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It had been as much as Randall could do to keep a straight face when the story had come to him, but it would not do to show disrespect to a fellow officer, especially when that officer was in command of his brother Gideon’s cavalry regiment. But he could have told Mary. She would appreciate it and perhaps her eyes would shine with that mischievous twinkle he had surprised there upon occasion. He could share such moments and trust her to keep his confidence. Not that he would ever need to do so now. She had shown all too clearly that their acquaintance was at an end.
Chapter Five
‘You are very quiet today, Mademoiselle Mary.’
‘I beg your pardon.’ Mary smiled up at her companion. ‘Did you say something, Bertrand?’
They were walking in the park, but every time she saw an officer in blue uniform she was reminded of Randall, and could not stop herself wondering about him, what he was doing, if he was thinking of her.
She had heard nothing of him for two weeks. She had told Jacques to deny him, should Lord Randall come calling, so she could hardly blame the earl for that, but he continued to invade her thoughts. She had learned to keep him at bay during the waking hours by throwing herself into her work, but at night, when she had blown out her candle and was trying to sleep he would creep, nay stride, into her dreams and disturb her rest.
‘I thought you would be happy,’ remarked Bertrand, ‘I have stolen you away from your pupils for an hour, from your work. Mais, alas, I do not appear to have your attention.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said again. ‘I was thinking of what would be best to do for my school.’ She comforted her conscience with the sop that this was not a complete lie. ‘I know there are rumours that the Allies will carry the war into France, but it is by no means certain. Some parents have taken away their children already, others are preparing to do so, but some will be left in my care because their parents are abroad and I must be ready to remove them from Brussels, if it becomes necessary.’
‘I urged you to leave here weeks ago.’ He shook his head at her, saying with mock severity, ‘You are too independent, Mary.’
‘Now why do you say that, Bertrand, when you know I have taken your advice and secured a house in Antwerp? When the time comes I shall remove there with my staff and pupils. My quandary now is when to go, if at all. It is commonly believed that Napoleon will not come here.’
‘One can never rely upon Bonaparte doing what is expected of him. He will seize his chance and when he does he will move very quickly. It would be better if you were not in Brussels when he strikes.’
‘I know that.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Thank you, Bertrand, but I do not think you need to worry. I shall make my plans and prepare my staff and pupils. We will be ready to quit the city at a moment’s notice. Yet while the duke thinks it safe to remain then I shall do so.’
‘Ah, this Wellington. You place great faith in him, I think.’
‘I do.’
‘And his officers too, perhaps. Such as your friend Lord Randall?’
Mary shook her head.
‘I have only seen him once since I returned to Brussels, the day you called, do you remember?’
‘How could I forget? I thought then I had a competitor the most serious.’
She forced herself to laugh at that.
‘What nonsense you speak, Bertrand.’
‘Because I am fearful of a rival for your affections?’
She released his arm and stopped, saying in a tone of mild rebuke, ‘Bertrand, you know we agreed not to speak of that. I value your friendship, but there can be nothing more.’
‘Can there not?’ He was looking down at her, smiling, and she had to admit that he was very handsome with his black hair and dark eyes, and until she had gone to England she had thought that, perhaps, one day she might agree to be more than friends, but now she knew that could never be. She felt nothing more than a mild liking when she was with him. He did not stir her; she did not feel as if a sack full of butterflies had been opened in her stomach whenever he looked at her. Not like a certain artillery officer, just the thought of whom set her blood pounding and created such an ache of longing inside that she wanted to burst into tears.
So she shook her head, saying sadly, ‘I am afraid not, Bertrand. Please let us not speak of it again.’
He sighed.
‘Eh bien.’ Bertrand pulled her hand on to his arm and they began to walk on. ‘But we are friends, non?’
‘Mais oui,’ she replied. ‘Always, I hope.’
‘Then I shall invite you to take a day out with me on Monday next. There is to be a grand cavalry review near Grammont.’
‘Oh, but I cannot, Bertrand, I have too much work to do—’
‘You are not so busy, you have told me so yourself, and now you say that many of your pupils, they have gone home. Your excellent teachers are quite capable of running your school without you for a day.’
