A Lady for Lord Randall. Sarah Mallory
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Mary. ‘A poet must support himself.’
‘His principles must be in question,’ put in Lord Randall. ‘He could not otherwise relinquish them so easily.’
Mary shook her head. ‘I do not agree. Sometimes we have to compromise if we are to make a living.’
‘As you have done, Mary,’ Harriett added.
Mary felt the earl’s eyes upon her again and felt sure he was about to ask what compromises she had made, but before he could speak Mr Graveney introduced a new topic, which Mary took up with alacrity.
* * *
‘Well now, that was not such a bad evening after all, was it?’
In the darkness of the carriage Randall could not see his sister’s face, but he could hear the laughter in her voice.
‘Some of those young men would benefit from a little army discipline,’ he replied. ‘That would put their idealism to flight.’
‘But we need such men,’ argued Graveney. ‘Once these young fellows have formulated their ideas and matured a little, they will be the next to govern our great nation.’
‘If we have a nation by then,’ said Harriett. ‘The reports all say that Bonaparte has returned stronger than ever.’
‘That may be,’ replied Randall. ‘But this time he must face Wellington himself.’
‘And do you seriously believe the duke will be able to beat him?’
Randall thought of the seasoned troops not yet returned from America, the untried soldiers already waiting for their first taste of action, to say nothing of their leaders; the impulsive Prince of Orange, the bickering factions of the Allied forces. His response indicated none of his concerns.
‘Of course we shall beat him and this time it will be decisive.’
‘And you must soon go off to join your men.’ Harriett clutched his arm. ‘Promise me you will be careful, Randall.’
‘I am always careful.’
‘And you will take Grandfather’s sword with you?’
‘I never fight without it.’
He felt her relax. The sword was something of a lucky charm. Randall’s father had shown no inclination to become a soldier and the old earl had left the sword to his grandson. Randall had worn it at every battle, coming unscathed through even the heaviest fighting. He was not superstitious, but he knew his family placed great store by the talisman. He had been fortunate so far, but he knew his luck could not last forever.
Randall gave a little inward shrug. If this was to be the end, he hoped he would live long enough to see Bonaparte defeated. As for the succession, he had brothers enough to carry on the line. Thank goodness he had no wife to weep for him.
A vision of Mary Endacott came into his mind, with her dusky curls and retroussé nose and those serious green eyes that could suddenly sparkle with merriment.
As if reading his thoughts Harriett said, ‘I have invited the Bentincks to take tea with us on Wednesday. I doubt if Mr Bentinck will attend, but I hope Mary will come.’
‘Oh, Bentinck will be there,’ said Graveney cheerfully. ‘I told him I had acquired a copy of Hooke’s Micrographia and he is mad to see it. I have no doubt that you, too, would like to inspect it, my lord?’
Randall agreed, but was uncomfortably aware that he was even more keen to see Mary Endacott again.
‘Oh, fie on you, Theo, with your dusty books,’ cried Hattie. ‘I have something that will be much more diverting for Randall. If the rain holds off we will ride out together in the morning, Brother. You will like that, will you not?’
‘My dear, Randall has been in the saddle most of the day,’ her spouse protested mildly.
‘But he is a soldier and used to it, aren’t you, Justin? Surely you will oblige me by accompanying me tomorrow?’
‘To be sure I will, Hattie. I should be delighted to see what changes have occurred here since my last visit.’
‘Good. And I am lending my spare hack to Mary, who loves to ride. What a pleasant party we shall be.’
Even in the darkness there was no mistaking Hattie’s self-satisfaction. Randall sat back in the corner of the carriage and cursed silently. His sister seemed set on matchmaking.
Mary should not have been surprised when she looked out of her bedroom window the following morning and saw Lord Randall riding towards the house with his sister. He was staying at Somervil, so of course Hattie would want him to ride out with her. His horse had clearly been chosen for its strength and stamina rather than its appearance: a huge grey, so dappled that it looked positively dirty. However, she had to admit Lord Randall looked very good in the saddle. Her heart gave a little skip, but she quickly stifled the pleasurable anticipation before it could take hold. He was an earl, a member of an outmoded institution that bestowed power on the undeserving, and despite his attempts to be polite last evening, Lord Randall had made it very apparent he did not approve of her. His presence today was unlikely to add to her comfort.
Not that it mattered since she did not care a jot for the man. She was looking forward to riding out with Hattie and, if Lord Randall was with them, she would not let it spoil her enjoyment.
* * *
Harriett had promised to bring her spare horse for Mary, but the spirited little black mare that the groom was leading exceeded expectations and was clearly far superior to the elderly hack Harriett was riding. Mary expressed her concern as soon as she came out of the house to meet them.
‘No, no, I much prefer old Juno,’ said Hattie. ‘Besides, if you are only to ride out with me the once I would have you enjoy it.’
‘I shall,’ declared Mary, making herself comfortable in the saddle while the mare sidled and sidestepped playfully.
She was conscious of the earl’s eyes upon her, but he did not look pleased. Perhaps he would have liked to ride out alone with Hattie. Mary was aware of a little spurt of irritation. If so, that was hardly her fault. She turned the mare and rode beside Hattie, resolutely keeping her gaze away from Lord Randall.
Harriett led the way to open ground where they could give the horses their heads. As they galloped across the springy turf the earl kept a little distance behind, although Mary was sure he could have outstripped them had he wished to. Even when they slowed to a walk he showed no inclination to join them. By the time they turned for home Mary was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable and she decided to speak out. As they slowed to pass through a gap in the hedge she turned to address him.
‘I think you would rather have had your sister to yourself today, my lord.’
‘Nonsense,’ cried Harriett, overhearing. ‘Justin is always taciturn. He has no social graces, do you, Brother?’
‘One can enjoy riding without being obliged to chatter incessantly.’
‘Of course, but a little conversation would not go amiss,’ retorted Harriett. ‘For instance, perhaps you could compliment Mary on her gown last night. I thought it was particularly fetching.’
‘I never notice female attire.’
His crushing reply had no effect upon his sister, who continued blithely. ‘You cannot have failed to notice how well she rides, so you could praise her for that.’
‘Pray, Harriett, do not put me to the blush,’ protested Mary, trying to laugh off her embarrassment.
‘My sister is right. I am not one for female company.’
‘A gross understatement,’ declared Hattie