A Lady for Lord Randall. Sarah Mallory

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      She went off to see her guests out and Mary moved across to join Harriett, who was beckoning to her from the sofa.

      ‘We have been invited to stay to sup with you,’ she said, pulling Mary down beside her.

      ‘Oh.’ Mary found her gaze once more drifting to the tall figure of the earl standing before the fire. ‘But, Lord Randall must be exhausted if he only reached you today—’

      ‘Nonsense,’ said Harriett bracingly. ‘My brother is a hardened soldier and quite capable of staying up all night, if necessary, is that not so, Justin?’

      Mary had thought the earl deep in conversation with Mr Graveney, but he turned his head and she found herself once more subjected to that piercing blue gaze.

      ‘Indeed it is, but it will be no hardship to spend a little more time here and in such delightful company.’

      ‘Why, Justin, that is quite the prettiest thing I have ever heard you say,’ declared Harriett, quite shocked.

      Mary felt her friend’s speculative glance turned upon her and quickly looked away, busying herself with smoothing the wrinkles from her long gloves. When everyone else had left they went into the dining room where supper was set out, comprising cold meats, fruit and wine. Since informality was the order of the day Mary chose a seat between her cousin and Harriett. This put her as far as possible from Randall, which she thought safest for her peace of mind, so it was in horror that she realised her old school friend was rising from her seat, saying cheerfully, ‘Brother, dear, would you be kind enough to change places with me? I think I have a slight chill and would much prefer to sit a little closer to the fire.’

      The next moment the earl was lowering his long frame on to the chair beside her. She tried to keep her eyes fixed upon her plate, but it was impossible not to look at his lean, muscled legs as he took his place. The black-stockinet pantaloons clung tightly to his thighs and she felt herself growing quite hot with embarrassment as her imagination rioted. Mary closed her eyes. Good heavens, she was not a schoolgirl to be so affected by a man.

      ‘Miss Endacott, are you quite well?’

      The sound of that deep voice, rich and smooth as chocolate, did nothing to calm her, but the thought of making a fool of herself in front of everyone stiffened her resolve. She raised her head and managed to respond with tolerable equanimity.

      ‘Quite well, thank you, my lord. My thoughts were elsewhere.’

      ‘Thinking of the long journey you are to undertake at the end of the week, no doubt,’ said Mrs Bentinck, sitting on her other side.

      Mary pulled herself together. She said gaily, ‘Oh, do not let us talk about me, I would much rather be distracted from the sad inevitability of leaving my friends.’

      ‘Randall, too, is leaving on Friday,’ put in Harriett.

      ‘Ah, to join Wellington’s army, no doubt,’ said Mr Bentinck. ‘Do you sail from Dover, my lord?’

      ‘Folkestone,’ the earl replied. ‘I have my own yacht there.’

      ‘Really?’ said Harriett. ‘I thought you had sold it.’

      ‘No. I sent it to Chatham to be refurbished.’

      ‘I told you he would not have disposed of it,’ declared Mr Graveney. ‘The rich must have their playthings, eh, my boy?’

      ‘It was used to carry some of our troops home from Corunna, was it not?’ Mary wondered why she had felt it necessary to jump to the earl’s defence, especially since it brought her to his attention once more.

      ‘Yes, it was.’

      ‘I think it was very good of you to join us this evening, my lord,’ declared Mrs Bentinck, relieving Mary of the necessity of saying anything more. ‘Mrs Graveney will have told you that our little gatherings tend to attract young men with rather revolutionary ideas.’

      ‘Which is why we enjoy your parties so much,’ cried Mr Graveney, waving his fork in the air. ‘For the cut and thrust of the debate. Some of these youngsters have fire in their bellies, eh, Bentinck?’

      ‘They do indeed,’ replied their host, ‘but most of them burn out as they grow up. One only has to look at Southey. Angry young rebel one day, tugging his forelock to the King the next.’

      ‘I rather fear expediency cooled a great deal of his radicalism,’ said 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.

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