A Lady for Lord Randall

‘She is no longer a part of our world, but her birth is perfectly respectable—’

‘Enough!’ Randall barked out the word and silence fell. He sighed, saying more gently, ‘Hattie, I am off to Brussels to meet the greatest threat to this nation that we have ever faced. I have no time for dalliance.’

Theo touched his wife’s arm, saying in his gentle way, ‘Let him be, my love. Your brother is about to go to war, his mind will not be distracted by such frivolities.’

Randall was grateful for Theo’s intervention, but his brother-in-law was not entirely correct. Randall was distracted by Mary Endacott. Uncomfortably so, which was why he had deliberately avoided her during their outing. There was no denying she rode well and looked extremely attractive on horseback. Her plain russet-coloured habit might be made of serviceable twill, but it did nothing to hide the curves of her body. He had been obliged to keep his eyes from her, and having spoken with her the previous evening he knew how easily she might draw him into conversation, so he had kept his distance for most of the ride.

Harriett was regarding him in reproachful silence and his conscience stirred. He would be leaving in a few days and did not wish to fall out with her.

He gave a wry smile. ‘I behaved badly, Hattie, I admit it. Forgive me.’

She pursed her lips, not completely won over. Theo chuckled.

‘I have never heard Randall make such a handsome admission before, my dear. You would be wise to accept it, I think.’

‘Oh...oh, very well. But I hope you will be a little more courteous when the Bentincks come to drink tea with us.’

Randall said nothing, reluctant to commit himself, and when Harriett suggested they should change out of their muddied clothes he was glad to make his escape.

* * *

A night’s reflection did nothing to restore Mary’s peace of mind and after breaking her fast in her room she went off for a long walk, hoping to regain her equilibrium before facing her hosts. Her favoured route took her past Somervil, where she was in the habit of calling upon Harriett, but knowing that the earl was in residence she set off in the opposite direction, preferring to take the rocky path through the woods rather than risk running into him.

Her strong attraction to Lord Randall at their first meeting must have been due to the amount of wine she had consumed that night. She had not considered herself inebriated, but there was no doubt that Mr Bentinck’s cellars were well stocked and the quality of the wines superb, so in all likelihood she had imbibed more than usual during the course of the evening. It was easily done, she knew, especially if one was anxious or distracted and there was no doubt that she was anxious, about her business, her finances and the long journey ahead of her. As for distraction, the presence of Lord Randall in the Bentincks’ drawing room had certainly caught her attention.

It was not that she had thought him the best-looking man in the room; tall, lithe men with handsome faces bronzed by the sun had never attracted her before. She preferred intelligent, cultured men. Scholars. Indeed, she had always considered hawk-like features such as Lord Randall’s to look a little predatory.

Nor was it his title—she despised the power that rank and wealth conferred upon a man, the inbred certainty that he might behave exactly as he wished, however badly. Perhaps the attraction was those blue eyes that seemed to burn into her. Or his deep, mellifluous voice. Whenever he spoke she was aware of its resonance and when he was addressing her it was as if he was running a feather over her skin. Even over deeply intimate places. Just the thought of it sent a delicious shiver running through her.

Perhaps she was becoming an old maid. She had observed how elderly ladies could turn positively skittish in the presence of a personable gentleman. They would simper and fawn over him in the most embarrassing way. Was that what was happening to her? She stopped, aghast at the thought. Good heavens, did she have so little self-respect that she was prepared to make a fool of herself over a handsome face? It must not be.

She pulled her pelisse a little closer and set off again, striding out purposefully along the track beside the stream. She would not allow herself to become such a figure of fun. She was an intelligent woman with more strength of character than that.

Anxiously she thought back over her ride yesterday. Thankfully she had done nothing, said nothing to show herself infatuated. Indeed, she had barely spoken to Lord Randall and when they had parted he had not rushed to help her dismount, but remained on his horse and at a distance, as if eager to get away. In fact, looking back, he had done nothing at all to win her good opinion.

‘So the attraction is all on your part,’ she told herself. ‘And you would do well to nip it in the bud, since it can bring you nothing but trouble.’

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she barely noticed the discomfort she felt in walking until it became positively painful. Something was rubbing against her left foot with every step. Coming upon a fallen tree trunk on the edge of the water, she sat down to investigate. The cause of the pain was soon discovered, a piece of grit had lodged itself in her boot. It had not only worn a hole in her stocking but had rubbed away the soft skin at the side of her foot, which was bleeding and throbbing painfully. How she had come so far without noticing it was a mystery. She looked around to make sure she was alone then removed her ruined stocking and dipped her bleeding foot into the stream. She gasped a little as the cold water rushed over her inflamed skin but after the initial shock she found the cool stream very soothing.

While her foot was soaking she picked up her discarded footwear. The brown half-boots were almost new so she was relieved to find the soft kid bore only the slightest trace of blood on the inside. They were so comfortable she planned to wear them on the long journey home, so she was very thankful they were not ruined.

Mary pushed aside the skirts of her walking dress and began to dry her foot on one of her petticoats. It was then that she heard the unmistakable sounds of hoofbeats. Someone was approaching.

‘Lord Randall!’

‘Miss Endacott. Can I be of assistance?’

Mary’s heart sank. Why did he have to come upon her when she was sitting with her dress pulled up over her knees? Her instinct was to shake her skirts down to cover her ankles, but after taking so much care to keep the blood from her gown it would be foolish to pretend there was nothing wrong.

‘I have a cut on my foot,’ she explained, trying to be calm, as if she was quite accustomed to exposing her leg to a gentleman. ‘It is only a small cut, so please do not...’

Too late. He had jumped down from his horse and was coming over to her.

‘Let me see it.’

‘No! It is nothing, I assure you. You do not need to trouble yourself.’

He ignored her protests and dropped to his knees, taking her heel in his hand. Mary kept very still and concentrated upon her breathing, which had become very erratic.

She said, with as much dignity as she could muster, ‘Thank you, my lord, but I do not wish to keep you from your ride. I am about to put on my boot—’

‘Nonsense,’ he said crisply. ‘It is still bleeding and needs to be bound up. Allow me.’

He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and shook it out. Mary wanted to protest, but somehow the words died. His touch was sure and gentle, and a pleasant lassitude stole over her as he quickly folded the handkerchief into a bandage and wrapped it around her foot.

‘There, that should hold.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘However, your boot will not fit over it.’

‘Oh.’ Mary tried to drag her thoughts away from how disappointed she was that he was no longer cradling her ankle. ‘Oh, well, I—’

The earl handed her the empty boot.

‘I shall take you home on Pompey.’

Before she could protest he swept her up and placed her sideways on the pommel, then he himself scrambled up into the saddle. Mary felt herself blushing as he pulled her back against him.

‘There,’ he said. ‘You are perfectly safe.’

Safe in the sense that his arms were either side of her and she could not fall off, but she had never been so close to a man before, apart from her father, when she had been a little girl and he had pulled her up on to his knee. Now she felt the earl’s hard thighs pressing against her. She sat bolt upright, clutching at her empty boot and fighting the temptation to lean back and rest her head against his coat. As they rode off she noted that her bloodied stocking was still lying beside the stream. She said nothing. It was ruined, so there was no point in going back for it.

It was strange, thought Mary. Everything seemed much more intense than when she had been walking this same path only minutes earlier. Then she had barely noticed the bluebells and wild garlic that carpeted the ground, now the sight and the smell of them filled her senses. The sun shone more brightly through the budding trees and the birdsong was even louder and more joyous. It made her think of spring, and poetry. And love. She pushed the thought aside. She despised such sentimentality.

The earl made no effort to converse, but neither did he squeeze or fondle her. She began to relax.

‘I suppose I must thank you, sir, for rescuing me. It would have been a long walk back.’

‘I would do the same for any lame creature. Although if it was Pompey who had lost a shoe I should be obliged to walk with him rather than ride.’

She said unsteadily, ‘Are—are you comparing me to your horse, Lord Randall?’

‘Pompey is very valuable, Miss Endacott.’

He sounded perfectly serious and she stole a glance up at him. He was staring ahead, his countenance sombre but she had the distinct feeling that he was laughing at her. As if aware of her regard he looked down and she saw the glimmer of a smile in the depths of his blue eyes, like a sudden hint of gold at the bottom of a deep pool.

She dragged her eyes away. It could not be. This was Lord Randall, the stern soldier, a man completely without humour, Hattie had said so. But that look unsettled her.

‘If you put me down here, sir, there is a little gate in the palings that leads directly into the Bentincks’ garden. I need not trouble you to take me any further.’

‘It is no trouble, Miss Endacott. Pompey can easily take the extra weight, I assure you.’

Mary discovered that it was possible to want to laugh and to be angry with someone at the same time. She tried her firmest voice.

‘I think I must insist, my lord.’

‘But the gates are in sight. I shall deliver you to the door.’

Mary looked down. Pompey was a very big horse and it was a long way to jump. That is, if the earl did not tighten his arms and prevent her from escaping.

She said angrily, ‘Lord Randall, I find you odiously autocratic.’

‘And I find you annoyingly independent.’

She put up her head.

‘I am very proud of my independence,’ she told him. ‘I own my own house and my establishment is much sought after. It is patronised by some of the foremost names in the land.’

‘I am sure it is. But none of that is going to make me put you down so you can hobble back to the Bentincks and risk doing more damage to your foot.’

She ground her teeth.

‘I think it fortunate that you are a bachelor, sir. Your manners would not endear you to any woman.’

‘Then we are in accord, Miss Endacott. That is the very reason I remain single.’

Mary was so surprised by his answer she could think of nothing to say. Thankfully they were almost at the door, where her cousin was waiting for them.

‘I saw you from the drawing-room window,’ Mrs Bentinck declared. ‘What on earth has happened?’

‘Miss Endacott has injured her foot.’ The earl dismounted and lifted Mary into his arms, depositing her neatly on the doorstep. ‘Since she could not fit her boot over the bandage I brought her home. It is nothing to be anxious about, ma’am. Once the foot is bathed in salt water and a sticking plaster applied she will be able to walk on it again.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Mrs Bentinck put her arm about Mary, saying in a distracted way, ‘But Mrs Graveney invited us all to take tea with her this afternoon at Somervil House.’

‘There is no reason why you and Mr Bentinck cannot come,’ he replied. ‘Although I am sure my sister will understand if Miss Endacott feels the need to lie upon her bed for the rest of the day.’

The earl gave them a brief nod and nimbly remounted his horse, riding off without a backward glance. Mary’s hands clenched around the hapless boot and she longed to hurl it after his retreating form. As if she was such a weakling that she must needs take to her bed over such a trifle.

* * *

Randall resisted the urge to look back. He felt sure that Mary would be looking daggers at him. He felt a smile tugging at his mouth: what was it about the woman that made him want to tease her? He rarely teased anyone. It was childish, but Mary Endacott made him feel like a callow youth again. Perhaps it was her independence, her determination not to seek his good opinion. That was unusual—he was far more used to females using every trick they could to attract him. She was the only woman he had met who considered he was right to remain a bachelor, although she could not know the true reason he would never marry.

After watching his mother lose her bloom while the old earl amused himself with a succession of mistresses, as well as the women at Chalfont Magna, Randall was determined never to inflict such a life on any woman. He had grown up with the conviction that one should marry for love, though heaven knew where that sentiment originated. But how could he insist that his wife should love him when he could not guarantee to be faithful to her? Like father, like son. Had he not proved, years ago, how alike they were? No. he would remain a soldier. That was a life he understood, a life he could control.

* * *

Mary pulled a clean silk stocking carefully over the sticking plaster on her foot. It barely hurt at all now, but she had decided she would not go to Somervil that afternoon. She had preparations to make before her departure, she did not have time for such a frivolous occupation as tea drinking. Harriett would understand.

And you will not have to see Lord Randall again.

‘All the better,’ she said aloud.

It will demonstrate to the world that you are the weaker sex.

‘It will demonstrate that I have the intelligence not to place myself in a position of danger.’

Danger? What danger can there be from a man who barely notices you?

She fluttered her hand, as if to bat away the unwelcome arguments that revolved in her head.

Lord Randall is no threat, and you will be leaving soon. There is no reason at all to avoid him. Unless you are afraid.

‘Of course I am not afraid,’ she told herself crossly.

But the thought rankled. Papa had brought her up to fear nothing and question everything. There was a logical explanation for all things, he had said. Face your demons and you will understand them. And Lord Randall could hardly be called a demon. Proud, yes. Autocratic, definitely, and used to being obeyed, but no demon.

She rose and shook out her skirts. She would go with the Bentincks this afternoon and prove to herself that there was nothing remotely dangerous in taking tea at Somervil House.

* * *

Harriett came forward as they were shown into the drawing room, saying cheerfully, ‘I almost suggested we should put a table on the terrace, it is so warm. But, Mary, what is this Randall tells me, you have hurt your foot?’

‘It is the veriest scratch,’ she replied, ‘As you see I am perfectly able to walk upon it.’

Mr Graveney and Lord Randall were standing together by the window and Mary dipped a curtsy to them both before choosing to sit down in a chair on the far side of the room. She had hoped that in his sister’s house the earl might look a little less imposing, but no. His upright bearing and long-limbed figure were even more noticeable next to portly Mr Graveney. Just looking at the earl made her mouth go dry. He looked so solid and dependable, and Mary thought suddenly how comfortable it would be to have someone she could lean upon.

‘That would be lovely, would it not, Mary?’

Mrs Bentinck was handing her a cup of tea.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she stammered. ‘My thoughts were miles away.’

‘Mrs Graveney was suggesting we should take a walk later, to see how they have landscaped the gardens.’

‘Yes, an excellent idea,’ Mary concurred. She really must concentrate.

‘Unless you would rather sit here and rest your foot,’ suggested Harriett. ‘Randall could keep you company.’

‘No, no, I am perfectly well, thank you,’ Mary replied hastily. ‘And I would very much like to see your gardens before I leave.’

‘Yes, they have turned out very well, I think,’ said Mr Graveney. ‘Although they are nothing to the grounds of Chalfont Abbey, Lord Randall’s country seat.’

‘I can take no credit for that. My military duties do not allow me much time at the Abbey, but my mother keeps everything in excellent order.’

Mr Bentinck turned to the earl.

‘I trust, my lord, that you did not suffer overmuch from being thrust into the lion’s den the other night?’

‘Not at all, sir.’

Harriett laughed.

‘My brother is being polite, Mr Bentinck. He thinks many of your guests would be improved by a spell in the military.’

‘And so they would,’ agreed Mrs Bentinck, chuckling. ‘Or even if they had to work for their living, as poor Mary is obliged to do, and to suffer the indignity of being shunned in polite society by those who are only too willing to use her services. Is that not so, my dear?’

‘Oh, it is not so bad, really.’

Randall saw the telltale blush stealing into Mary’s cheek as she murmured her reply and was glad for her sake when Bentinck took the discussion in a different direction.

It was no wonder she should look embarrassed. He glanced at his sister; she was continuing to pour tea as if nothing was amiss at all. He felt his jaw set hard in disapproval. Graveney had led his sister too far down the path of radicalism for his liking, but he was a guest in the fellow’s house, he could hardly voice his disapproval now.

* * *

When they had finished drinking their tea and the idea of a walk was again mooted he decided to make his excuses and withdraw. Unfortunately Hattie had other ideas.

‘Oh, but you cannot disappear now, Randall. Theo wants to show Mr Bentinck the new book he has purchased, and since you saw it when you returned from your ride this morning you must escort us.’ She took his arm. ‘Come along, a little fresh air will soon put that gloomy look of yours to flight!’

Harriett shepherded the ladies into the hall, saying as they put on their bonnets, ‘I intended to show Mary the gardens when she arrived last week, but the weather has been so inclement I have not yet done so. Do not worry, though, the new gravel paths will make it perfectly dry underfoot.’

The paths were indeed dry, but Randall soon discovered that they were not wide enough for them all to walk together. Harriett took Mrs Bentinck’s arm and moved ahead, leaving him no option but to walk beside Mary Endacott.

‘I doubt this is how you intended to spend your afternoon,’ she remarked. ‘If you have business elsewhere I do not mind walking alone.’

‘I am perfectly happy to escort you.’ He held out his arm to her. ‘Besides, to do anything else would incur my sister’s wrath.’

She chuckled at that.

‘I cannot imagine that would worry you overmuch.’

‘You were at school with Harriett, Miss Endacott. You know that she is not one to be gainsaid. All the Latymors are strong-willed, except my youngest sister, Sarah. She is very biddable.’

‘Overwhelmed by the rest of you, no doubt.’

‘Very likely. She is certainly unlike her twin, Gideon. He is a hothead.’

* * *

They strolled on, mainly in silence, but occasionally stopping to admire the new plantings and statuary that had been installed in the gardens. Randall found himself relaxing and enjoying the afternoon sunshine. He glanced down at the silent figure beside him. Mary looked completely at ease and he thought how comfortable it was to have a woman on his arm who did not consider it necessary to be chattering all the time. She was just the right height, too, her head no higher than his shoulder. They passed the new rose garden with its arbour at the far end. He imagined sitting beside her on the bench when the roses were in bloom and filling the air with their heavy scent. She might rest her head on his shoulder then. And if the air should be a little chill he might put his arm around her and rest his cheek against those dusky curls...

Confound it, man, you need to stop this, now!

‘I beg your pardon, my lord, did you say something?’

She turned her face up to him, delicate brows raised, green eyes enquiring. Randall felt a sudden impulse to pull her close and plant a kiss on those full, red lips. The rush of desire that fired his blood surprised him and he looked away quickly, clearing his throat as he sought for words.

‘You are returning to your, ah, business very soon, I believe.’

‘Yes, my lord. On Saturday.’

He kept his eyes fixed ahead, noting idly that they had fallen some way behind his sister and Mrs Bentinck.

‘And will you be sorry to leave?’

‘Of course. The Bentincks are not only relatives but very old friends and I allowed myself this short holiday after completing my trip to Cuckfield. My father left certain...affairs outstanding there when he died just over a year ago and I have now resolved them.’ She added, after a brief pause, ‘Debts, my lord.’

‘Ah, I see.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Is that why you are obliged to, er, earn your living, to pay off his debts?’

She surprised him by laughing at that.

‘Not at all, I enjoy what I do, my lord. I hope you will not think me boastful if I say I have a talent for it. I am an independent woman, beholden to no one. In fact, I shall be glad to get back to work. I could not be happy with a life of idleness.’

‘Nor I.’

‘Then we are agreed upon something.’ She smiled up at him, as if relieved at the thought.

A mood of recklessness swept through Randall.

‘Why wait?’

‘My lord?’

They had reached a crossing in the path and with his superior height Randall could see over the surrounding hedge. Harriett and her companion were now making their way back through the box garden and towards the house. He led Mary into the shrubbery.

‘If you wish to work, as you call it, then you should do so.’

‘I do not think I understand you, Lord Randall.’

She stopped and turned to look up at him, still smiling, but with a faint crease between her brows. Unable to resist he put his fingers beneath her chin, tilting it up as he lowered his head and kissed her.

* * *

Mary was so surprised she could not move. Then, as his mouth worked its magic, she did not wish to do so. When he put his arms around her she leaned into him, kissing him back as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

This reaction shocked Mary almost as much as his kiss, and when he raised his head she made no attempt to free herself, but laid her head against his chest, listening to the thud, thud of his heart. She was dazed, unable to understand what had occurred. Lord Randall, the taciturn, unromantic, unsociable earl, had kissed her. Her: plain, sensible Mary Endacott!

‘We have a couple of days before we must part,’ he said, his mouth against her hair. ‘We should make use of them. We must be discreet, of course. However free-thinking the Bentincks might be, I cannot allow my sister to know what is going on.’