It was a bittersweet time. Mary lived for Randall’s visits, even though they were never alone and conducted themselves with rigid propriety. Every word, every look left her longing for more, but it was not to be and she would rather have his company than not. Her only comfort was that Randall felt the same, she knew it from the warmth she surprised in his eyes at times, the weight of his hands when he helped her with her cloak, resting on her shoulders a moment longer than necessary.
Although Mary felt incomplete when Randall was not with her, she did not idle away the rest of her day gazing out of the window, or daydreaming about him. She scorned such foolishness. Instead she filled her time helping out in the classrooms, reading the newspapers and making preparations to remove her staff and pupils to Antwerp. If there was nothing else to do she would pick up her embroidery, and if her stitches slipped every time she heard a knock on the door, it was not to be wondered at. All of Brussels was nervous now, buzzing with rumour and conjecture about the future.
There were other callers, of course, the most surprising of whom was Lady Sarah Latymor, who came several times to see Mary. She told her that her sister, Lady Blanchards, was increasing and could not accompany her about the city. Mary was duly sympathetic, but when Sarah suggested they should chaperone one another Mary was obliged to tell her that it was not possible.
‘I do not think your brother would approve of you being here, Lady Sarah.’
‘How can he object, when you and he are such good friends?’
Mary wondered how best to reply.
She said at last, ‘You are a lady; I have to earn my living.’
‘Oh, fiddle,’ declared Lady Sarah. ‘No one cares about that any more. Your birth is respectable, is it not?’
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘Then there can be nothing wrong with our being friends.’
‘I do not think Lord Randall would agree.’
Sarah refused to believe it and went away promising to call again. Mary could only hope that Randall would not find her there. It was one thing for the earl to befriend a schoolmistress, quite another for him to allow his sister to do so.
* * *
Bertrand Lebbeke also called upon her, suggesting they might see a play, take a carriage ride, or even that she should join him for dinner with friends. Mary gently declined every one of his invitations. She was relieved when he accepted her refusals with a Gallic shrug but once, when he took his leave, he stopped at the door.
‘Did you enjoy the concert last night?’ When her eyes flew to his face he gave a rueful little smile. ‘I saw you coming out of the Grand Concert Rooms, but you did not see me, you had eyes only for your companion.’
‘L-Lord Randall managed to get tickets. It was a concert of Mr Haydn’s music and extremely popular.’
‘And you were extremely grateful to him, non?’
‘Lord Randall is a friend, Bertrand, as you are.’
There was a hint of sadness in the look he gave her.
‘You are trying to be kind, ma chère, but I think I know the truth, even if you are not yet ready to admit it.’
His words stayed with her, nagging at her conscience, and when a message came from Lord Randall to say he would take her to the play that evening she sent a note back to say she would meet him at the theatre.
* * *
He was waiting for her at the entrance, his height and bearing making him easy to spot. His shrewd gaze bored into her when she came up to him.
‘Why this sudden independence, Mary, has something upset you?’
‘Why, no, I thought I would save you the trouble of coming to collect me.’
‘It would have been no trouble, my dear.’
She took his arm and accompanied him to their seats. Bertrand’s comment made her more aware of her situation. She put up her chin. They were doing nothing wrong, Randall’s attentions to her were perfectly proper, as an escort he could not be faulted, and if the warm look in his eyes set her heart thudding, and the merest touch of their hands made her spine tingle, no one could see that.
Besides it was all about to end.
‘I received a letter this morning,’ she said brightly. ‘The house in Antwerp is ready for us. We leave on Monday. I have spent the day packing and very nearly did not accept your invitation this evening.’
‘I should be sad to think you would leave Brussels without seeing me.’
Her mask slipped a little.
‘I could never do that.’
‘So this is to be our last outing together.’
‘We have one more day,’ she said, trying not to sound too eager. ‘Tomorrow is Sunday. We take the girls to church in the morning, but after that I shall be at home. Perhaps you would come and take tea with me, or perhaps we might walk in the park, if the weather is fine.’
He shook his head. ‘I shall be at Roosbos all day.’ She tried to hide her disappointment, but he sensed it and took her hand. ‘There are rumours that we shall see action soon. I have to make sure our preparations are complete. Otherwise—’
She squeezed his arm. It was reassuringly solid, muscular. She could feel its power even through the thin silk of her gloves and his woollen sleeve. ‘You have your duty, my lord. I would not keep you from that.’
‘Thank you.’
The hot blue flame that lit his eyes was her reward, even as the misery of knowing they must part grew within her, like an inexorably rising tide. She pinned on her brightest smile.
‘So after this we must say goodbye. I hope it is a good play.’
And with that she settled back in her chair to try and enjoy her last few hours in his company.
They sat side by side, watching the play, but Mary was all too conscious of him beside her, his thigh so close to hers, only a few thin layers of cloth between them and when, in the shadowy gloom of the auditorium, his hand sought hers she felt faint with longing to throw herself into his arms, to be so much more than a friend.
* * *
‘What did you think of the farce?’ asked Randall when the performance was ended.
They were waiting in the foyer for his carriage to come to the door. The crowded chamber was brightly lit and Mary kept her smile in place, knowing that speculative eyes would be upon them.
‘It was very good.’
‘Liar,’ he said, without heat. ‘I do not think you laughed once.’
‘My thoughts were elsewhere.’
‘Would you like to tell me?’
‘No.’
‘Ah. I understand.’ He briefly touched her fingers as they rested on his sleeve.
That was the trouble, she thought miserably. They understood each other so well. At times there was no need for words. If only—
‘Lord Randall!’
A shrill voice accosted them and Mary saw a matron in a fashionable bronze gown bearing down on them, the ostrich feathers in her turban nodding wildly.
‘Lady Morrisey.’ Randall’s greeting was polite, if unenthusiastic.
‘Sir Timothy told me you were in Brussels.’
The lady chattered on, her inquisitive eyes constantly darting from Randall to Mary and her conversation so pointed that the earl had no choice but to make the introduction.
‘Miss Endacott, how do you do. Have you been in Brussels long?’
‘About eight years, ma’am. I live here.’ She added, a touch of defiance in her voice, ‘I run an academy for young ladies.’
‘Ah, that explains why I do not know the name, I have no daughters.’ Lady Morrisey gave a trill of affected laughter and turned her attention back to the earl. ‘I am off to meet Sir Timothy now, at the Appletons. He is not one for the theatre, you know, and much prefers to enjoy himself at cards, so he has gone directly to their little party. Are you going, my lord
?’
‘No, ma’am, I have already made my apologies.’
‘Oh, but you could retract, I am sure. Why do you not bring Miss Endacott with you? There could be no objection, I am sure. There are so many officers in Brussels now that our parties are always in need of more ladies! Do say you will come, my lord. Sir Timothy would be pleased to see you again, and the Appletons’ gatherings are always such lively affairs.’
Randall looked down at Mary. ‘It is still early, would you like to go?’
Mary assented. A few more hours in Lord Randall’s company, even if they were never alone, was better than the alternative, to return to the Rue Haute and her lonely bed. It was there, in the dark reaches of the night, that she would allow the truth to close in upon her and she would soak her pillow with tears of longing for a man who could never be more than a friend.
* * *
The Appletons had rented a house near the park and their rooms were overflowing by the time Randall and Mary arrived. There was a predominance of uniforms and the earl was greeted on all sides by his acquaintances and by fellow officers. This was his world, Mary knew no one, but it was not by chance that Mrs Appleton had become an acclaimed society hostess. When Randall joined a group of officers the lady drew Mary away to introduce her to some of her other guests.
Mary was no shy débutante, she had been in the world long enough to be at ease in company and she could converse on a wide range of subjects. Randall was occupied elsewhere and not by the flicker of an eyelid would she betray that she would rather be at his side than discussing the latest fashions with an overdressed matron and her two giggling daughters.
It was inevitable, with so many officers present, that the conversation would turn to the forthcoming battle, and speculation was rife as to how soon they would be in action. Randall was caught up in such a discussion, but all the while he kept an eye on Mary as she made her way around the room. His heart swelled as he watched her. She carried herself with confidence, laughed and chatted as easily with a crusty old brigadier as she did with a shy young girl who looked as if this was her first society party. She was much more at home than he was at this sort of gathering.
She would make a good wife.
He stifled the thought. Soldiers were better off without wives. And libertines should never marry.
When the group dispersed he made his way across the room to where Mary was standing. He scooped two glasses of wine from a passing waiter and handed one to her.
‘Here, Mary, I hope you have not been too uncomfortable without me. I did not mean to abandon you.’
She shook her head at him.
‘I am perfectly content, my lord, everyone is very kind.’
‘Truly?’ He looked at her closely. ‘We have never before been in company like this; it has given rise to speculation.’
She sipped the wine, her green eyes twinkling.
‘There has always been gossip, my lord. And if there is any speculation about us, they are all too polite to raise the matter in my hearing.’
Randall grimaced. His fellow officers had not been so circumspect with him this evening. They had looked at him askance when he had introduced her, and when she had moved off they had been frankly sceptical of his explanation that Miss Endacott was no more than an acquaintance. He had ignored the sly glances and curtailed the lewd jokes with a haughty stare, but it irked him that they should immediately assume the worst of her, merely because she was a schoolmistress.
‘I should not have brought you here,’ he muttered.
But if he had not, then they would have driven back to the Rue Haute and he would have been obliged to leave her at the door, when what he wanted to do was to sweep her off to bed and make love to her. By heaven, it was becoming more and more difficult not to do so. The touch of her hand sent the heat hammering through his body once more, but it did recall his wandering thoughts.
‘I am glad we came,’ she was saying, smiling up at him in a way that made him want to kiss her. ‘We are friends, are we not? I would not like to think that you are ashamed of me.’
‘Ashamed? Confound it, Mary, you are as good as any woman here, and better than many of them. I wish I could—’
She put up her hand to stop him and for an instant he saw something cloud her eyes, like a shadow of pain, but when she spoke her voice was calm and light.
‘We are agreed, are we not? Friendship is all we can offer each other. Pray, Randall, let us not spoil our last evening. Off you go. Enjoy talking with your fellow officers and leave me to amuse myself.’
* * *
Mary sent him away. He would never know how much it cost her to speak and act so cheerfully. It took all her will power not to cling to his arm and keep him by her side. She watched him walk away, noting his straight back, his broad shoulders, his noble bearing. She loved everything about him.
A sudden chill ran through her, like ice in her blood. Love? Is that what she felt for this abrupt, disdainful soldier? No, no, it could not be. Attraction, yes, and lust. Liking even, but nothing more. Yet when she remembered how low, how empty she felt when he was not with her, she wondered if perhaps she was deceiving herself. Mary quickly stifled all such disquieting thoughts, fixed her smile in place and turned her attention to the lady who was even now addressing her.
* * *
And so the evening went on. Mary and Randall went their separate ways around the crowded room, talking, smiling, joining little groups to listen to opinions and sometimes give their own. Occasionally they would meet then cheerfully move on, as if they truly were the friends they claimed to be. Mary did her part, holding up her head proudly as she explained to the ladies that she ran her own school, moving away from those who clearly thought she had no place in their gathering and conversing with those who were more liberal-minded. One part of her—the business side—realised that such contacts might prove useful to her school in the future.
That cold, bleak future without Randall.
* * *
It was well after midnight and Mary was growing tired. She was wondering how much longer the evening would continue, whether she might seek out Randall and suggest she should make her own way home when she heard her name.
‘Miss Endacott, ain’t it?’
A cavalry officer was standing behind her. There was something familiar about his carefully windswept hair and black moustache. She had seen him at the review, but that day his cheeks had not been quite so red, despite the sun and the heat. He was bowing low, affording her an excellent view of his black pomaded curls.
‘Colonel Bennington Ffog, at your service, ma’am. Delighted to see that Randall has brought you into company at last.’
‘Yes, thank you.’ She could think of nothing more to say to this, but the colonel appeared not to need any encouragement. He put his hand under her elbow and guided her through the crowd.
‘Always a dashed crush, these affairs, what? I believe you are a schoolteacher, ma’am.’
‘Yes, I own an academy.’
‘An academy, eh?’
‘Yes. For young ladies.’
‘No young men?’ His eyes gleamed in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. ‘By Jove, I would enjoy being a pupil in your class, ma’am. I can see why Randall is so enamoured.’
‘I’m afraid I do not understand you, Colonel.’
‘Discipline,’ he replied with a grin that was very close to a leer. ‘I have no doubt you keep our stiff-necked earl in line, what?’
She bridled at that. ‘Colonel, I—’
Somehow he had manoeuvred her into an alcove and when she stepped away from him she found her back against a wall. To her dismay she realised she was out of sight of the crowded room.
‘Oh, yes,’ he continued, ‘I would like to try a little of your discipline, Miss Endacott. A taste of your whip acro
ss my buttocks. Feel ’em.’ He moved closer, trapping her against the wall as he grabbed her hand and pulled it around him and on to his backside.
‘Let me go!’
‘All in good time.’ She turned her head as his mouth came towards her and she felt his lips against her cheek. ‘Just a little kiss first.’
Mary struggled to free herself, but he was too strong, his body pressing against her, holding her prisoner. He smelled of brandy and hair oil and some sweet, sickly perfume that made her retch. She felt his hands on her shoulders, pushing aside the silk gown while his wet mouth pressed kisses on her neck. She shuddered with revulsion. Why did no one come to her aid? There were dozens of people, she could hear them, laughing and talking. Surely one of them would step into the alcove? She tried to look past the colonel, but his body hid everything from her sight. He was pressing closer, his knee moving between her thighs.
Mary took a deep breath and was about to scream when Randall’s voice cut through the air like a whiplash.
‘What the devil do you think you are doing?’
She was free, she could breathe again. Bennington Ffog had been yanked away from her by Randall’s hand on his collar. The earl subjected him to a furious glare.
‘You had best apologise to the lady. Immediately.’
The icy fury in his tone made Mary wince. Her legs felt so weak that she dare not move away from the wall, but she managed to pull her gown back on to her shoulders with hands that trembled.
‘Now, now, Randall, be reasonable. If you will bring your—’
‘My what?’
The earl’s voice was dangerously quiet and the colonel backed away.
‘It, it appears I have made a mistake, then.’ The colonel ran his hands nervously over his body, straightening his uniform, his eyes never leaving Randall’s stony face. ‘I beg your pardon—’
‘To the lady, Bennington Ffog. I will not accept your apology, and if she will not, then I swear you will meet me for this.’
A Lady for Lord Randall Page 12
