"Only 'one of?'" The countess pouted. "Ah well, I am but a poor refugee and should be grateful for the smallest of favors, n'est pas?"
"Au contraire, mam'selle. A woman like you could never be a 'poor refugee.'" Richard gave her a dazzling smile of his own. "You are looking positively radiant tonight. Shall we dance?"
Flora felt a tug of despair when she saw the countess melt into Dashwood's arms. They danced the next dance, too, and the next.
He never came back.
After the ball, when they were home again, and she was chatting with Amy about the events of the evening, Flora said with a frown, "How could he call me his 'powerful enchantress' then simply walk away and not dance with me again?"
"It's a puzzlement," Amy agreed. "But I am inclined to think...no, I shouldn't say anything."
Instantly alert, Flora demanded, "Speak up. Say what's on your mind."
Still hesitant, Amy answered slowly, "We know Lord Dashwood is as handsome as they come, and ever so charming, but don't you think he's a bit...well, the word effuse comes to mind."
How could Amy think such a thing? Rarely did Flora ever feel like snapping at her sister, but now was one of those times.
"I have no idea what you mean by effuse," she responded coldly.
Amy appeared to take a deep breath, as if she were preparing to jump off a cliff. "What I mean is, all his fancy words and quoting of poetry out of the blue I equate to insincerity."
Flora quelled a sudden surge of anger. How dare Amy. Could she not see that Lord Dashwood was near-perfect in every way? Still, she took a moment to consider, reminding herself that over the years, Amy's perceptive remarks on human nature had always been quite keen for one so young, and her opinion should be respectfully considered. But no. Her sister's opinion of Lord Dashwood was wrong, wrong, wrong.
"I appreciate your concern, Amy, but in this case you are mistaken."
"Forgive me for saying this, but I fear you have a blind spot when it comes to Lord Dashwood. Quite frankly, I think he's a bit of a wastrel."
Flora drew herself up. "Lord Dashwood is a well-mannered gentleman who is a great credit to the English nobility." Resentment welled within her. In a gust of emotion she could not control, she continued, "He is honorable, creditable, altogether delightful, and—" the words burst out "—how could you even imply he's not sincere? I would stake my life that he is. If he only danced with me the once, then he had good reason. Perhaps he was tired, or not feeling well, or did not wish to monopolize my time."
Amy thoughtfully bit her lip. "Flora, forgive me for saying so, but I'm worried about you. You've always been so sharp-witted, and in most matters so temperate. It rather surprises me that when it comes to Lord Dashwood, you're not listening to reason."
Flora's anger deepened, but she had never argued with her sister, not since they were children, and would certainly not start now. "You have your opinion and I have mine. I have nothing more to say on the subject, so shall we talk of something else?"
Amy, always the tactful one, nodded in agreement. "Forgive me. That was just my humble opinion, and of course we'll change the subject."
"You're forgiven." Amy's words didn't really hurt because Flora knew she was wrong. But what caused that strange look that had flashed for the briefest of moments through Amy's eyes? Surely not concern, mixed with pity. Surely not that.
"I saw you talking to Lord Lynd tonight," Amy said.
Lord Lynd. Flora gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh, no, I hadn't thought till now. I left him without saying a thank you or goodbye—just walked off with Lord Dashwood and started dancing. How rude of me."
Amy shrugged. "A trifle rude, but I doubt you'll be banished from the ton because of it."
"I feel bad. Mama taught me better than that. It's not like me to forget my manners in such a fashion."
Amy smiled. "Could it be you were distracted by a certain enchanting gentleman whom we're not going to discuss?"
"Perhaps Lord Lynd didn't notice," Flora replied, ignoring Amy's comment. "After all, why would he care? Even if he had noticed, he's surely forgotten my slight social faux pas by now."
When Flora finally crawled into bed that night, she knew she'd have a hard time getting to sleep. Lord Dashwood liked her. She knew he did...or did he? She would spend a restless tossing, turning night trying to figure him out. As for Lord Lynd, she really should apologize next time she saw him. And she certainly would, if she remembered.
* * * *
In his London lodgings, Sidney yanked off his Hessian boots and dropped them with resounding thuds upon his plush Axminster carpet. His valet had built a fire before Sidney sent him to bed. Now he stretched his long legs before it and remarked to his guest, "Well, Richard, it appears you were the darling of the ladies tonight, yet again."
Richard, equally at ease in front of the fire, smugly replied, "I was, wasn't I?" Looking exceedingly pleased with himself, he took a leisurely sip from his brandy glass before remarking, "Did you see me with Lady Flora?"
"I did indeed." All of a sudden, Sidney realized he had gripped the stem of his glass so tightly it might break. He forced himself to loosen his grip. "So how is your campaign to marry the beautiful Lady Flora proceeding? Do you still plan to capture the lady's heart?"
"My campaign is coming along quite well, thank you." Richard's smile of satisfaction set Sidney's teeth on edge.
Richard set his glass on the giltwood side table and clasped his hands dramatically to his heart. "Ah, my dearest Aphrodite," he mockingly recited, "ah, my powerful enchantress."
"Don't tell me she believed such garbage."
"She's ready to fall at my feet, dear boy. I even quoted Euripides—that always impresses them." He waved his hand theatrically through the air. "'May you never launch at me, Lady of Cyprus, your passion-poisoned arrows, which no man can avoid.' A nice touch, don't you agree?"
"If she believes your drivel, she's not as smart as I thought she was. You're an ass, Richard."
Richard gave an elaborate shrug. "Am I really so terrible? After all, I plan to marry the chit, unless something better comes along. Not likely, though. Rumor has it her dowry is more than plentiful." He leveled a keenly curious gaze at his host. "You wouldn't happen to know, would you?"
Inordinately annoyed, Sidney snapped, "I have no idea what Lady Flora's dowry is worth."
Richard looked genuinely puzzled. "See here, Sidney...you don't have feelings for the young lady yourself, do you? Because if you do—"
"Nonsense." Again, Sidney got a grip on his emotions. "Are you sure you know what you want, Richard?" Tonight I saw you dancing with the Countess de Clairmont, enjoying yourself immensely, if I'm any judge."
"Ah, the countess." Richard broke into a delighted smile. "What a woman. That dress!" He kissed his fingers and flung the imaginary kiss into the air.
"Isn't she more your style?"
"Of course she is. I find her beautiful, delightful enticing—all that, but, alas, the lady is penniless. Therefore, voilá! Lady Flora is more my style, that is–" he leveled a quizzical gaze at his friend "—are you sure you don't want her, Sidney?"
Sidney sighed wearily. "She's all yours, if you can catch her. I could not care less." He was speaking the truth, he assured himself. He had already recovered from the sharp disappointment he'd felt tonight when Lady Flora waltzed blithely away with Richard without so much as a word. Actually, what he was feeling was not disappointment so much as a natural reaction to her rudeness, which, if it had been some other young lady, he would have felt exactly the same. Of course, what made matters worse was that Lady Flora and he had been getting along famously, or so he had thought, talking about their mutual interest in four-in-hand, enjoying a laugh or two. All that before Richard appeared, of course.
The chit was besotted with Dashwood, that was obvious.
And I don't give a groat.
Why should he, a titled landowner, rich, passably good-looking, give a thought to a young woman who w
as fast becoming enamored of his supposed best friend, and whose manners were atrocious?
Well, he shouldn't, he didn't, and he wouldn't.
A pox on Lady Flora Winton. He had more important things to think about than a completely hopeless cause. In fact, he'd only come to London in order to see the latest offerings at Tattersol's, and would not have dreamed of attending the ball had not Richard talked him into it. His attendance had nothing to do with Lady Flora.
Sidney, you're a liar, came a voice within, a voice he stilled immediately. He had too much pride to even think of entertaining lascivious thoughts about a rude young woman who didn't know his name and walked away from him. He might worry about her, though. Yes, he would permit himself to feel concern for that poor, weak girl who, because of her stubbornness and bad sense, was falling in love with one of the most devious rakes in all England.
Chapter
5
Halfway through the Season, Flora sat in the drawing room of the family's London town house, taking tea with her parents and sister. It was one of the rare afternoons they were not receiving visitors or had gone calling themselves.
"You seem quite cheerful of late, Flora," her mother said. "Don't you agree, George?"
"Quite," responded Lord Rensley. He eyed his older daughter over the top of his spectacles. "You've been seeing a lot of that Dashwood chap, haven't you? At least the fellow comes from an excellent blood line. I suppose you know he's the heir presumptive of Charles Fraser, Earl of Dinsmore?"
As usual, Flora's heart executed a flutter of excitement at the sound of Lord Dashwood's name. She chose to ignore the way her father said, 'at least,' although she wondered what he meant. "I have yet to meet Lord Dinsmore, but I have certainly heard enough about him. He's one of England's greatest heroes."
"Indeed, the man's a legend." Her father harumphed and signaled the butler. "Time for my pill, Trent, the 'Dr. Warens,' if you please. Bring it here." He returned his attention to Flora. "I could spend the day relating Dinsmore's exploits on the field of battle. Egypt...India...what a grand soldier he was. Most courageous."
"And quite a dashing figure," added Lady Rensley.
"Now, alas–" Lord Rensley took the pill Trent proffered and washed it down with a swallow of tea "—poor health notwithstanding, I am better off than Dinsmore." As an afterthought, he muttered, "If you could believe such a thing."
"He's sick now, Papa?" Flora asked politely. She wasn't too concerned over her father's health because her whole life she'd heard him complaining of various ailments that never seemed to materialize.
"Dinsmore's not sick," her father went on. "Last I heard, he was still in possession of his health. That is, he's not suffering from any disease. It's the injuries that keep him at his country estate most of the time." He shook his head and clucked with sympathy. "The man's a wreck. Lost an eye in Egypt. Got thrown from his steed at some battle or other in India and banged up his leg. Now he walks with a limp. At Seedaseer his face was slashed with a saber. He never looked right after that. I suspect that's what keeps him practically a hermit."
"Such a pity," chimed Lady Rensley. "I knew him before the scar and all those other dreadful wounds. Such a handsome man he was, and quite the swashbuckler. But now..." She shrugged and made a little moué. "The ladies used to swoon over him. Now they turn away in horror, what with that dreadful scar on his face. These days they swoon over his heir." She glanced fondly at Flora. "Popular though Lord Dashwood is, though, it appears our daughter has a definite edge."
To Flora's surprise, her father did not express his delight but instead issued an unresponsive, "Hmm."
She had to know. "You don't appear enthused in the slightest, Papa. May I ask why?" A touch of trepidation ran through her. Did her father find Dashwood less than perfect? If so, how could that possibly be? Didn't he realize how lucky she was that as the Season progressed, Dashwood was paying more attention to her? Such sweet torture she'd gone through at the beginning, after Lady Hemple's ball, when Dashwood kept her in a constant dither. One moment he appeared to adore her, the next she wasn't sure he even knew her name. She recalled the dreadful night at Almack's when he'd totally ignored her—not asked for one single dance. She had been so crushed, she spent much of the next day fighting the lump in her throat that wouldn't go away. But next day he sent her a bouquet of roses, and that night at King's Theater, he appeared at the family's box, all charm and attentiveness. Invited to join them, he sat next to Flora, surreptitiously took her hand, and whispered such sweet compliments in her ear that when the great Catalani sang Semiramide she never heard a single note.
One day Amy remarked, "Flora, this isn't like you. I detest seeing you in this love-sick state."
"I am not love-sick," she protested, not willing to admit that when she thought of Lord Dashwood, which was most of the time, she, the fiercely independent Lady Flora Winton, grew weak-kneed with desire, sometimes to the point where she had to plead a headache and go lie limply upon her bed, giving herself up to fantasies of Lord Dashwood.
Her father said she needed a good physic.
Her mother blamed the dreadful London air.
Flora knew exactly what she needed. The question of whether or not she could capture the dashing Lord Dashwood was driving her mad.
Amy had continued, "Well, it seems to me he is just toying with you—attentive one minute, ignoring you the next. Like a cat with a mouse."
"I don't own him," Flora indignantly protested, "not yet anyway. I'm sure he'll come around."
Slowly he had. Lately, Flora's happiness had soared as Lord Dashwood appeared more often, obviously paying court. "Well, Papa?" she asked again, determined to find the cause for her father's long silence.
"Lord Dinsmore is of sterling character, no question," replied Flora's father, "but I'm not sure about his cousin."
"Whatever do you mean?" demanded Lady Rensley. "What are you not sure of? Really! Lord Dashwood is titled, soon to be rich, and all that. What more could we ask for?"
"Of late, he's been most attentive," Flora contributed, her worry burgeoning. "I could very well marry him, Papa, so please, tell us why you sound so unsure."
Lord Rensley bluntly replied, "The man's a gambler."
"So are many in London."
"Not like Dashwood. On-dit has it he's not only deep in debt, he's a welcher."
Lord Dashwood? Flora was shocked and refused to believe such a thing. "That can't be true, Papa. I've never even heard him mention gambling."
"Of course he wouldn't, but I have it first-hand from the Duke of Bedford. Dashwood's been banned from the race course for defaulting on his bets."
"A misunderstanding, I'm sure," Lady Rensley protested.
"Is it?" Lord Rensley regarded his older daughter with concern. "I hope it's only a misunderstanding, Flora. Believe me, it would give me great pleasure to link our name with that of Lord Dinsmore. On the other hand, I've no wish to see you marry a decadent profligate who's only after you for your dowry, which is considerable, as you well know."
"He is not just after my dowry." Flora set down her tea cup with a clatter, sprang to her feet, and glared at her father. "Lord Dashwood possesses the most sterling integrity. What must I do to show you how honorable he is, how trustworthy, how much he genuinely cares for me?"
"You needn't do a thing, my child. Calm yourself. Sit down." With a wise smile, Lord Rensley continued, "I sincerely hope you're right. If you're not, time eventually sheds its light on matters of the heart."
"Then I know you'll soon see Lord Dashwood for what he's really like," answered Flora, sinking to her seat again, taking up her tea cup, vastly relieved. She knew in her heart any misunderstandings there were could be easily cleared up.
Lady Rensley shifted to a more pleasant subject. "Meantime, George, Lord Dashwood has most kindly invited Flora to Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow night."
"Properly chaperoned, I trust?"
Flora's high spirits were quickly restored. "Mama and Amy are a
ttending, too, so don't worry." She glanced playfully at her mother. "I'm sure Mama will track my every step. Tomorrow is a gala night at Vauxhall. They're paying tribute to military heroes. Lord Dashwood mentioned that Lord Dinsmore might join us."
"Dinsmore at Vauxhall?" Lord Rensley's face wreathed in a smile. "Splendid. I'll join you. Simply to meet the man is a great honor."
Lady Rensley interjected, "But be careful, Flora, that you don't flinch when you first see his face."
"Of course," Flora answered only half listening. She added as an afterthought, "Lord Dashwood said Lord Lynd should be there, too. So you can see, I shall be in good company."
"Lord Lynd," her father repeated. "Now there's a man of high moral character, if ever there was one. Widower... wealthy...titled...why couldn't you show an interest in a fellow like Lynd?"
"Let us not even speculate." Lady Rensley regarded her daughters fondly. "What more could I want for my daughters than a love match for each, to a man highly suitable?"
And that's just what you'll have, Mama. Already, Flora had set aside her father's negative remarks concerning Lord Dashwood. No way could they be true. A tiny thrill ran through her. She had been to Vauxhall before, and had heard many a story about how easily a young couple could "accidentally" wander away from a chaperone and get lost in one of the many small, dark paths. Although she wasn't supposed to know, she'd heard of the most notorious of the walks, Lover's Walk, which was dark and very narrow, where scandalous events, the nature of which she had a fairly good idea, took place. She wondered if she and Lord Dashwood...
"Alone at last," Richard whispers, pulling her into his eager arms.
"Lord Dashwood, we must not—"
"The deuce we must not. I am desperate for you, Flora."
He pulls her close. He bends to kiss the pulsing hollow of her throat. Suddenly his lips are crushed against hers and she revels in the feel of his kiss singing through her veins...
Lady Flora's Fantasy Page 6
