A Heart in Flight

by Nina Coombs Pykare

“Oh, it is lovely!”

  The Earl smiled. “We shall have to go on foot from here.” He stepped down and offered her his gloved hand.

  When she put her fingers in his, it happened again. That pleasant, breathless sensation stole over her.

  He led her toward the cliffs. “The Pirates’ Cave is down there,” he said. “Do you think you can manage the path?”

  It was rather a steep path, but Phoebe, who had been there before, had suggested walking boots. “Oh, yes,” Aurelia said. “My ankle is quite healed and I am eager to see where the pirates come.”

  Harold’s face took on a peculiar expression. “I take it there’s no likelihood of pirates using the caves now.” He sent a cherishing glance at Phoebe. “After all, we got to think of the ladies.”

  The Earl smiled. “Put your heart at ease, Harold. These were pirates of long ago. It’s possible smugglers may use the caves. But certainly not in daylight.”

  He offered Aurelia his hand. “May I help you down the path?”

  For a second she hesitated. She wanted to take his hand, and the reason to do so was legitimate. It was just that he made her so breathless. And somehow, when she was around him ... These accidents kept . . .

  She put her hand in his. This time she would do something without mishap. The Earl had been seeing her through far too many scrapes.

  Halfway down, her boot twisted on a pebble, and she was brought up hard against him. For a terrible second she had visions of them both tumbling, head over heels, down the rocky path. But his grip was firm, and he steadied her until she recovered her balance.

  She would have regained it far quicker if her hand had not chanced to land against his brocaded waistcoat where it felt, quite distinctly, the beating of his heart. And then, when she naturally gazed up into his eyes, she caught a look that set her own heart leaping about in the most frightful fashion.

  It took her several moments, but slowly she pulled her eyes away and resumed her descent. They reached the bottom with no further ado, there to find Phoebe and Harold waiting. Those two, gazing at each other, seemed to emit a glow that rivaled the sunshine on the waves.

  The sand was soft under her boots, making it difficult to walk. But the Earl tucked her arm through his. “This way,” he said, rounding a huge wet boulder.

  The caves were dark—damp and musty. “When the tide comes in, the water covers the entrance.”

  Phoebe shivered dramatically and drew closer to Harold. Aurelia noticed he did not move away.

  “Tell them the story, Ranfield,” Phoebe urged. “It’s so deliciously dreadful.”

  The Earl shook his head, and his laughter rumbled out, echoing in the caves. “Very well, my bloodthirsty cousin.”

  His gaze returned to Aurelia. “Pirates used to rendezvous here.” He pointed into the gloom. “They stored their booty high up in the caves, where the water couldn’t reach.”

  Aurelia looked at the narrow paths along the ledges. “Can we go back there?”

  “If we are careful.” He took her hand and drew her after him, up the ledge and then along it. Phoebe and Harold followed.

  The farther they got from the patch of sunlight that marked the entrance, the less Aurelia liked it. But she didn’t intend to let the Earl know. Lady Incognita’s heroines braved untold dangers to be with their men. She covered a smile. Perhaps that accounted for their so often having to be rescued.

  Finally, they reached the farther recesses of the cave. It was not a particularly pleasant spot—dark and dank and with a chill that cut into the bones.

  “The story,” Phoebe repeated, her eyes glowing in the gloom. “Finish the story.”

  “Patience, my dear. Give me a moment.” Ranfield frowned. Strange how Phoebe liked such frightening things. He’d read some of those romances of terror she adored—and they could be quite disturbing.

  But he couldn’t imagine Aurelia—he savored the sound of her name even in his mind—being afraid of anything. After all, it took a great deal of nerve to go aloft in a wicker basket. And all alone like that.

  “Ranfield! The story.”

  He discovered them all staring at him. “Yes, yes. Of course. The story goes that one of the pirates was wounded. His mates wouldn’t take him to a doctor— afraid of getting caught, I suppose. So they left him here to die.”

  “Proper conduct for pirates, no doubt,” said Harold, with an obvious attempt at humor.

  “Quite so,” Ranfield agreed.

  Phoebe flashed him a glance. “The story. Finish the story.”

  “Well, the story goes that the next time they were leaving here, a hand came up out of the water and overturned the boat.” He paused to let Phoebe enjoy the horror of it. “All but one of the crew managed to reach a ledge and crawl out. But that one vanished.”

  “Vanished,” Phoebe whispered. “The dead man took his revenge.”

  Harold frowned. His voice boomed in the small space. “Really, my dear. Dead men do not overturn boats.”

  Phoebe frowned. She was not to be cheated of her terror. “This one did. There’s more to the story, too. Every time the pirates came back, their boat was overturned and another crew member vanished.” She shivered. “After they lost four, no one would come here any more.”

  The two young women exchanged glances and smiled. Ranfield frowned. What were those two up to now? “Come,” he said. “It’s time for our lunch.”

  * * * *

  “It was a delightful afternoon.” Aurelia looked to Phoebe as they entered the room and cast their bonnets upon a lyre-back chair.

  Phoebe nodded. “Yes, but I am not a patient person. Mr. Amesley has now known me above two weeks. When will he ask the question?”

  “Phoebe, dear.” Aurelia tried for a patience she herself didn’t feel. “We must give them time. Picking a life partner is not to be done hastily.”

  Phoebe sighed. “I know. It’s just that when he looks at me in that way ... Oh, I do so long to be Mrs. Harold Amesley!”

  “And you shall. I’m certain of it.” Aurelia could not forebear a little smile. Phoebe’s sighs were overly dramatic. “I know Harold. He will come to the sticking point. But he is very shy. Just give him time.”

  “Time!” Phoebe cried. “Time is passing me by!”

  Aurelia could not help it. She broke into laughter.

  “My best friend,” Phoebe intoned. “And she laughs at my heartbreak.”

  Aurelia swallowed a giggle. “Harold is as steady as they come,” she said. “He would never break your heart.”

  “I know.” Phoebe smiled wistfully. “But I do wish he would hurry.” She took a turn around the room. “If only we had some sort of villain from whom he could rescue me. That did the trick for Corrinne.”

  “Phoebe, there are no villains here. No pirates. No smugglers.”

  Phoebe’s eyes danced. “But if there were ...”

  “I’m sure Harold would do his best. But you would not really want to put him in danger.”

  “No, no. Of course not.” She giggled. “Perhaps ...”

  By now Aurelia knew that look. “Phoebe Esterhill, what are you thinking?”

  “Nothing, nothing. Only perhaps I shall go for a horseback ride.”

  Aurelia smiled. “That will not serve, my dear. Harold does not ride.”

  Phoebe frowned. “Well, then, we’ll have to think of something else.”

  “We?”

  “We,” Phoebe replied firmly. “After all, we’re in this thing together.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning the four of them stood in a circle surveying the mounding pile of silk that had become Ranfield’s balloon and the wicker basket that would hang beneath it.

  Aurelia had to admit that it was a competent rig— for hot air. And, of course, hot air was much more economical, especially for short hops such as they had planned.

  Phoebe looked at Harold and widened her eyes in alarm. “It’s such a small basket,” she cried. “How can one ascend into the he
avens in ... in a basket?”

  It was much too exaggerated an alarm. Aurelia wished she had thought to warn Phoebe against carrying her fear so far. But Harold was too enamored even to notice. And the Earl, who might have been expected to be more aware, only looked a little thoughtful.

  Stepping closer, Harold took Phoebe’s hand in his and patted it comfortingly. “There’s nothing to be frightened of, my dear,” he said. “The gondola is quite sturdy.”

  Aurelia swallowed her laughter. How could Harold be so gullible? Why didn’t he wonder when Phoebe, who had been dying to go aloft, suddenly became so fearful?

  But Harold seemed completely taken in. He turned to the Earl in what was obviously an attempt to divert Phoebe’s thoughts to more pleasant matters. “How do you plan to decorate your rig, Ranny? As I recall reading, Blanchard’s balloon was of brilliant blue and gold. And his gondola was spangled blue.” He smiled. “It must have been a marvelous sight.”

  The Earl laughed. She loved the sound of his laughter. Perhaps because it reminded her of those magical moments in the middle of the stream.

  “No doubt,” he said. “But I am not a showman. My interests are purely scientific. So I’m afraid my balloon will be plain silk, and the gondola will remain plain wicker.”

  Harold shook his head. “Too bad. Monsieur Blanchard was a man of science, too. But he understood the value of spectacle. Papa always says ...”

  Uncle Arthur came from around the corner. “What does Papa always say?”

  “That if you want people to support scientific advancements like air flight, you’ve got to give them a show.”

  Uncle Arthur beamed. “Quite right, my boy. Quite right.” He turned to Aurelia. “So, my dear, are you ready to try out the Earl’s balloon?”

  “Oh yes. Of course.” These last days her thoughts had been so entangled with the Earl that she had almost forgotten the glory of flight. Indeed, sometimes getting The Plan to work seemed even more important than going aloft. But that could not really be so. Air flight was her life. She was glad to be going up, even if it was in a montgolfière and not their hydrogen balloon.

  Uncle Arthur turned to the Earl. “Everything looks good. If it’s all right with you, we’ll have it carted out to the meadow and go up after lunch. It won’t take long to get the brazier going. It’s not like producing hydrogen gas, you know. That takes long hours.”

  Ranfield nodded and kept his face calm. He’d been anticipating this event for some days now—and not with joy. The thought of Aurelia ascending skyward, without him beside her, gave him a decidedly uneasy feeling. He did not voice it, however, but contented himself with asking, in as steady a voice as he could muster, “Harold’s going up, too?”

  “Oh yes,” her uncle said. “Aurelia has promised not to go up alone.”

  The Earl nodded. He supposed he would have to be satisfied with that. At least Harold was a sound man, sensible, not given to taking chances.

  And then Harold said, “I don’t have my aeronautical outfit along.”

  “Outfit?” Phoebe inquired. The chit was hanging on Harold’s every word. It must be most gratifying. Now if Aurelia would ...

  “Yes,” Harold replied. “When I go up, I usually wear a scarlet coat, decorated with gold braid. And a red feather in my beaver.”

  The Earl suppressed a shudder. The great Beau Brummel’s dictum of simplicity had obviously left no mark on Harold. “Isn’t that a trifle ... gaudy?”

  Harold shrugged. “Men of science are above such considerations. The great Blanchard himself wore a tight blue suit.” He grinned. “To match his balloon, no doubt. And a cocked hat set off with white feathers. I imagine he was quite a sight.”

  “Quite.”

  Shortly after lunch they arrived at the meadow. Aurelia’s heart lifted as she caught sight of the balloon, tugging gently at its tethers. She was going to fly again! It hardly seemed possible that Uncle Arthur had reversed his decision. But it was true.

  As the Earl busied himself tying the horses, she turned to her uncle. “When can we take the Earl up?”

  Uncle Arthur rubbed his bald pate. “Better let Harold show him the ropes.”

  Her heart dropped faster than a bag of sand ballast. “But Uncle, you said ...” Something seemed to have lodged in her throat. It was so difficult to talk.

  Uncle Arthur frowned. “I know, I said you could go up. But not alone.”

  “But she won’t be alone.”

  She had not seen the Earl come round the carriage, but there he stood. “I’m sure Miss Amesley knows everything there is to know about ballooning.”

  She held her breath. She wanted this so much ... to have him beside her up there.

  “Really, sir,” he went on. “Miss Amesley strikes me as a most sensible young woman. And you have surely taught her everything she needs to know.”

  He smiled. How, Aurelia wondered, could the same smile have such different effects on people? Surely it didn’t make Uncle Arthur go weak in the knees or start his heart to palpitating.

  That thought made her swallow a smile. She much doubted if anything except ballooning had ever made Uncle Arthur’s heart beat harder.

  But, however different the smile’s effect, it did its work. Uncle Arthur rubbed his pate once more and said, “Well, I suppose that would be all right. Next time. After all, Aurelia’s as smart as they come.”

  This unexpected compliment nearly numbed her. Imagine Uncle Arthur saying a thing like that!

  The Earl extended his hand to her. His eyes were sparkling, almost as though he knew how pleased she was feeling. “May I help you down?”

  Minutes later, she and Harold were standing in the gondola.

  “A short flight now,” Uncle Arthur said. “There’s plenty of straw for the brazier, but I don’t want you to go flying away.”

  He directed a look at Aurelia that made her want to lower her head. Instead she nodded. “I understand, Uncle. We shall be very careful.”

  “Good. Then cast off.”

  The lines fell away. Aurelia, sending a last look at the Earl, saw him frowning. Now what was wrong? She sighed. Any number of things could be bothering him. She could only hope that this one didn’t have to do with her—or with ballooning.

  In truth, Ranfield was giving himself a good scold. The very idea of an Earl becoming enamored of a female aeronaut! He must have bats in his attic.

  His father would be whirling in his grave. And Mama ... Ranfield’s frown turned into a smile. Mama would have asked about his feelings. Mama always got down to the important things.

  “Oh,” said Phoebe, from her place beside him. “Flying looks so wonderful. And Aurelia ...”

  He turned to his cousin. “You like Aurelia, don’t you, Phoebe?”

  She stared at him. “Like her? Oh, I do indeed. I wish, I wish she were my sister. I wish the Amesleys need never ever leave here.”

  “I see.” He was a little taken back by her vehemence. But then, she obviously had a tendre for Harold.

  She was gazing at him so intently, almost as though she expected him to make a comment. Or to reassure her that the Amesleys would stay on. But he curbed his tongue. As close as Phoebe was to Aurelia, he dared not say what he was thinking.

  So he turned his gaze skyward again—and immediately wished he hadn’t. The balloon was going higher and higher. He watched it become smaller and smaller. And found himself gritting his teeth.

  Why did he have to feel as he did about Aurelia Amesley? Why, in all his years on the town, hadn’t he been taken by a sweet young thing, suitably blooded and educated, reared to be an Earl’s wife?

  Because, said a mocking voice that sounded remarkably like his own, such a woman was dreadfully boring. Often empty-headed and, oftener still, entirely lacking in any redeeming values, except perhaps, innocence.

  And if innocence were to be a criterion, Aurelia Amesley would score as high as any. The truth was that Aurelia scored high in all the qualities he found preferable in a wife.
Except for her exasperating proclivity for accidents, she comported herself well. And she could learn what was necessary to get along in the city.

  He smiled to himself. He suspected that with Aurelia as his spouse, life in the country would take on new enticements. And, his eyes still on the balloon, he fell to considering these.

  He was still considering, when the balloon came floating back down and the men ran to grab the tether ropes. Harold leaped out, grinning widely. He pumped Ranfield’s hand. “It’s great, Ranny. Wait’ll you get up there.”

  Aurelia’s cheeks were pink, and her eyes shone with a glory Ranfield wished he’d been the cause of.

  “Oh,” she breathed, leaning over the gondola toward him. “It’s the most glorious thing. There are no words to describe it.”

  He felt a distinct pang of jealousy. He’d seen women with that glow before. But never over a balloon.

  She turned to her uncle. “Please, sir. The air currents are quite stable. Can’t the Earl go up a little?”

  Her uncle hesitated and Ranfield stepped forward. If she wanted him to go up in a balloon, he would go up in a balloon. “Just a short ride, Mr. Amesley. Surely that can come to no harm. I promise you, we won’t go far.”

  Amesley’s hand went to his bald pate, and he glanced at the sky. “I suppose it will be all right. Just be careful.”

  Ranfield nodded and swung himself into the basket. It moved slightly under his feet—a curious sensation.

  “Ready?” asked Harold from his post by the rope.

  “Ready,” Aurelia replied and then looked to Ranfield. “That is ...”

  “You’re the captain of this expedition,” he replied. “Just tell me what to do.”

  She took him at his word. No fluttering lashes, no simpering looks. Just orders.

  “A little straw on the brazier. Just a little. That’s it. All right, Harold. We’re ready.”

  Slowly the balloon rose. Ranfield sucked in his breath. He had forgotten the wonder of it. Of seeing everything grow smaller and smaller and yet being able to see more and more.

  Beside him, Aurelia smiled and gazed out over the countryside. “Isn’t it marvelous?”