He said finally, "I admire your knowledge of military history, Lady Flora. It is indeed a pleasant surprise to meet a London belle who has something on her mind besides herself."
"I grow tired of being considered a flighty London belle, sir," she said, none too kindly. "I do have a mind."
"It is obvious you do, and a keen one. Now, since time is short, we must get down to business, but I trust that some day soon we shall talk history again." His one good eye assessed her boldly. "As you may know, I have acted as guardian and mentor to Lord Dashwood since his parents died. I feel more like a father to him than a cousin and thus am always concerned for his welfare. He has expressed an interest in you. Tell me frankly, what do you think of him?"
Where were his manners? His directness was making her distinctly uncomfortable. Still, he was Lord Dashwood's distinguished cousin, obviously concerned, and she would grow to love him and always be exceedingly polite. "I love Lord Dashwood, sir, with all my heart."
He looked skeptical. "No man is perfect, including Richard. So tell me, what do you love about him?" Dinsmore signaled a waiter. "Bring me a brandy. Something for you, my dear?" She shook her head. "I'm waiting." He sat back expectantly.
Certain she was on sure ground, she plunged ahead with great enthusiasm. "I love him for his sunny disposition, his noble demeanor, his impeccable manners, the way he dresses—always so well tailored, his cravat perfectly tied, and...and..." As she talked, she'd noticed Dinsmore's mouth slowly curve into a faint, disbelieving smile. "You don't believe me?"
"You seem to be an intelligent young woman," Dinsmore replied, "and yet...well tailored? Impeccable manners? Are those your measurements of a man? I find it strange that those frivolous traits are the ones you appear to deem most important."
She immediately saw where she had erred most grievously. "Oh, but there are other things, too. Lord Dashwood is honorable, trustworthy, dependable, truthful..." As she searched for more metaphors he regarded her oddly. She glanced down. Oh, dear. In her zeal, she had clutched his arm and still gripped it tightly, her white-gloved fingers resting in stark contrast to the scarlet of his sleeve. What was she thinking of? she wondered, quite horrified that she had possessed the temerity to touch the aloof, untouchable Hero of Seedaseer. Yet another faux pas. She withdrew her hand, as fast as if she'd been touching a hot coal. "My apologies. I didn't mean—"
"Don't apologize." After a silence, he said in an odd but gentle tone, "It's not often a beautiful young woman touches me without flinching."
For a moment his poignant words left her speechless. What was she supposed to say?
"You needn't say anything," he replied as if he'd read her mind. "I am more aware of my disfigurement than you. I know how horrified you must be, sitting there, having to act polite when all the time you wish you could avert your eyes."
"But..." She paused to get her words right, knowing she must be scrupulously honest. This man was much too perceptive for any kind of flattery, fancy words, or half truths. "I cannot deny you have a disfigurement, but as I sat here talking to you, it faded in importance. I truly mean that."
Lord Dinsmore was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his mocking tone had vanished. "I can see you are sincere."
"Of course I am sincere." How could he think she was not? But before she could ask, her family returned, along with Lord Dashwood. The music began and he asked her to dance.
No sooner was she in his arms, away from the booth, when he inquired, "So what do you think of Lord Dinsmore?"
"He's rather strange, but I like him."
Lord Dashwood smiled. "That's good, considering..." He glanced around. They were on the opposite side of the dance floor, out of sight of her family. He stopped dancing but kept hold of her hand. "Quick, come, we are going for a stroll."
Words of protest rose to her lips. She shouldn't. Such behavior was not appropriate. Her mother would not approve. She said nothing, though, as, her heart beginning to pound, he led her quickly off the dance floor.
Soon she was on a path that was growing progressively darker, Lord Dashwood close beside her, dance music wafting in her ears. An occasional couple drifted by, laughing in the darkness. She whispered, "I have never done this before."
"Time you should." His arm slid around her shoulder as they progressed down the path. His fingers rested on her upper arm, not moving at first, then gently caressing. "Your skin, so soft, like a rose petal," he whispered in her ear.
Not appropriate. Her mother's voice rang loud in her ears, but when they came to a stop and Dashwood's arms crept around her, she was helpless to resist. He kissed her forehead, sending a shock wave through her entire body. With tantalizing persuasion, he feather-touched his way down to her lips, then roughly seized her to him as his mouth hungrily covered hers. Almost of their own volition, her arms crept around his neck. She returned his kiss eagerly, forgetting what her mother had said, forgetting everything except the strong hardness of his lips and the masculine feel of his body, so intimately close—she had never been this close to a man before.
He finally lifted his lips from hers, long enough to murmur in a breathless voice, "My darling, how beautiful you are."
"We shouldn't be doing this," she managed, making no effort to break from his embrace.
"Ah, but we should. You are going to marry me, aren't you?"
A soft gasp escaped her. She could hardly keep from laughing aloud with joy. "This is a proposal?"
"What else would you call it?" He nuzzled her ear with his nose. "Would you prefer I beg you on bended knee in your stuffy drawing room, or here, where I can..." He seized her again and kissed her soundly. Her emotions whirled and skidded as his hands caressed the soft lines of her back, her waist, her hips, then started up again. She felt transported on a soft, wispy cloud until, in a moment of truth and clear introspection, she realized what she was doing and with a gigantic effort seized his wrists and pushed him away.
"Stop," she whispered, "we cannot."
"It's only that I love you so much I cannot stop myself."
He started to embrace her again, but she held him back. "No. Oh, much as I would like to, this is wrong and I cannot."
He appeared to consider a moment, his breathing coming fast. "Of course you cannot. Forgive me. It's just...your beauty has swept me away. I shall speak to your father tomorrow. I don't think he likes me. Do you suppose he'll have me?" He uttered a small, wry laugh that wrenched her heart.
"Of course he'll have you," she replied with heartfelt meaning. "I shall inform him that should I lose you, my heart would break and I would pine away." She had to touch him. With great forbearance, she allowed her fingers to rest lightly on his arm. "I love you, Lord Dashwood—"
"Call me Richard."
"I love you, Richard, she said, savoring the sweet words she had never said to a man before. Such a wonderful moment. "I shall love you until the day I die."
"Then it's settled." His voice had lost the hoarse shakiness of passion and returned to normal. He took her arm, and they started back along the path. "If your father allows—"
"Of course he will." A small doubt nagged her, but she could not believe her father would stand in the way of her happiness.
"Then we shall begin the dowry negotiations immediately. Shouldn't take long. Just think, in but a few weeks we'll be man and wife."
"Promise, not a word until we receive Papa's blessing."
"Of course not."
Flora's mind was full as they returned to her family. They hadn't been gone long. She didn't think they'd been missed until her mother drew her aside.
"Well, Flora?" Lady Rensley eagerly inquired.
Nothing escaped her mother. She shouldn't have been surprised. "Oh, Mama, he asked! You mustn't tell though, not until Lord Dashwood comes calling tomorrow and formally asks for my hand."
Lady Rensley looked as if she could burst with joy. "We've caught an heir presumptive. Titled. Soon to be rich."
"And handsome, be
sides," Flora added with satisfaction, "and altogether wonderful." Just one small shadow marred her bliss. "Sometimes I get the feeling Papa isn't overly fond of Lord Dashwood. I do hope he'll give his consent."
"I've no doubt but that he will." Lady Rensley caught sight of her dear friend, Lady Constance Boles and started fanning herself vigorously with her small ivory fan. "Oh, dear, I am dying to tell. How can I keep quiet until tomorrow?"
"You must, Mama, but only until tomorrow. When Papa gives his blessing, we shall tell the world."
Flora spent the rest of her evening at Vauxhall in a blissful haze. In the arms of Dashwood, she danced every dance. She was so happy she didn't mind a bit when the flamboyant Countess de Clairmont arrived, making her usual grand entrance, a dandy on each arm. Flora didn't even mind when the countess, wearing a gown of lace layered over mull that was even more daring than the yellow sheer, cast a long, flirtatious gaze at Flora's newly betrothed.
"Go dance with her if you like," Flora told Dashwood. "I shall never be one of those jealous wives."
Her beloved looked down at her, eyes brimming with tenderness and passion. "It's you I love, now and forever. I shall never give you the slightest cause for jealousy."
How sweet life was. She could hardly wait until tomorrow when she could tell the world.
* * * *
Flora heard the chirp of a nightingale when she awakened the next morning. Perfect for her mood. At breakfast, in a frenzy of anticipation, she made her mother and sister promise not to say a word to her father concerning Dashwood's intentions.
"It's best Papa be properly surprised," she said, "so he has no time to mull. He is nothing if not polite. I cannot imagine that when Lord Dashwood personally asks for my hand, he could summon the audacity to refuse."
"But what if he does?"
She replied with firmness, "We shall cross that bridge when we come to it."
Society's rules forbade Dashwood arriving for his visit in the morning, but by one o'clock, the hour when a visitor could properly call, Flora could not keep herself from peeking out the town house window that faced the street. By two o'clock, she was pacing the drawing room, her nerves in shreds. By three, she declared, "I vow, I shall sink into a decline if I must wait a moment longer."
"Then let's go for a walk in the park," Amy said. "After all, you don't have to be here. Lord Dashwood is coming to see Papa, not you."
Lady Rensley frowned. "But it's only three o'clock. And if Lord Dashwood is asking for your hand, shouldn't you be here? Oh, dear, I do not know if it's suitable—"
"Amy and I are going," Flora declared, grateful for her sister's suggestion. "Mama, you stay, but I must get out of here before I lose my mind."
"You were smart to get away," said Amy as she and Flora strolled toward the park, Baker close behind. "We shall go for a long, long walk. Just think, by the time we return, Lord Dashwood will have talked to Papa."
"It's the most important thing in the world to me. I love him so much. If anything goes wrong—"
"Stop worrying. Think ahead. Imagine what it will be like when he takes his cousin's title. Just think, you'll be Lady Flora Dinsmore, esteemed wife of Richard, Lord Dinsmore, mother to his...how many children would you like to have?"
"Umm, five, I think. The heir first, of course, then a girl and so on."
"You'll live at Pemberly Manor. What's it like, do you suppose?"
Flora knew her sister was only trying to distract her, but her thoughts easily drifted to the grand estate in Kent where some day she would be mistress. "Lord Dashwood has told me it has many acres of trees and rolling hills. The house itself is quite spacious, so many rooms he never counted. It must be quite elegant. I picture high ceilinged rooms with Italian painted murals, scrolled moldings, and elegant crystal chandeliers."
"There must be tons of lovely china, crystal, and silverware. Do you suppose Lord Dinsmore uses it much?"
"Probably not, since he's been a widower for years." An image of Dinsmore's face flashed through her mind. "I doubt he does much entertaining. No doubt everything's put away, ready for the day a new mistress will put it to use. Just think Amy, that will be me." Her words set her to thinking...
"The guests are arriving, m'lady."
"Thanks you, Jeffers." Dressed to perfection and beautifully coifed, she serenely awaits her guests in the marbled, vaulted entryway, her five beautiful blond, blue-eyed children standing obediently beside her.
"This will be another glorious night, m'lady." There is a gleam of excitement and pride in the butler's eyes. "After all these years, you have brought Pemberly Manor to life again. Never have I seen such a marvelous hostess as you. Your fetes are the talk of the countryside, if not all England."
"Jeffers is right," Lord Dashwood calls as he descends the wide, gracefully curving staircase, its mahogany railing polished to a high gleam. He slides a loving arm around her waist. "How I bless the day we met, my darling. I cannot thank you enough for giving me five intelligent, beautiful, well-behaved children. I love you more each day. What would I do without you...?"
"Watch it, Flora." Amy pulled her back from the street to the curb as a dray came hurtling by. "Do you want to get squashed flat?" she asked crossly. "I vow, your daydreaming will get you killed some day."
Flora hardly noticed. "Dreams do come true, Amy. They really do."
* * * *
They were gone for two hours. Flora couldn't wait to get home. Lord Dashwood would have been there by now, talked to her father. At this very moment, without question, she was officially betrothed.
The town house was silent as they stepped inside. "Where is her ladyship?" Flora asked the butler.
"She has a headache, m'lady, and has gone upstairs to rest."
How strange. Her mother never had a headache. "His Lordship?"
"In his study."
Just then the doors to the study flew open. "Flora!" Her father wore a broad smile.
"He's been here?" she asked.
"Indeed he has."
"And did you give your permission?" There could be only one answer, but still she held her breath.
"Of course I gave permission. How could I not?"
"Oh, Papa!" Flora threw her arms around her father and gave him a hug.
"You see?" Amy joyously exclaimed. "All that worry for nothing."
A cry of relief broke from Flora's lips. "How could I have been so foolish as to have harbored even a scintilla of doubt. Oh, Papa, you must know how deeply I love Lord Dashwood."
"Lord Dashwood?" Her father frowned, his eyes troubled under drawn brows.
"Of course, Lord Dashwood."
"It was not Lord Dashwood who came here today."
With a sense of impending doom, she asked, "What do you mean?"
"I don't understand." Lord Rensley looked deeply perplexed. "The decision is yours, of course, but I just gave my permission for you to marry Lord Dinsmore, the Hero of Seedaseer."
Chapter 7
Through the west windows of Sidney's London lodgings, specks of dust danced in rays cast by the late afternoon sunshine. Seated in his drawing room, Sidney was deep into reading a tome on ancient history, a most welcome distraction from the unsettling events of the night before at Vauxhall Gardens. The doorbell rang. He was curious. Nobody called at this unfashionable hour. Moments later, Carlton, his valet, appeared, followed by Richard.
Sidney closed his book and arose to greet his guest. "What a surprise, Richard. It isn't like you to call at this hour." He noted his friend's unsmiling face. "Is something wrong?"
Richard slung himself into Sidney's Louis XV giltwood chair. "I warn you right now, you had better refrain from your usual snide remarks. I am not in the mood." He looked toward the valet. "Bring me a brandy, Carlton." He slumped his long body further in his seat, stretching his long legs straight in front of him with a heavy bang of his heels. "Quickly. Drat, what a mess."
Sidney sat down again. "Last I saw you, you were in fine fettle, about to propose
to the beautiful Lady Flora. Don't tell me she refused."
"Oh, God, if only she had," Richard said with a groan, momentarily covering his face with his hands. "Of course she accepted."
"So you're betrothed." Sidney was struck by a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach which he hastened to conceal.
"Yes and no. Well, no."
Damnation. Where was this leading? Carlton reappeared. Sidney waited while his agitated friend took a healthy slug of brandy. Softly he said, "So tell me what's occurred. I am all ears. I cannot imagine—"
"I am not to be blamed for any of this."
"Will you kindly tell me what happened?" Sidney was losing patience fast.
"It was the countess's fault, not mine."
"The countess," Sidney repeated, squeezing his eyes shut in exasperation. "For pity's sake, get on with it. Start from the beginning."
"As you know, I proposed to Lady Flora."
"And she gave you a definite yes?"
"Of course she said yes." Richard regarded him as if he were a candidate for Bedlam. "You know she's madly in love with me. She was thrilled, I can assure you."
Sidney chose to ignore the arrogance. This was Richard, after all. "So what happened next?"
"As you are aware, I have always been fond of the Countess de Clairmont. I find her a most desirable woman."
"You and half the men in London."
Richard bristled. "The Countess de Claremont is a respectable woman. Granted, a bit flamboyant, but with her lineage and title, she's accepted, Sidney. You know how the ton idolizes all things French. Makes all the difference in the world."
"True enough." Get on with it.
"For years the countess has been in desperate straits financially, albeit she has always held out hope for recovering at least part of her father's estate."
"Stolen during the Revolution after the Duke lost his head."
"Exactly. Poor sod was filthy rich. Not only did he own a large estate near Dijon, he possessed a vast fortune in artwork of all descriptions, jewels, antiques and the like, as well as cash." Richard's eyes sparked. "A huge fortune, Sidney."
Lady Flora's Fantasy Page 8
