Lady Flora's Fantasy

by Shirley Kennedy

  Lady Rensley called, "Flora, Amy, get back to the bathing machine this instant."

  Mrs. Duffy declared, "Time to get out of the water, ladies."

  Flora protested, as did Amy, but the old woman was adamant. "Twenty minutes is more than enough for your first time."

  As Flora and Amy climbed back up the ladder, Mrs. Duffy's gaze swung to Lord Dashwood, who still stood watching on the beach. "Off with you now. If you want to meet the young ladies you had best attend the ball tonight."

  "Indeed I shall," he called, flashing his charming smile before he turned and started away, hastening to catch up to his friend.

  Back inside the bathing machine, as Mrs. Duffy toweled them both with vigor, Flora asked, "What ball is that, Mrs. Duffy?"

  "The ball that everyone who is anyone attends. Especially whatever nobility 'appens to be in town, such as Lord Dashwood and his friend, Lord Lynd."

  "I cannot understand why you were so nice to them, Mrs. Duffy." Lady Rensley looked down her nose at the Queen of Dippers with disdain. "They were rude and not dressed properly. I am flabbergasted you'd even speak to them."

  Mrs. Duffy appeared unfazed. "Rude or not, 'e's Richard Prescott, Viscount Dashwood. 'E don't have money of his own, but 'e's heir presumptive to the estate of Charles Fraser, Earl of Dinsmore. Only a distant cousin, I believe, but his lordship has no sons."

  Lady Rensley look impressed. "You mean Lord Dinsmore, the Hero of Seedaseer?"

  "The very same," answered Mrs. Duffy. "So Lord Dashwood ain't only handsome and titled, some day soon 'e's going to be filthy rich besides. So, m'lady, if I was you, I wouldn't be too picky about a fine catch like 'im bein' on the wrong section of the beach."

  "Well!" Lady Rensley's mouth dropped open, but she quickly closed it and looked thoughtful. "So he'll be at the ball tonight...you are planning to go, were you not, Amy?"

  "I suppose," Amy answered in her hesitant way. "Though I know I shall sit in a corner all evening and no one will ask me to dance."

  "Nonsense." Lady Rensley looked toward her older daughter. "You, too, of course, although I note your enthusiasm for balls seems to have waned of late."

  How true, thought Flora.

  As the wagon jolted back toward shore, Flora awkwardly changed from her bathing costume to her purple bathing dress, trimmed with green, and her green and white slippers that matched the dress. "I must say, Lord Dashwood is quite handsome," she murmured softly.

  "Do you hear that, Mama?" said Amy. "Flora's actually interested in a man."

  "Humph!" answered Lady Rensley, "I shall believe it when I see it. I have yet to see her even begin to lose her heart to a suitor."

  But there is always a first time, Mama. Flora drifted into her princess-in-the-sea fantasy again, only this time the arrogant pirate with the cutlass at his waist had hair the color of burnished gold, dazzling white teeth, and a smile so captivating she didn't know how she could ever resist.

  Back on shore, as they began their drive to their summer home, the Brighton Comet from London came rumbling past with a great jangling. Flora watched in awe and waved to the coachman who sat atop, whip held high over the four-horse team, bedecked in a white beaver hat and a box cloth coat with a posy in his button hole. "Wo-ho! So-ho!" he called as he passed by.

  Flora watched in awe. Ah, to be a coachman on a highflyer. Nothing in the world could be more exciting...

  Whip in hand, she sits at ease atop the crack flying machine as it rattles through the ill-paved streets and approaches the inn. The bugle plays a lively air as she turns into the courtyard. Slowing, with easy skill she undoes the buckle which keeps the ribbons together. The second the coach stops, she throws the ribbons off with a flourish. "Bravo," calls Lord Dashwood, who happens to be standing in the courtyard. "You're as good as any man!" Oblivious to the applause and admiring stares of the crowd, she climbs down, keenly aware of admiring eyes upon her...

  Oops. Flora caught herself, inwardly amused she'd gone from princess-in-the-sea to dashing coachman...well, coachwoman...in but a twinkling.

  Imagination was a wonderful thing. Not very practical though. Thank heavens no one could read her mind.

  * * * *

  Wait up, Sidney," Richard called as he hastened across the rocks and sand to where Sidney Bruxton, Lord Lynd, was fast retreating from the beach with purposeful strides. "Are you angry?" he asked as he drew parallel.

  Sidney turned his head and drilled Richard with a look that was long, dark, and silent.

  "But see here," Richard continued, "I was only flirting a bit, which is something you might try instead of being so damnably serious most of the time."

  Sidney remained silent.

  "Oh, very well, then. Since it appears I've upset you, I promise I shan't disturb the ladies while they're bathing. God forbid I should break one of society's silly rules."

  Sidney gave a snort. "Do you honestly think I give a groat about the rules? I left because I didn't care to be a part of your fawning performance. It was painful, seeing you preen like a conceited rooster before two young ladies who could not have cared less."

  "Not care?" Feigning puzzlement, Richard touched one well-manicured finger to a golden eyebrow, shook his head and grinned. "You know what a catch I am, Sidney. Despite my social faux pas, I'd wager both those chits will be at the ball tonight, dying to be introduced."

  Sidney stopped and turned to face his friend, thick brows over wide-set brown eyes drawn together in disgust. "You have such conceit, Richard. I cannot imagine why I put up with you."

  "Because we've been friends since childhood," Richard answered as they started walking again, his mouth curving into that charming, irresistible grin that Sidney knew so well. "And because I'm witty, entertaining, delightful to be with, and aside from all that, I saved your life."

  Sidney rolled his eyes skyward. "Must I forever be reminded?"

  "How quickly we forget."

  Of course I have not forgotten, Sidney thought glumly. The events of that long ago winter day were etched forever in his memory. He and Richard were eight when it happened. They had foolishly been crossing the thin ice of a pond in the woods when Sidney plunged into the freezing water. Young though he was, Richard had not gone screaming for help. He realized time was precious, so instead, with great presence of mind for a lad so young, he found a branch and crawled across the ice, shoving the branch ahead of him. Disregarding the great risk to his own life, he pushed the branch close enough so that Sidney could grab hold. Numb from the cold, about to lose consciousness and go down for the final time, Sidney was pulled to safety at the very last moment. "Do you need to be thanked again, Richard?" Sidney asked with feigned disgust.

  "Don't be absurd," Richard answered cheerfully. "What did you think of them?"

  "Think of who?"

  "The girls of course—the sea nymphs. The shorter one appeared a bit drab, I thought, and a bit on the chubby side. But the other—the tall one with all that auburn hair—was quite pretty, don't you agree?"

  "I didn't notice."

  "Didn't notice?" Richard's azure blue eyes went wide with surprise. "You mean to say you didn't see the sweet curve of her hips, so deliciously revealed, I might add, by that clinging wet bathing costume she wore?"

  "I said I didn't notice, Richard," Sidney cut in irritably. A lie, of course. Indeed, he had noticed. Not the shorter, who was unremarkable, but the taller one. She had immediately caught his attention. In fact, he could not remember the last time the sight of a woman had caused that jolt in the pit of his stomach that had not struck him since he was a randy teen. At the age of twenty-eight, he considered himself old and jaded; still, the sight of that long-limbed, auburn-haired beauty rising like Aphrodite from the sea, her gown wet and clinging to the luscious curves of her long, lithe body...

  Sidney realized what he was thinking and chuckled to himself. Amazing, how the powerful allure of a beautiful woman's body could manifest itself at the most inopportune moments and unsettle a man. Ironic,
too. Chances were his Aphrodite was a bubble-head, full of giggles, with nothing more weighty on her mind than finding a suitable husband.

  "What would you wager we'll see them at the ball tonight?" asked Richard.

  Sidney sighed patiently. "My dear old friend, when I agreed to accompany you on your holiday, did I not make it clear I had no desire to participate in any social events? I am here to enjoy the sea. Simply put, I want nothing more than to stroll along the shore, as we are doing now, and occasionally sit upon a rock and gaze upon the vast waters of the Atlantic while I contemplate...shall we say, the meaning of life."

  "How dull, and really, Sidney, not why I wanted you to come at all. You went through hell at Waterloo, what with your wound and all. I invited you because of the parties, the fun, the women—not so you could sit on a rock and brood."

  "Perhaps I'm not in a mood to converse with some empty-headed, husband-hunting young chits at a ball."

  "I suppose, but I thought I could talk you into it," Richard answered brightly. "'Pon my soul, you've been a widower for how long?...going on two years now. Enough of mourning. At the rate you're going you're turning yourself into a hermit, and a cynical one at that."

  "Thanks."

  "Well, I hate to see you isolating yourself. What happened? You were in the thick of the Polite World before your marriage. Why can't you go back? I mean, really, Sidney, what is more important than your standing in society?"

  Sidney shrugged. "Take me as I am, or else. I've long passed the stage where I think my life depends on how I tie my cravat."

  "Not that you ever really cared." Puzzled, Richard shook his head. "I don't understand you. You'd do well with the ladies if you'd give it try. You're not all that bad looking."

  "Ha!" Sidney retorted, thinking of his craggy face with its not-quite-straight nose and too-prominent chin.

  "Well, looks aren't everything," Richard conceded. "Besides, if you so much as wiggled your little finger, the ladies would flock to you in an instant. Forget looks. You're titled. You're wealthy–much richer than I, though that will soon change, what with Dinsmore's poor health, and look how well I do with the ladies."

  Sidney grimaced. "Do you have any idea how shallow that sounds?" He decided not to continue. What was the use? His friend would never understand. Coming here was a mistake, he thought glumly. "I should be home, looking after my estate."

  "Hogwash. You have a perfectly fine overseer, so there's no possible excuse for hiding yourself deep in the countryside as you've been doing ever since...well, I feel you've grieved enough, and besides, you know very well—"

  "I suggest you not finish that sentence." Sidney knew exactly what his friend was going to say. His problem was not that he had grieved enough, but that he had grieved more than enough for a woman he had never loved in the first place. His parents had arranged the marriage with Hortense, and he, being the dutiful son at the time, had allowed himself to marry a woman who wasn't a bad sort, but they had nothing in common. When Hortense died, childless, of typhoid, he was genuinely sorry to see her go. But when his parents, both now gone, started hinting he should find a new wife, he put his foot down. He firmly informed them marriage didn't suit him. Perhaps it never would, although he could not say for sure.

  Unlike many men, he felt no driving need to beget sons. When he died, his estate could go to his uncles or his uncles' kin. Meantime, he kept busy managing his estate with the help of Louisa, his older widowed sister. When he wanted to relax, he traveled to London for a visit to Tattersoll's where he could view horses to his heart's content. He enjoyed hunting and fishing. He was an active and enthusiastic member of the Four-in-Hand Club where he spent countless enjoyable hours with Richard and other friends. Also, the occasional mistress came and went. Unlike some of his more foolish friends, he had never fallen in love with one of his Cyprians. Instead, long after the flames of passion had cooled to dying embers he maintained a friendship with each and every one.

  "...so you must come to the ball tonight," Richard was saying.

  "I would rather stay home and read a book."

  "Stop being so bull-headed. Did it ever occur to you that you could be wrong? Why don't you see for yourself whether or not the tall one has a brain? Perhaps she's not so empty-headed as you might think." Richard brightened as an afterthought struck him. "She knew who Homer was, did she not?"

  Richard had a point. Besides, Sidney suddenly realized he would like to see her again, if only to assure himself he was right the first time. "Very well, if you insist, I shall go to the ball."

  "Splendid." Richard was all smiles. "You might be pleasantly surprised."

  "I doubt it."

  "I'll even leave you the tall one and take the short. I guarantee, I'll soon have her eating out of my hand."

  "But why, Richard?" Sidney asked, genuinely puzzled. "You have no intention of marrying any time soon."

  "It's all a game, isn't it?" Richard answered, chuckling, "played for the trophy. For some men, the trophies are the heads of savage beasts mounted upon their walls. For others, it's elaborate collections of snuff boxes."

  "And what trophies do you collect, Richard?" asked Sidney, already knowing the answer. This was the thing about Richard he detested. This was why Richard, contrary to what he assumed, could never be Sidney's best friend. As the years went by, he grew more debauched, more selfish, and though he didn't know it, at times came dangerously close to becoming an ex-friend.

  "I collect broken hearts," said Richard, laughing.

  How loathsome. Sidney kept quiet, not caring to admonish the man who had once saved his life.

  * * * *

  Flora's own eagerness surprised her as she and Amy, chaperoned by their mother and Lady Constance Boles, mounted the steps of the Brighton Assembly. The thrill of attending balls had long since faded, but tonight was different. The weariness, the disillusion, were gone. With Lord Dashwood much on her mind, she felt as if she were about to attend her very first ball. With the help of Baker, her caustic lady's maid, she had enjoyed donning her prettiest ball gown. Of white satin, it came direct from Paris and featured lovely clusters of pink roses and bands of white lace around the hem. Even Baker admired it and outdid herself sweeping Flora's auburn curls into a Grecian coiffure, pinned with a comb of feathers and pearls.

  All the while Flora was getting ready, the image of that handsome face she'd seen on the beach kept popping into her head. A little tingle of excitement coursed through her as she thought of the conquest ahead.

  What was he like?

  Would she be disappointed?

  She reminded herself she had been attracted to many a man before, only to discover that when she got to know him, she found he possessed some major fault. One was too self-centered; another just plain dull; another mean-spirited, while another had a roving eye. No doubt Lord Dashwood was in some way flawed. What man was perfect? Still, wouldn't it be wonderful if he was? Once again she pictured him as he stood upon the beach, hair golden in the sunshine, his powerful, well-muscled body so completely revealed she felt a wicked shiver of excitement just thinking about it.

  But what if he doesn't ask me to dance?

  What a horrible thought. And a most unlikely one, too. She had always been popular, in great demand as a dance partner, so of course he would ask. Since when could she not attract a man with just the crook of her little finger?

  Flora stepped into the ballroom and surreptitiously looked around. No Lord Dashwood. She had no time to dwell on her disappointment, though, for soon she was asked to dance and from then on never sat down. She danced to a polonaise, then a set of country dances, all the while trying to prevent her gaze from wandering to the front entrance, but to no avail. At last, when she had about decided Dashwood wasn't coming, she spied his handsome figure at the entrance, accompanied by his friend—what was his name? She could not recall.

  Had Dashwood remembered? Would he notice her? She closed her eyes for a moment, her mind drifting...

  H
is gaze sweeps the room, as if he is looking for someone. Finally he finds her. Even across the ballroom, she can see his body stiffen–for only a fleeting moment, but long enough for her to know she was the object of his search. His gaze is fastened upon her as he crosses the room. He greets Lady Constance Boles, then asks, "Would you introduce me to this young lady?" She dips a cool curtsey as introductions are made. "Will you dance with me?" he asks. She nods and gracefully extends her hand. Soon they are whirling in a waltz around the floor, his azure blue eyes gazing longingly into hers. Finally, shaking his head in wonderment, he says, "What have you done to me? I have not stopped thinking of you a moment since I first saw you on the beach this morning..."

  "Flora?"

  Mother. Flora exited her fantasy post haste. "Yes, Mama?"

  "I do believe those two gentlemen we saw on the beach this morning have arrived."

  Flora raised an indifferent eyebrow. "Do tell."

  Lady Rensley, her thin self encased in black, snapped her fan shut disapprovingly. "Lord Dashwood is a fine catch, Flora, if ever there was one. Pray he will ask you to dance."

  Amy clasped her arm. "Oh, look, they're coming this way."

  It was all Flora could do to maintain her outward calm. Lord Dashwood really had found her. He really was going to ask her to dance.

  Soon Lord Dashwood stood before them, resplendent in a black, double-breasted wool frock coat with claw-hammer tails, breeches, gloves, a waistcoat, and white shirt with beautifully tied cravat. With graceful gallantry, he presented himself to Lady Constance Boles and asked for introductions, just as Flora had imagined. "Delighted to meet you, Lady Flora, Lady Amy," he said with his charming smile and bent in an exquisite little bow. She was positive his next words to her would be, Would you care to dance? So positive, in fact, she half lifted her arm to his, so that he could lead her to the dance floor.

  But what was this?

  Instead of asking her to dance, Lord Dashwood turned to Amy and flashed the same charming smile. "What a pleasure to meet you, Lady Amy. Might I have this dance?"