Lady Flora's Fantasy

by Shirley Kennedy

  "If you call the Countess de Clairmont and her newly found fortune a good reason." Dinsmore leaned forward. "It pains me deeply to say this, but my cousin is a money-grubbing scoundrel. You must forget about him."

  "And marry you?" she asked, unable to keep an edge of scorn and disbelief from her voice.

  "Yes."

  "And why should I do that?" She raised her chin proudly. "I am hardly an object of pity, so if you think you must make up for Lord Dashwood's disgraceful behavior by marrying me, I assure you, your sacrifice is not necessary. I shall do very nicely, thank you."

  He ignored her scornful reply. "There are several reasons why I think marriage would be good for both of us. Will you do me the courtesy of hearing me out?"

  She shrugged. How futile this all was. "Why not? Do go on. I have all the time in the world."

  He thoughtfully began, "When I met you last night at Vauxhall Gardens I was most impressed. Not only did I find you charming, your knowledge of military history amazed me."

  "Oh, I'm sure of it," she cuttingly replied, "coming from a mere woman."

  "Frankly, yes. And our short meeting made me realize how lonely I have been these past few years."

  "Have you been a widower long?"

  "Ten years now. My wife died young, only forty-nine.

  "How tragic."

  "She was a good woman. I loved her dearly."

  "But weren't you away in the army, fighting battles most of the time?"

  "You must understand, I've been a military man all my life, unaccustomed to drawing room manners. Matter of fact, I cannot abide the idle chatter our society values so highly."

  "Neither can I," she said, smiling ruefully.

  "You said last night you were tired of being considered a—I believe the words were used were 'flighty London belle.'"

  "That's true."

  "Then don't be. You like horses, don't you?"

  "They are my passion, although..." she hated to confess it "...I am not allowed to ride except old nags. Too dangerous, my mother says."

  "Then I suspect you would blossom at Pemberly Manor. I've been raising thoroughbreds these past few years since my retirement. You could ride any time you liked—have your own horse, naturally. If you wished to entertain, we are equipped to do so with the finest china, silver, crystal—that sort of thing. You could be the most celebrated hostess in all England, if you so desired. Or, if you prefer a simple, quiet life, you could have that, too. Just think, you could ride when you pleased—stay in the saddle all day if you liked. Did you know a good-sized river winds through my estate? Bordered by many acres of deep woods, by the way, full of riding trails. Peace . . quiet . . no gossiping tongues, none of the endless back-biting and social climbing one finds in London."

  Gossiping tongues. She hated the thought of how they were going to wag with the delicious news of the high-and-mighty Lady Flora's downfall. How wonderful it would be to get away from all those members of the ton who would soon be ripping her to shreds, crying false tears of pity for her plight.

  "Doesn't being your own mistress appeal to you?" A little smile played on Dinsmore’s lips, as if to say, I know I'm tempting you. "Or would you prefer to live under your parents' thumb the rest of your life? Or at least until you marry." He shrugged. "But then, who knows? You might succumb to one of those perfumed London dandies after all."

  "Highly unlikely. If I married anybody—" it would be Lord Lynd, she'd almost said. Thank heaven, she'd stopped herself in time. Lynd had made it perfectly clear he didn't love her and had proposed only out of pity. Pride alone would prevent her from ever admitting to Lynd she'd made a mistake.

  "Well, then... ?" Lord Dinsmore sat comfortably at ease, awaiting her answer.

  She remembered the countless whispered stories she had heard about cruel, wife-beating husbands. "I don't know you well, sir. How do I know you're not some sort of tyrant?"

  He appeared to smother a smile. "In the heat of battle, I have killed or maimed more men than I care to think about, but I have never raised my hand to a woman and never shall."

  Why am I asking all these questions? she wondered. It was almost as if she were considering the man's proposal. It dawned on her that perhaps she was. Lord Dinsmore had made his proposal most tempting, all the more so because she was beginning to see how vital was her need to escape London's wagging tongues. How wonderful it would be to find peace and the solitude she yearned for on a remote estate where she could spend her days riding her very own horse through the woods, by a river. But on the other hand...

  A horrible thought struck her. Despite her abysmal ignorance concerning certain facets of married life, she knew enough to realize she'd be sharing the same bed with this disfigured man and doing what married people did. No, she couldn't. The very thought was repulsive.

  Dinsmore said offhandedly, "By the way, to be perfectly fair, I must warn you we would not be having children."

  "What do you mean?" she asked warily.

  "I mean exactly what I said. We won't be having any."

  Had he read her mind? She felt the start of a blush. There was only one way she knew of that she could not have children and that was—

  "I am aware what I look like," he said with a patient smile. "We shall be beauty and the beast, only be assured, this beast will never force himself upon you. We shall occupy separate bed chambers."

  There was only one thing he could mean. She felt herself turn crimson. She knew very little of what she and Amy furtively referred to as "that part of a marriage." Their parents maintained a stony silence on the subject. What paltry information they had gleaned came mostly from whispered hints from their married friends. Also, though she would never admit it, she had put two and two together from watching animals, like horses, in the fields. Although how human beings could possibly...oh! She had an urge to avert her eyes and duck her head, but vowed she would not. To cover her embarrassment, she said, "You do understand, I do not love you and never shall."

  He laughed. "I never for a moment thought you would."

  "More than that. I..." she searched for words that wouldn't wound him "...I do not find you handsome in the least."

  Now he laughed uproariously. "Not handsome? What a polite way to put it, my dear. I am ugly. My face is grotesque. Last night when we met I felt fortunate you didn't swoon from the shock."

  She found herself laughing with him, as if they were old friends. Suddenly, he rose from his chair, took her hands, and pulled her to her feet so that they stood facing each other, she, startled, gazing up wide-eyed, only inches away. "Marry me, Flora. You shall be the mistress of Pemberly Manor, which is, as you know, one of the greatest estates in all England. You will have clothes, jewels, all the servants you could ever want."

  "My father is rich, sir. I have those things now."

  "You will have freedom—"

  "Ha! Women are never free."

  "Let me show you." His rough hands clasped her shoulders. "You needn't love me, I don't care about that, but inside this old man's body there's a man who would very much enjoy making you happy. I don't fit your dream of a romantic young lover, but I promise for the rest of my days, I shall try to make you happy. I shall never hurt you. You will never want for anything."

  Except Richard her heart cried, but what was the use? It really didn't matter. Nothing mattered. All she wanted was to get away, start a new life somewhere far from here. As for love...all she could feel was bitter irony. Love was but a dream, her futile fantasy. "If I married you, sir, would we be staying in London?"

  "Whatever you like. We can stay, or we can leave for Pemberly Manor immediately."

  She frowned, her thoughts in great confusion. "I must be honest—I mean, I do not want you to think—"

  "For God's sake, just say yes," he said, not impatiently but with a great depth of feeling. "You'll not regret it, I guarantee."

  Somehow, despite his advanced age, his ugliness, she believed him. She believed, too, that anything would be bett
er than staying in London, subject of cruel gossip, hiding a broken heart, abjectly miserable.

  "Yes, then."

  "Are you sure?" He seemed totally calm, yet she'd caught a sudden intake of his breath.

  She gathered her words and for a split second examined them. She was about to change her life—plunge into the unknown. But she didn't care. Nothing really mattered. "I am sure, Lord Dinsmore. Yes, I'll marry you."

  Chapter 8

  "Such a happy occasion," bubbled Lady Constance Boles to Flora as they stood chatting with guests at the wedding breakfast. Her gaze swept Flora up and down. "Your wedding gown is exquisite, my dear. Silver lamé on net, is it not?"

  "Over a silver tissue slip," interjected Flora's mother. Beaming, she indicated the hem. "See all those little shells and flowers embroidered in silver lamé at the bottom? Well, you cannot imagine the difficulties involved with a gown as intricate as this. Poor Mademoiselle Guiteau and her seamstresses literally stitched their fingers to the bone day and night to finish it. The results are magnificent, are they not?"

  Lady Boles smiled beneficently. "The perfect gown, the perfect bride."

  "We are so thrilled for our Flora," Lady Rensley airily continued on. "Of course, I had always hoped that Flora would marry well, but Lord Dinsmore himself? Beyond my wildest dreams. How fortunate we are." She slanted a sharp gaze at Flora. Although it lasted but a fleeting moment, it was quite long enough to remind Flora yet again of her mother's displeasure and intense disapproval. One would never know, though. Smiling brightly, Lady Rensley presented the ideal picture of a proud mother, exultant that her daughter had made such a brilliant match.

  Mama should have been an actress, Flora reflected, recalling her mother's near swoon when she heard the ghastly news. "Flora, how could you marry a man who looks like a monster?" she had wailed.

  "Hero of Seedaseer," Flora succinctly reminded her.

  "I would not give a fig if he were Wellington himself. Lord Dinsmore may be a hero, but he's old, lame, one-eyed, and scarred. You'll not be happy with him. Oh, why couldn't you have said yes to Lord Lynd? Change your mind! Lord Lynd would be a much better choice than—"

  "I do not want to hear it. I have given Lord Dinsmore my promise. Surely you want your daughter to do the honorable thing."

  Flora had retained her stubborn attitude, even when her father also expressed his dismay. "I know I gave Dinsmore permission to offer for your hand, but only because I was loathe to insult the man. Never did I dream you would actually accept. You are not obliged to marry Dinsmore. Obviously you weren't thinking clearly. I shall go to him and explain—get you off the hook."

  She adamantly refused to change her mind and felt a certain relief when, that morning at ten o'clock, she set the matter to permanent rest by marrying Charles Fraser, Lord Dinsmore, in a small ceremony at St. George's Church in Hanover Square.

  A larger, most convivial crowd gathered for the déjeuner that immediately followed at their town house.

  Were it not for the fact that her heart was broken and her life ruined, Flora might have enjoyed herself.

  As it was, standing, smiling, next to her dignified, elderly husband, she knew at least she looked the part of the happy bride, dressed in her silver lamé gown so elegantly trimmed with point Brussels lace, a pretty wreath of rosebuds crowning her flowing hair. This wasn't real. She felt numb inside. In her head a little voice kept calling, you should be married to Richard, not this pitiful old man. She regarded the crowd through a sort of haze. What would they think if they knew her heart was breaking, these merry guests who brimmed with congratulations and well wishes, who heartily partook of the full-course meal, drank champagne, devoured her brides-cake to the last crumb?

  Lord Dashwood was not present. Dinsmore had assured her he'd made it clear to his prodigal cousin that he was not welcome at the wedding. Even so, she held an unreasonable fear he might appear. She was vastly relieved when it became apparent Lord Dashwood had the decency not to show his face. Not so, his good friend, Lord Lynd. Not only was he present at both the ceremony and the wedding breakfast, he was groomsman for Lord Dinsmore.

  "I have known Lynd all his life," Dinsmore explained. "He was like a second son to me when he was growing up. Now he's a true friend."

  Today there was something about Lord Lynd that kept drawing her attention. For some reason, she found her gaze following him, time and again. Perhaps her attention was drawn by his fine, broad shoulders that so stood out above the crowd, shown to perfection in his finely tailored cutaway coat. Then, too, there was the easy, confident manner in which he carried himself while doing an admirable job as groomsman, circling among the guests, paying particular attention to the shy ones who sat in a corner and the elderly whom everyone else ignored. His toast to the bride and groom was both witty and heartfelt, causing the guests to plunge from hearty laughter to sentimental tears in a matter of moments. It was judged by all to be a huge success.

  Now, as Flora stood chatting, desperately striving to play the part of the world's happiest bride, she could feel Lord Lynd's eyes upon her, just as she had felt his gaze earlier at the church. Such a strange look—or rather, looks, plural. At times his eyes appeared to be dark and unfathomable, at other times, full of sympathy, or even anger. Once, they even appeared to be full of pain, although she had no idea why.

  In a quiet corner she finally had the chance to speak to him alone. At first, words failed her as she suddenly realized here was a man she could not deceive. He knew of Richard's defection. No doubt he'd guessed her real reason for marrying Lord Dinsmore was that the gossip she thought contained was about to spread. How humiliating. She would die if he said anything. Looking up into his craggy face, she managed, "I trust you have enjoyed the wedding, Lord Lynd?" She knew, before the words left her mouth, how utterly inane that sounded, but too late now.

  "I always enjoy a good wedding, Lady Dinsmore," he replied with an enigmatic smile. "May I extend my best wishes for your future happiness?"

  She wanted to say, stop that nonsense and tell me what you're really thinking, but, of course, did not. "Lady Dinsmore," she repeated, running the words slowly across her tongue. "It will take a while before I am accustomed to my new name."

  "Just as you must become accustomed to many new things’"

  Oh! What exactly did he mean by that? Did he mean the marriage bed? She felt a blush creep over her cheeks. For some unfathomable reason, she was seized with a compelling urge to inform Lord Lynd her marriage would not be...what he was implying, and that Lord Dinsmore had clearly stated they would occupy separate bed chambers and would not be doing that. "I understand we shall be neighbors, Lord Lynd," she said, happy she'd found a safer, more acceptable topic.

  "Indeed," he answered pleasantly, "I look forward to your meeting my sister, Louisa, who lives with me at Vernon Hill. It's less than two miles from Pemberly Manor, by the way. When we were boys, Lord Dashwood and I...played together frequently."

  Noticing his obvious pause, she hastened to salvage her pride. "It's quite all right, Lord Lynd, you needn't hesitate to mention the name of the man who jilted me." She lifted her chin. "I'm quite past that now. I am fine."

  "No, you're not."

  How did he know? Startled, she declared, "You are mistaken. I'll have you know this is the happiest day of my life."

  "Balderdash." He bent forward, eyes sharp and assessing. "You tried to force an impossible fantasy into reality. It didn't work. I hope you learned something."

  She was disturbed to think he somehow knew of the secret dreams she harbored but managed to ask lightly, "What should I have learned, sir?"

  "Dream all you like. Everyone entertains impossible fantasies from time to time. Just don't expect them to come true because they won't. Life's not like that."

  "My love for Lord Dashwood was not impossible," she snapped. "It was simply the circumstances—"

  "Circumstances be dammed," he said in a tone that was affable enough, yet she noticed a certai
n hardening around his eyes.

  She drew back her shoulders. "I would prefer you not say anything derogatory about Lord Dashwood. After all, he's not here to defend himself. As for circumstances, we don't know them all, do we? He might have had a good reason for doing what he did."

  Lynd's expression clouded with anger. "Foolish woman, can't you see Dashwood is a liar and a cheat?" He appeared agitated—something she'd never seen in him before, and fighting for control. "Do you realize you have just thrown your life away with both hands? How ironic, when you and I could have..." He bit his lip, looked away, and said abruptly, "Never mind."

  "What's wrong?" At least, angry though he was, he'd spoken softly. Still, she peered around to make sure no one overheard. "Why are you so angry?" she near-whispered. "Do you think I didn't realize you had proposed to me out of pity? And how could you say such things about your dearest friend?"

  "Dammit, he's not my dearest friend. He—" Lynd caught himself, and after a long moment, forced a smile. "What am I doing, arguing with you on your wedding day? Lord Dinsmore is one of the best men who ever lived. Who better than I should know?" He shook his head regretfully, seeming to bring a curtain down on his emotions as he backed a step away. "Forgive me, Lady Dinsmore, I have said too much. Don't forget we'll soon be neighbors. If ever you need help, or if even if you just need someone to talk to, I'll be there. Always remember that. Always remember—"

  "Flora?"

  Lady Constance Boles appeared. "Come tell us where you're going on your honeymoon, my dear."

  Flora dipped a quick curtsey to Lord Lynd and excused herself. She would have loved to continue the conversation, but now was not the time. "We are not going on a honeymoon as such, Lady Boles, but later today will travel directly to Lord Dinsmore's estate in Kent..."

  After talking to Lady Boles, Flora was dismayed to see her sister across the room talking in animated fashion to the Duke of Armond. Flora didn't care for the Duke, a cold passionless man, now a widower. He was much sought after by mothers attempting to secure an outstanding match for their daughters, despite dark rumors concerning certain of the duke's personal preferences and the oft-reported deep unhappiness of his now-deceased wife.