A Lady for Lord Randall. Sarah Mallory
carriage she realised that she might be angry with him, but at least she was no longer embarrassed in his company.
The carriage door was wrenched open again and Lord Randall’s frame filled the opening.
‘Miss Endacott, we have a long journey ahead of us. Neither of us wanted to be in this situation, but it will be best if we remain civil to one another.’ His blue eyes bored into her and she felt compelled to respond.
‘You are quite right, my lord.’
‘I am not accustomed to looking out for anyone else when I travel. If there is anything you need during our journey, then you will tell me, if you please. I do not wish you to be uncomfortable.’
‘Thank you, I will remember that.’
With a nod the earl closed the door again and Mary sank back against the squabs. His speech had surprised her. She did not doubt he was sincere and a little smile tugged at her mouth. How infuriating of him to offer her that olive branch just when she had made up her mind that he was insufferably high-handed.
* * *
They reached Folkestone in good time for dinner. The landlord of the inn did not blink an eye when Lord Randall announced he would require another bedchamber for Miss Endacott. If he thought it odd that a single lady should be travelling alone with the earl, without even a maid to give her countenance, he did not show it as he escorted them to a private parlour.
‘No doubt, Miss Endacott, you will wish to rest and refresh yourself before we eat.’ Lord Randall dragged off his gloves and took out his watch. ‘Shall we say an hour?’
Mary inclined her head. ‘That will be more than sufficient for me, sir.’
‘Very well.’ His cool, aristocratic gaze moved to the landlord, who bowed low.
‘Dinner in an hour, my lord.’
Mary followed a serving maid to her bedchamber. Lord Randall had barely looked at her since handing her down from the carriage. It was possible he was embarrassed in her company, but she was beginning to suspect that this scant courtesy and abrupt manner was habitual. As soon as she was alone she washed her face and hands, then took out her hairbrush and began to brush out the tangles that a day’s travel had introduced into her hair.
Well, he had warned her, she should not complain. And besides, what was there to complain of? He had told her she only had to speak out if there was anything she required to make her journey more comfortable. She had been brought up to believe herself the equal of any man, so why should she object if she received no special treatment from the earl while they were travelling?
Mary paused, the brush strokes slowing. Strange that Lord Randall should be so lacking in social graces, when his father had been such a libertine. Perhaps his years of soldiering had coarsened him. Immediately she rejected the idea. Lord Randall’s manners were not coarse, it was merely that he did not flatter and cajole. She realised she did not mind his abrupt tone, in fact, she found it refreshing. Their walk in the gardens at Somervil had been perfectly amicable, until the moment he had made his disgraceful suggestion. Yet had she behaved much better? Had she not revelled in his kiss, in the feel of his arms about her?
A distant clock chimed, her hour was nearly up. Hurriedly, she re-pinned her hair. She would have to sit through dinner alone with the earl, and it would be very uncomfortable for them both if she showed embarrassment in his company. No, if he could cope with the situation, then so could she.
* * *
‘How is your room?’
‘Very comfortable, my lord, thank you.’
I can do this; we only have to remain polite to one another.
Mary walked to the table, which was already spread with a tempting array of dishes. The earl stood behind her, holding her chair. She could not see his face, but could feel his presence like a cloud hovering around her and she did not know if she preferred that or when he took his seat across the table and she was subject to his all-too-perceptive gaze. To avoid it, she surveyed the food on offer.
‘Are we wise to eat dinner, my lord, if we are sailing at midnight?’
‘Are you a poor sailor, Miss Endacott?’
At least he was not using her first name, even though the servants had departed. She tried to relax. He had given her his word he would treat her with respect.
‘My experiences so far have been very good, but I have not yet been aboard ship during a storm.’
She raised her head, listening to the wind buffeting the windows. The earl merely shrugged.
‘There is a light breeze blowing, nothing more serious. I spoke to my captain earlier and he is confident we will make a speedy crossing.’ He held up one of the dishes. ‘Come, try the chicken, it is excellent. And you will feel much better for a good meal, I promise you.’
Mary was not sure she believed him, but she took some chicken and added a little rice and vegetables from the selection before her.
The meal proceeded comfortably enough; they kept the conversation to unexceptional topics and Mary’s anxiety eased. She was able to enjoy her meal and the wine that accompanied it, so that by the time the covers were removed and a small dish of sweetmeats placed upon the table she felt quite comfortable in the earl’s company.
‘You said experiences, Miss Endacott. Have you made many crossings?’ he asked, pushing the little dish towards her.
‘No, this will be my third.’
‘And how long have you lived abroad?’
‘About seven years. I joined my parents in Brussels when I left Miss Burchell’s school.’
‘But your family was originally from England?’
‘Yes. Papa went abroad in the short-lived peace of Amiens. He had friends in Brussels, so he decided to settle there rather than in France.’
‘Ah. His radical ideas drew unwelcome attention in this country, I suppose.’
Lord Randall’s tone held no hint of condemnation and she answered with more frankness than she was wont to show to any but close friends.
‘Yes. His support for the revolutionary government in France brought him a notoriety he did not deserve. He was outspoken, yes, he supported the new government and the redistribution of wealth, but when he realised that democracy, true democracy, was being crushed in a reign of terror he spoke out against it, just as vehemently. Alas, it was too late, his name was too closely associated with the revolution. It was very hard on Mama, especially after...’
‘After what, Miss Endacott?’
She hesitated and forced herself to speak.
‘My sister died that same year.’
‘That must have been very hard for you.’
‘It was.’ She touched her napkin to her lips, avoiding his eyes. That subject was too painful to dwell upon, even after all these years. ‘My father had run up considerable debts, too, and the only way to avoid debtors’ prison was to flee the country. He and Mama set up a girls’ academy in Brussels, based upon the precepts of Mary Wollstonecraft, but it was not a success.’ Talking of the school was safer ground. She even managed a wry smile. ‘The Bruxelloise were no more progressive in their thinking than the English. Very few wanted to give their daughters an education that would rival or even surpass that of their sons, so Papa was obliged to abandon his high ideals and include more dancing and pianoforte lessons, at the expense of Latin and Greek. When I joined them I became a teacher at the school.’
‘Really? But you could not have been more than a child yourself.’
‘I was seventeen. Very well qualified to teach the younger ones, I assure you. Your sister was at the same school, my lord, you must be aware that Miss Burchell’s establishment gave us an excellent education.’
‘It