

  ‘Let them.’ Randall replied carelessly. ‘It does not matter who knows about us now.’

  She laughed, giddy with happiness as he led her from the floor, but the little worm of anxiety gnawed away at her when she saw the number of officers bustling around Wellington. She was not surprised when Randall excused himself a few minutes later. She let him go with a smile. Not for the world would she add to his worries by tears or anxious looks.