So by the time they reached her room, she knew her cheeks were quite pinker and her breath quite faster than they should be.
He put her carefully on the bed and smiled down at her. “Perhaps a nap would be in order before dinner.”
“Yes.” Now why had she said that? She was not feeling the least bit tired. She’d only come back to her room because he suggested it.
She felt his touch, featherlight, as he smoothed back a curl on her forehead. And then he was gone.
The minute the door closed behind him she regretted her acquiescence. Here she was, wide awake and fall of energy—and forced to lie abed like some invalid. It was quite annoying.
Chapter Five
Aurelia was still annoyed a long time later when a slight creaking sound turned her attention to the door. It opened very slowly and Phoebe peered around it.
“Oh, do come in!” Aurelia cried. “Please. I am quite beside myself with boredom.”
Phoebe advanced to the bed. “Perhaps I should not bother you. Ranfield said you were sleeping.”
Aurelia shook her head. “He suggested that I nap, but I could not. I have already rested for so long.” She picked at the coverlet. “I am not used to doing nothing.”
Phoebe nodded. “I suspected as much. So I brought you some books to read.”
Aurelia took the proffered volumes. “The Dark Stranger. Oh, thank you. And a new book, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I hope I have time to finish it before I must leave.”
“Leave!” Phoebe’s face reflected alarm. “You cannot leave!”
Aurelia smiled sadly. “Phoebe, I’m afraid I must. Uncle Arthur and Harold will be coming for me. We’ll have to return to London.”
Phoebe dragged a zebrawood chair to the bed. “I don’t believe you shall be returning to the city.”
“You don’t?”
Lowering her voice, Phoebe looked rather anxiously toward the door. “You see, you are the answer to my prayers.”
“I am? Why?”
Phoebe’s forehead wrinkled. “I have been so dreadfully lonely here. Mama reads nothing but Scripture. Why, if it were not for Ranfield’s library, I should have long ago gone mad.”
At the mention of his name, Aurelia felt herself coloring. What an extraordinary effect the man had on her.
“His lordship buys romances for you?” she asked.
Phoebe nodded, her eyes again on the door. “He tells Mama they are for him. She can’t disapprove of him, of course. And he does read them sometimes. I know—for we talk about them.”
The prospect of daily discussion with the Earl, and over such an interesting topic, left Aurelia wishing herself in Phoebe’s slippers. She heaved a giant sigh. “That must be quite interesting.”
“It is.” Phoebe’s eyes took on a speculative light. “What do you think of Ranfield?”
“I ... He .. .” Aurelia found it difficult to go on. Thinking about the Earl made her heart behave in a most peculiar fashion. Speaking about him was even more difficult.
Phoebe smiled. “Aurelia, you aren’t ... You haven’t ... That is, could you possibly have conceived a tendre for Ranfield?”
The question left Aurelia almost as breathless as the Earl did. “A tendre for Ranfield? I truly don’t know.”
The two looked at each other.
Aurelia sighed again. “I have been feeling most peculiar lately.”
Phoebe considered this. “Since your accident?”
“Well, actually since that day in the park.”
Phoebe’s mouth fell open. “What day in the park? Oh, do tell me.”
“The day Harold introduced me to his lordship.”
Phoebe pleated the material of her gown and looked thoughtful. “And has your heart been palpitating?”
Aurelia frowned. “Hearts do not really palpi-- Oh, Phoebe, they do! At least, mine does. Do you really think ... ?”
Phoebe nodded. “I’m afraid it sounds suspiciously like love.”
Aurelia’s heart gave several lively jumps. “Love? But Phoebe, I know nothing of love.”
Phoebe’s sigh echoed through the room. “Nor I. But oh, I should like to. I should very much like to.” She clasped Aurelia’s hand. “Just think, when you and Ranfield marry, we shall be cousins.”
“M-marry?” Aurelia repeated. “But surely if his lordship wanted a wife, he would have chosen one by now.”
Phoebe looked thoughtful. “He’s three and thirty. He’s had plenty of time.”
“Then perhaps he does not mean to many.”
Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “Impossible. He must marry and provide an heir.”
“Still ...”
“No.” Phoebe smiled. “It’s actually quite obvious. The man needs a wife.”
“But ...”
“No ‘buts,’ “ said Phoebe, in a tone so like Ranfield’s that Aurelia dissolved into laughter.
When she could speak again, she shook her head. “Phoebe, we should not build dream castles like this.”
“And why not?”
“Well, dream castles are so unreal. After all, we have no indication that his lordship ...” She faltered. “That is, he has been most kind, but perhaps he has a liking in another direction.”
Phoebe considered this. “I think not. He has made no mention of hanging out for a wife.”
Aurelia bethought herself of the Earl’s meeting with Alvanley. “Is there someone named Annette?”
Phoebe shook her head. “I know no one of that name. Ranfield wouldn’t marry without telling us.”
“But Phoebe, dear, you still forget. I’ll be going back to London.”
Phoebe shook her head. “You must not. You must stay and marry Ranfield. Oh, Aurelia, it will be above all marvelous. You and I deal so famously together already.”
“Yes, we do. But isn’t it more important ... ? That is, shouldn’t the Earl and I ... ?”
“Shouldn’t the Earl and you what?” came his voice from the doorway.
Aurelia jumped, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. Her mind went a perfect blank. “I ...” His coming in so unexpectedly had cast her into a regular flutter. She could not think. She could not speak. She could scarcely breathe. But she did have enough presence of mind to look at Phoebe.
And, blessedly, Phoebe sprang into the breach. “Shouldn’t Aurelia and you talk about ballooning,” she explained.
How resourceful Phoebe was. Aurelia felt her wits returning. “Yes,” she said. “I was afraid that perhaps I had bent your ear too much. Earlier when we were discussing air flight.”
“Of course you did not.” The Earl advanced into the room. “As I told you, I am much interested in ballooning.”
What a fine figure of a man he made. His coat fit so smoothly across his shoulders, his fawn inexpressibles showed not a single wrinkle, and his Wellingtons gleamed in the spring sun.
Her heart was palpitating. Could Phoebe be right? Could these strange feelings mean that she had, at last, met a man who could make her think seriously of matrimony?
The thought was disconcerting, especially with him standing right there, bigger than life. And oh so handsome.
“I came to check on you. To see if you were still resting. But since I find you awake, I’ll just leave you to Phoebe’s company till dinner.”
He surveyed her carefully. “You’re looking rather flushed,” he remarked. “Are you sure you’re not coming down with a fever?”
“Oh no, milord. I feel quite well.”
She could hardly tell him that her high color was the direct result of his presence. But she was quite certain he was the cause.
He came toward the bed and put a hand to her forehead. His touch was gentle, tender. Like a mother’s. Except that no mother’s touch had ever set a heart to such insane fluttering.
“No,” he said thoughtfully. “You don’t feel feverish.”
He turned to Phoebe. “If she seems tired, you will see that she rests.”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll see you both at dinner.”
Aurelia stared after his departing figure, her mind a veritable chaos of thoughts.
There was silence for several moments after his departure. Then Phoebe turned back to the bed. “Well?”
“I ... I think perhaps you are right. I seem to have conceived a partiality for the Earl.”
Phoebe’s smile was ecstatic. “Oh, this is so romantic.”
Aurelia was still not convinced. “But Phoebe dear, these are my feelings. Not his lordship’s.”
Phoebe shook her head. “Oh, but I saw how he looked at you! With longing in his eyes. Just like the dark stranger looked at Corrinne.”
A modicum of sense still remained to Aurelia, but it was being rapidly reduced by visions of herself on Ranfield’s arm. Still, she tried hard to be sensible. “He has only been kind to me.”
“Kind!” Phoebe’s snort was very like her mother’s. “Kind needn’t include carrying you about like that. Or checking your forehead for a fever.”
“Phoebe!”
“It’s plain as the nose on your face,” Phoebe declared. “He’s taken with you.”
Aurelia sighed. “Oh, if only that were true.” To be wife to Ranfield—the picture was so enchanting she lost herself in it.
But she was not a green girl. Common sense had not entirely deserted her. “Oh, Phoebe, it simply won’t wash. Your cousin is merely being kind. He has no romantic interest in me.”
Phoebe frowned. “Then we shall see that he does.”
“We shall?”
“Of course.”
Aurelia frowned. “But Phoebe, I thought ... That is, shouldn’t the woman wait for the man to fix his interest on her?”
Phoebe frowned and went to pleating her gown again. “Perhaps. But what if he doesn’t?”
“I don’t know. I know nothing of dangling after men. And as you said, you are equally ignorant.”
“I know.” Absently, Phoebe picked up the copy of The Dark Stranger and tapped it impatiently against her palm. “How to do it?” she mused. “How to ... ?”
And then, looking down, she smiled. “Aurelia! That’s it. It’s all here!”
The quick succession of emotions had left Aurelia bewildered. Could it have also affected her ability to comprehend? “I don’t understand.”
“It’s all here!” Phoebe repeated. “In Lady Incognita’s book. Aurelia, think. Doesn’t the dark stranger fall in love with Corrine?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, we’ll just see how she did it. And then we’ll do the same.”
“But Phoebe, The Dark Stranger is not life.”
“But did it not strike you as so real ...?”
“Yes, but we have no ruined abbeys, no ghosts, no ... And besides, Uncle Arthur will be coming.”
Phoebe frowned. “Do you want Ranfield to dangle after you or do you not?” she demanded.
In the face of such a question Aurelia could only breathe a heartfelt, “Oh, yes, I do.”
“Then we must use what we have. And what we have is The Dark Stranger.” Phoebe smiled. “We’ll find a way to keep you here.”
“Bat ...” Phoebe’s reasoning seemed faulty, somehow. Still, she was so insistent. And perhaps ... Who was to say that she was wrong? “All right,” Aurelia agreed, finally capitulating.
Phoebe shoved the book into her hands. “Here. Read. When we come upon something that brought them together, we’ll mark it.”
Her eyes glittered. “We’ll write it all out. We’ll make it work.”
Part of Aurelia still objected, but it was a small part, and growing smaller. She opened the book and began to read. “A dark cloud covered the face of the gibbous moon as though to hide from mankind’s shocked sight the heinous deeds about to be perpetrated. Corrinne’s tender heart quivered ...”
Downstairs in his library, the Earl of Ranfield relaxed in a rosewood chair. His long legs stretched out in front of him, he contemplated the Turner landscape over the mantel. But he did not really see its brilliant recreations of sunlight and storm.
Those two upstairs had not been talking about ballooning when he chanced into the room. That little quiver of Phoebe’s bottom lip had always signaled falsehood. But what had they been discussing? And how had they so quickly become close?
He sighed. Better to ask some questions he could answer. Questions of himself. Why, for instance, had the coming of Aurelia Amesley made such a difference in his life? It had been a reasonably content life—besides the work of his estate, he’d had the theater, the balls, the pretty ladies—dark willowy ladies with classic features. And life had been pleasant with all its little fripperies. Of course, he hadn’t considered them fripperies, then. Before Aurelia Amesley came along, disturbing everything.
She was such a sobersides, so serious-minded. Always thinking about air flight. She was short and fair, and her features, though pleasant enough, were far from classic. She didn’t flatter him. Or coo at him. Or practice any of the feminine arts on him. In sober fact she treated him exactly as she did her cousin. Or her uncle. Why then did having her around make him feel younger, smarter, happier ...?
He muttered a curse. He’d better find out. And soon. His messenger would have reached London by now. And, unless he much missed his guess, Harold and his father would shortly be arriving at the estate.
They would load up their beloved balloon, put Aurelia and her injured ankle in a carriage, and make a rapid return to London. And he would be left behind—a most unhappy man.
He leapt to his feet and began pacing the patterned Persian rug. Obviously, the return trip to London must be delayed. He couldn’t let her go back there—not yet. Not until he had discovered ...
Discovered what? He’d only known the chit a few days. She was a merchant’s daughter, not of the ton, ill equipped to live in it. Even more ill equipped man Mama had been. She was not a proper wife for an earl. Not at all.
Muttering another choice expression, he kicked the fireplace fender. Damnation! What did he care about the likes and dislikes of the ton? About what was proper? He’d always done as he pleased. And if he ever actually contemplated getting leg-shackled, it would be to a woman he could countenance living with—and loving. What the ton said didn’t matter.
He turned and paced the other direction. Wasn’t he a man of some intelligence? Why then, he would find a way to keep them in Dover. At least until he had discovered whether or not Aurelia Amesley was the one.
He smiled and turned toward the door. The place to start was the balloon. He would go have a look at it.
Chapter Six
By Sunday afternoon the inhabitants of the Dover estate had each made plans for the future. Cousin Prudence had marshaled a vast array of Scripture explicitly designed to point out to Aurelia Amesley the error of her ways in regard to air flight and was waiting only for the opportune moment to launch her campaign.
The Earl, having put his mind to the task at hand, had spent the previous day supervising the cleaning and refurbishing of an old shed and sending out messengers in sundry directions.
And Aurelia and Phoebe, their quills busily scratching, had read and reread The Dark Stranger and were making lists and more lists.
“So,” said Phoebe as Aurelia reclined on her bed after their late nuncheon. “The Plan is ready. Now all we have to do is put it in motion.”
Aurelia nodded. Her previous anxieties had been forgotten in the furor of their preparations. Now she was committed, completely and irrevocably, to The Plan.
They spoke of it that way—with capital letters and in hoarse whispers—as though to say the words aloud would immediately bring them to Ranfield’s ears. If only they had time to consummate it.
“So, the first thing ...” Phoebe consulted her list, “is a runaway horse.”
“Yes. I do not ride, but ...”
“Don’t tell him that,” Phoebe warned. “He’ll never let you on a horse at all.”
“I know. But how shall I contri
ve it?” She turned to Phoebe. “Do you ride?”
“Only a little.” Phoebe laughed. “But you must convince him that you’re a better rider than I am.”
“Why?”
“Because he always gives me old Strawberry. And nothing could make that horse run away.”
Aurelia nodded. “Then I must ask for a more spirited animal. Is it difficult, riding?”
“Oh no, it’s great fun. What I should like is a real rousing gallop—on a horse like Ranfield’s mare. But he won’t let me up on her.”
A brisk knock sounded on the door they had taken to keeping closed since the inception of The Plan.
“Come in,” Aurelia called.
Cousin Prudence entered. “The Earl will be coming up shortly,” she reported. “He means to carry you to the library. Says he has acquired a new book he wants to show you.”
Aurelia and Phoebe exchanged glances. Perhaps a new romance would tell them more about how to proceed.
Cousin Prudence snorted and pushed her spectacles back up her nose. She fixed her daughter with a baleful eye. “I hope the man has not brought another of those dreadful volumes into this house. They will degrade your pure characters.”
Aurelia swallowed a laugh and kept her eyes away from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein where it lay upon the table. Cousin Prudence would definitely not find the story of a man created from parts of the dead appropriate for their pure characters.
“Now, Mama,” Phoebe said, giving that worthy personage a sweet smile. “We attended chapel this morning. We cannot read Scripture all the time, you know.”
Cousin Prudence snorted again. “Perhaps not. But you could read it a great deal more than you do.” And she bustled out.
Phoebe shook her head. “Poor Mama. I think she would prefer a pasty-faced hymn-singer for a daughter rather than me.”
Aurelia laughed. “But I should not want you to be like that. I like you just the way you are.” She smoothed the gown of blue sarcenet that Phoebe had chosen for her because it set off her hair. Would Ranfield notice it? Would he ... ?
A Heart in Flight Page 5
