them.’ He gave a little huff of amusement. ‘My mother thinks that at two-and-twenty Sarah is running out of time to find a husband.’
Again Miss Endacott gave that warm gurgle of laughter.
‘Yes, she is practically on the shelf!’
‘But her twin is unmarried—did you know there are two sets of twins in our family?’ he asked. ‘My mother has seven surviving children of which I am the eldest. Our father was very productive.’
His jaw tightened. The old earl had been well known for his insatiable appetite, not just for his wife but for any woman.
‘Yes, I did know Sarah had a twin brother, but when it comes to marriage it is very different for a man.’ Miss Endacott’s voice interrupted his bitter thoughts. ‘Gideon will be free to do very much as he pleases. How is he enjoying his new cavalry regiment, by the by?’
‘I have no idea, he does not correspond with me.’
‘If you will excuse my saying so, Lord Randall, you do not seem a very close family, but I believe that is the way amongst the nobility.’
‘And what do you know of the nobility, Miss Endacott?’
He spoke frostily and saw her visibly withdraw from him.
‘Now I have offended you,’ she said quietly. ‘I had best leave you—’
A moment ago he had been wishing her at Hades, but as she made to rise he put out a hand to stop her.
‘We had a bargain, Miss Endacott.’ The faint lift of an eyebrow told him she would dispute it and he tried for a softer note. ‘Please, ma’am, stay and talk to me.’
The distant look faded from her countenance and she sank back on the sofa, waiting expectantly for him to begin.
‘Do you make a long stay with the Bentincks, Miss Endcaott?’
‘Two weeks only. A pity because I would have liked to see more of Harriett.’
‘Then why not stay longer? I am sure if Mrs Bentinck cannot put you up my sister would be delighted to do so.’
‘She has already suggested it, but it cannot be, I am afraid. Business calls me away.’ She saw his puzzled look and laughed. ‘I am not a lady of leisure, my lord. I have to earn my living. If I were a scholar perhaps, or a poet or an author, then I might remain in Sussex and be busy with my pen.’
‘Oh? Are you in trade?’
That disturbing twinkle lit her eyes again.
‘Why, yes, of a sort. I must get back to my girls or—’ she corrected herself, a mischievous smile lilting on her lips, ‘my ladies, as I call them.’
A young man lounged up and laughingly asked Miss Endcaott to come and support him in an argument with his friends. When Randall bridled, incensed at being interrupted, the lady rested one hand on his arm.
‘You are not used to such freedom of manners, sir, but remember, no one here knows who you are.’ She rose. ‘Forgive me, I had best go, I have spent far too long with you already.’ Her eyes twinkled and she said mischievously, ‘My reputation would be quite ruined, you know, if I had one!’
Randall watched her walk away. He was intrigued. Who in heaven’s name was Mary Endacott? Not a scholar, she had said, but in trade. He regarded her retreating form thoughtfully. She had joined a group of gentlemen and was quite at her ease with them, laughing at their jokes and making a riposte of her own. She was not pretty in the conventional sense, but certainly attractive enough for the gentlemen around her to be captivated.
Some sort of trade. Involving ladies. And she had said she had no reputation to be ruined. Suddenly his sister’s words came back to him: ‘I trust you not to be shocked by the company we keep.’
Good God! His eyes narrowed. Was that what Hattie meant?
* * *
Mary tried to concentrate upon the conversation that was going on around her, but all she could think of was Lord Randall’s blue eyes and lean, handsome face. When she had seen him standing alone at the side of the room she had decided to take pity on him, knowing that the Bentincks’ unorthodox soirée would be a little daunting to a strange gentleman, and this man clearly was a gentleman. At first glance he looked quite slender and it was only when she drew closer that she realised it was his height that made him look perfectly proportioned. She had noted immediately the fashionably short hair—brown and sun streaked—and the exquisite tailoring of his coat. The dark blue Bath superfine fitted across those broad shoulders without a crease, its severity relieved by a white quilted waistcoat and the snowy white linen at his throat and wrists. He would be accustomed to society parties where the guests all knew one another and introductions would be carried out for any newcomer, to make sure their rank was acknowledged and understood. In an effort to put this stranger at his ease she had made the first move, only to have him look down his aristocratic nose at her. He had fixed her with that cool, aloof gaze and informed her that he was Randall, Harriett’s haughty and very proper brother.
Mary remembered the letters Harriett had received from him while they were at Miss Burchell’s Academy. Always short and to the point, advising Harriett of news—their mother’s removal to Worthing for a little sea bathing when she was recovering from influenza, their father’s ill health, his own promotion within an artillery regiment. Nothing chatty, nothing warm or comforting for his little sister miles away from the family home.
A servant had always been dispatched to take Harriett home so Mary had never met Justin Latymor and by the time the girls left Miss Burchell’s Academy he was a career soldier, not even selling out when his father died and he became the sixth Earl Randall. That Harriett was fond of her big brother was beyond doubt. She said he was the only one who had not lectured her upon her marriage to Theophilus Graveney, but Mary had built up an image of a cold, stiff-backed man, lacking in humour.
And so he had been, when she had first approached him. Or should she say accosted him? His tall frame was rigidly upright and he looked so hard and unmovable he might have been hewn from a single oak. He was clearly not accustomed to young ladies introducing themselves. Yet there was a sensitivity around those sculpted lips and there had been warmth and the suspicion of a gleam in those blue, blue eyes when he had spoken to Hattie. She had seen it, too, when he had surprised her by stepping aside to engage her in conversation.
‘You are allowing yourself to be dazzled by a title,’ she told herself sternly. ‘Shameful for one who believes in a meritocracy.’
Yet she could not get the thought of the earl out of her head. It did not help that whenever she looked about he seemed to be watching her. The idea brought an unaccustomed heat to her cheeks. It was so long since she had blushed that she had thought herself too old for such frivolity, but now she found that even at four-and-twenty a young lady could find herself attracted to a man. And not just any man, an earl, no less!
‘Mary, what are you smiling at?’
Mrs Bentinck’s voice brought her out of her reverie. Mary looked up. Her companions were huddled together to read an article in a recent edition of Cobbett’s Political Register, a publication that was known to induce indignation or outrage, but never laughter.
‘Oh, an old joke,’ she said swiftly. ‘My mind
