A Country Flirtation

by Valerie King

  “I shall come with you, of course,” Mrs. Kidmarsh said hastily. “Though I am not at all partial to Leicestershire and find Kingsholt a veritable ice house in the—”

  He shook his head. “Not for the first twelvemonth. You will have to find someplace else to live—perhaps you may continue on at Aston Hall, or remove to London, for I know you adore our town house there. But I shan’t have you underfoot for the first year of my marriage, except for a sennight at Christmas, if you wish for it.”

  Mrs. Kidmarsh appeared as though she had received a cannon-load of grapeshot full in the chest. She collapsed against the back of the sofa and silent tears began to flow down her horrified cheeks.

  Constance watched as Charles struggled for a moment within himself. She could see that he was wavering. For all his desire to become independent of his mother, the binds to her were intensely strong.

  “Charles?” Mrs. Kidmarsh wept, her voice trembling dramatically. “Do but consider . . . oh, my poor, poor Charles.”

  His name spoken in just such a manner, as though his mother were shaking a branch with her vocal cords, seemed to decide the day. Perhaps he had heard her intone his name in exactly that fashion one too many times, for his shoulders grew straighter and his eye less sympathetic. “A year, Mama, then, if you are so inclined, and only if you promise on pain of death to stay away from the housekeeper at Kingsholt, you may take up residence at the dower house.”

  Mrs. Kidmarsh said nothing further, but dissolved completely into a heap of tears and hysteria. Lady Ramsdell finally led her away but winked at Charles by way of encouragement just before the pair disappeared into the hallway beyond.

  After her unhappy presence was gone, the Pamberley sisters descended on Charles and Augusta in a rustle of silk and satin, exclaiming a hundred times over their united belief that their marriage would be the happiest yet.

  So it was that the hour advanced long past one before the party retired to sleep for the night.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Constance was so tired when she fell into bed, forgotten were her own concerns and unhappiness. Instead, she dreamed of Ramsdell in the best way, of being with him, of conversing delightfully with him as was their habit, and of embracing him.

  However, a nightmarish quality soon descended on her dreams as she passed through a darkened doorway and, turning around, watched as Ramsdell grew smaller and smaller. Panic rose up within her. She knew she would never see him again and tried to race back toward the doorway. But the faster she ran, the smaller he shrank until she was shrieking after him.

  A strong hand grabbed her and held her, so that she could no longer run. She began to strike at the hands, attempting to peel them off her arms, but to no avail.

  Finally, she awoke with a start and found that Ramsdell was indeed holding her tightly by the arms and shaking her.

  “What are you doing?” she said, then began coughing.

  “Come, the house is on fire. I’m sorry, Constance. Lady Brook is ablaze in the entire east wing.”

  Her bedchamber was full of smoke.

  She leapt from her bed and with his arm supporting her raced toward the door.

  The hallway was thick with gray, acrid billows. Her thoughts became consumed with helping her family and her guests, but she could hardly breathe. The most she could do was turn to the left and run toward the stairs. Footsteps resounded in front of her, beside her, and behind her. Ramsdell, her sisters, her guests, surely. But what of her mother?

  She covered her face with her arms and raced down the stairs, stumbling and coughing, finally to emerge through the front doors and into the cool morning air. She dragged in a clean breath and doubled over to cough until she felt as though her lungs would turn inside out. Her throat burned and her eyes stung.

  As soon as she could, she rose up and took stock of who had arrived out-of-doors. The servants were all accounted for, along with Charles, who held both Augusta and his mother close to him, her sisters, and Lady Ramsdell.

  The dowager approached her and took her hand. The expression in her eye was one of terror, and Constance realized why—Ramsdell had not followed her out. Where was he?

  Lady Ramsdell said, “I believe he is trying to save your mother.”

  Constance turned back and looked up at the ancient edifice, now blazing from every first and second story window. Flames leapt and smoke billowed from the roof. A roar began to consume the house as the inner wooden walls, the draperies, and furniture were eaten up in the flames. The effect was so stunning against the pink-gray dawn light that for a long while all she could do was watch in stupefaction as her home from the time she was birthed began to crumble inwardly.

  A weeping began, first with Augusta, and quickly spread, like the flames now engulfing the house, through all her sisters. Lady Ramsdell, beside her, gripped her hand painfully hard and was heard to sob, but not for the house, for the son who hadn’t yet emerged.

  The front doorway was suddenly bursting with smoke and flames, followed by another enormous crashing sound.

  “The staircase,” Constance murmured. “Oh, God.” She had lost her mother as well as the man she loved in that fierce, consuming sound.

  ***

  Chapter Sixteen

  Devastation.

  The word had new meaning to Constance as she watched the flames begin to settle and the bricks to fall one by one. Yet she was no longer thinking of Lady Brook but of Ramsdell and her mother. Whatever the house had meant to her, it was, after all, only red, fired clay and mortar.

  Ramsdell and her mother were flesh and blood, spirit and soul, intelligence, companionship, love unequaled.

  The house was wood and fabric and cotton ticking.

  Ramsdell was a caress and an argued opinion. Her mother, a soft word and an eye that twinkled with merriment.

  The house could be rebuilt, again and again and again.

  Ramsdell could only return to the earth never to be seen, or touched, or embraced again, his spirit rejoined in heaven. Her mother could only take her place beside her father and be no more. In such a fire, their remains could not even be placed in a grave to revisit in symbolic physical reunion.

  Devastation.

  Awareness.

  How silly her fears seemed now, about loving and marrying Ramsdell and about leaving Lady Brook. How silly and absurd and useless. If he suddenly appeared and asked her at this moment to be his wife, she would say yes, because the present thought of living the rest of her days without his company was unbearable in the extreme.

  “My darling son,” Lady Ramsdell whispered in agony. “Gone. Just like that.”

  Constance turned to her. “I loved him,” she stated, her eyes misting with tears, her heart seizing into a painful knot.

  “I know you did,” she returned, meeting her gaze.

  Constance could hold her tears back no more. Lady Ramsdell gathered her up in her arms and held her as she wept. An ocean of pain flowed through her as she sobbed. She felt as though the pain would never end. Would life ever be as sweet as when he had been with her, walking beside her, speaking with her, kissing her? Never. Never.

  “Stay a moment, Constance.” Lady Ramsdell’s hushed voice intruded through her tears. “Dear God, but it can’t be. They must have escaped through the back of the house somehow.”

  Constance felt Lady Ramsdell push her away and didn’t understand until she heard the screams and cheers of her sisters and followed the direction of Lady Ramsdell’s gaze.

  There, attempting to push through the shrubbery and calling to everyone, was Ramsdell. “Help us,” he called out. “I can’t get through. I have Mrs. Pamberley. We’re all right, but I can’t find a deuced break in this godforsaken hedge. Damn and blast! The devil take this ridiculous—oh, thank God!”

  He broke through finally with Mrs. Pamberley cradled in his arms.

  Constance began to run, as did everyone. The blaze was forgotten in a riot of joyous shouting.

  Constance pushed her w
ay to his side. She stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheeks and his forehead and his lips. She touched her mother’s face and saw that she was perfectly well, though she coughed several times.

  Joy reigned at that moment, of the dead coming to life, of lives having been spared, of futures changing and becoming what they ought to be.

  Katherine suddenly called out. “Carriages are coming. Look.”

  Because the party had moved to the end of the front garden, they had an unobstructed view of the lane approaching Lady Brook Bend.

  What Katherine had said was true. Three men could be seen, traveling at breakneck speed, two in carriages, the third on horseback. “I believe the first is Sir Jaspar,” Katherine called, having run to the edge of the property. “The smoke must be visible for miles around by now. My, but he has excellent, light hands and manages his team to perfection. The second is Sir Henry. And the third, who is riding a spirited black horse, I can’t make out precisely.”

  “Indeed?” Celeste cried, moving quickly to stand beside her younger sister. “It is just like Sir Henry to be precisely where he is needed most. But who is that third gentleman? I have never seen him before.”

  “Ramsdell,” his mother called to him. “I think the third man is Evan.”

  Constance glanced up at Ramsdell and saw that he was staring hard down the lane. “Indeed, you’re right.”

  “Evan said he was thinking of selling out,” Lady Ramsdell said, “but what a rascal not to have breathed a word of coming home to England so soon.”

  Constance squeezed Ramsdell’s arm and murmured, “How grateful I am that he is arriving to find you well and unharmed.”

  He glanced down at her, and though still holding Mrs. Pamberley in the cradle of his injured arm, leaned down to kiss her on the lips again. “Indeed, my precious Constance. We shall celebrate this day as long as we live. Pray, put me out of my misery and tell me you mean to marry me for, if nothing else, I can at least put a roof over your head.”

  She chuckled and smiled. “The insurance will restore Lady Brook, Ramsdell, so I shan’t need your roof, but I think I will marry you anyway.”

  He smiled crookedly. “And to think it only took a consuming fire to bring your heart round at last.”

  Tears brimmed once more in Constance’s eyes. “I would like to believe I should have come round eventually, but yes, it was the mere thought that I might never see you again that showed me the truth of my heart and what my life ought to be.”

  Marchand and Morris arrived at that moment. “M’lord,” his valet began, “you forget your arm. Do permit us to care for Mrs. Pamberley.”

  Ramsdell, whose complexion was a trifle pale, carefully handed her over to the servants, but Constance insisted they remain close by for a few more minutes so that she could gaze lovingly into her mother’s face. “You are safe,” she murmured.

  “Yes,” her mother breathed. “And you . . . are to be married.”

  Constance chuckled through more tears. “Yes, Mama.”

  “Oh, no,” Katherine suddenly shrieked.

  Constance jerked her gaze toward the lane and saw that a wild-eyed buck was bounding across the road in front of Sir Jaspar’s carriage. His horses took a quick and sudden fright and a split second later his curricle was heading pell-mell through the hapless breach in the fence. A moment more and they were trampling the petunia border as Sir Jaspar struggled to control his team, rising up as Ramsdell had done so many weeks earlier.

  In like manner, the horses responded, but so abruptly that when they came to a halt, Sir Jaspar was thrown head over ears to land unconscious near the gravel drive. Constance thought she must be dreaming.

  “What, again?” Morris murmured.

  Everyone stood for several seconds in stunned silence, except for Marianne, who began to run toward Sir Jaspar’s still form. She dropped to her knees beside him and pressed her head to his chest. “He lives,” she said.

  “Thank God,” Constance murmured.

  Both Stively and Jack were immediately moving, intent on controlling the panicky horses before they injured themselves in fleeing the burning house. Cook and three housemaids offered to help Marianne in tending to Sir Jaspar.

  The fire had begun forcing a variety of panicked game from the trees and shrubbery. An entire squadron of rabbits suddenly burst into the lane in front of Sir Henry’s curricle. Constance watched in complete stupefaction as his team plunged wildly in response to the unexpected creatures and followed in Sir Jaspar’s wake.

  “Oh, no,” Celeste said, immediately setting her feet in the direction of Sir Henry’s careening carriage. Because he had not been going as fast as Sir Jaspar, he was able to bring his team under control. However, the left wheel grazed the trunk of an elm, which ripped the wheel from the body of the carriage and sent Sir Henry tumbling on the lawn. He led with his shoulder and came up with only a slight limp, which set everyone to cheering again.

  “Thank God,” Constance murmured again.

  Celeste arrived to offer her shoulder to him, which he took with warm gratitude. She gently began leading him away from the house, which was belching smoke though the flames had begun to die down a little. Jack moved to secure his team, since Stively had Sir Jaspar’s horses under control and headed away from the house.

  Evan, the last arrival, skillfully guided his black horse through what was fast becoming a maze of anxious darting rabbits and squirrels, bringing his mount through the breach in the fence to stand among the smashed petunias.

  He smiled crookedly. “Hello, Mama, Hugo. I’ve come to help. The flames were visible for miles.”

  “Your arrival could not be more timely,” Ramsdell said.

  “The village nearby is already marching on Lady Brook,” Evan added. “I should think they’ll be arriving in the next half hour, so you can be assured of all the assistance you’ll need, but what can I do now?”

  “You may help to revive Sir Jaspar, who took a hard fall when a deer bounded in front of his carriage.” Ramsdell pointed to the place where Marianne was cradling the newly knighted nabob on her lap.

  Evan immediately began guiding his horse toward the group surrounding the prone man.

  Lady Ramsdell looked back over her shoulder at Constance. “How often does this happen?” she queried.

  “Several times a year,” Constance said, “though once the new lane is finished, hopefully never again.”

  Mrs. Kidmarsh looked up at Charles and said, “I am beginning to think it is the only way the Pamberley ladies can find husbands. The gentlemen must be coughed up at the doorstep of Lady Brook like the whale delivering up Jonah.”

  Everyone fell silent for a long while, then a general burst of laughter ensued. Even Mrs. Kidmarsh, grateful that her son had survived the blaze, smiled weakly. There was hope for her yet.

  “Sir Jaspar is coming round,” Marianne said. At these happy words, everyone moved quickly to group around him. “You took a toss from your carriage,” Marianne explained to the dazed knight, who sat up quite suddenly.

  “There was a deer,” he murmured, rubbing his head and neck. “Good God, are my horses all right?”

  “Is that all that concerns you?” Marianne asked, leaning back on her heels, her knees still sunk into the grass.

  He blinked up at her, and his expression became quite sardonic. “Oh, ‘tis you,” he murmured. “I suppose you mean to chide me. Well, to answer your question, why wouldn’t I be concerned for my horses? I paid a fortune for them at Tattersall’s.”

  “Spoken like a nabob,” she stated. “Have you no interest in knowing whether you killed anyone in your ridiculous flight?”

  His lids narrowed and his smile took on a challenging edge. “I have little doubt that had I committed even the smallest infraction, nonetheless murder, you would have already informed me of it, am I right, Miss Marianne?”

  She harrumphed and lifted her chin. She tried to rise graciously to her feet, but since she was still clothed in her nightdress, she step
ped on the hem and tottered awkwardly before regaining her balance.

  He had the audacity to laugh at her. “Never try to make an elegant exit in a mobcap, Miss Marianne. ‘Twill never do, you know.”

  She glared at him and pushed her way from the crowd as Sir Jaspar gained his feet. He complained of a little dizziness, but otherwise seemed fairly unaffected by his accident.

  The odd circumstance of two more accidents occurring on Lady Brook’s lawn was suddenly overshadowed by an ominous creaking and groaning sound. Constance’s attention, as well as everyone else’s, was suddenly drawn to the smoking building, which collapsed in a heap. Only several partial fireplaces remained to show the original design of the structure.

  Augusta summed up the sentiments of her family. “Dear, dear Lady Brook,” she murmured sadly. “So many things lost, never to be recovered again.”

  “Indeed,” Constance murmured. But in the deepest place of her heart she wondered if this was not such a very bad thing after all.

  ***

  Epilogue

  Seated in the gold and crimson drawing room at the Priory, Constance marveled again at how much a brigade of servants had accomplished in so short a time. The Priory had been abandoned for many years, and though there were numerous areas of the house that needed to be refinished and re-plastered, a coat of paint and fresh wall dressings had worked wonders for the dilapidated mansion. Of course, the elegant presentation of the rooms was naturally heightened by the fine furniture and draperies Sir Jaspar had brought back with him from India.