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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 gave Harriett a lot of dangerously progressive ideas,’ he retorted.
Mary laughed. ‘Teaching women to think for themselves is not dangerously progressive, Lord Randall.’
The look he gave her indicated that he disagreed.
‘And you took over the school when your father died?’
‘Yes. He had insisted I continue my studies when I joined him, so I was able to teach the older girls, too, by then.’
‘When did he die?’
‘Four years ago. My mother had passed on twelve months earlier, so I was alone. I took control—there was nothing else to be done. If I had sold the school there would not have been enough funds to support me for very long.’
‘Could you not have considered marriage?’
Her brows went up. She was comfortable enough now in his presence to challenge him.
‘You would advocate wedlock, when you will not contemplate it for yourself? That is rather hypocritical, my lord.’
‘Not at all. I freely admit that marriages can be successful, if one is fortunate. Hattie and her husband, for example, are very happy together.’
‘I am sure that is not merely a matter of chance, my lord. As with anything that is worth having, a happy marriage has to be worked at, by both parties.’
‘I am sure you are right,’ he conceded. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘But if not wedlock, was there no man amongst your radical acquaintances who would support you?’
She shook her head.
‘There has never been anyone for whom I have felt strongly enough to give up my independence.’
‘No one? Not even for a, er, temporary liaison?’
‘Do you mean have I had a lover?’ She met his eye without flinching. ‘Not one, Lord Randall.’
If she had expected to embarrass him into an apology, she did not succeed. He merely held her gaze.
‘No. He would have to be a very special man to win you, Mary Endacott.’
The compliment was unexpected and her cheeks flamed. Quickly she looked away, concentrating on choosing another little treat from the dish of sweetmeats while he continued as if he had said nothing amiss.
