"Good," he replied, regarding her with cool detachment. It was clear the revealing moment was gone; the veil of indifference lowered once again.
"I trust you will come visit us soon." She, too, could be detached.
"Of course."
"See that you do." With a little smile she nudged Primrose and started away.
* * * *
During the following weeks, Lady Rensley's visits to Pemberly Manor became increasingly more frequent, a circumstance which, before Flora's change of heart, would have displeased her no end, considering the way her mother constantly hovered about, worrying about the correctness of everything Flora did. Now, however, Lady Rensley's critical tongue was stilled. She had nothing but praise for her prodigious daughter who had married the Hero of Seedapore and brought Pemberly Manor back to its former glory. Even Amy, married to the Duke, had slipped from favorite status to second best, an event which caused both sisters secret mirth.
Not that Amy had been all that mirthful of late, Flora noticed. When she came to visit, always alone it seemed, never with the Duke, she seemed more subdued and withdrawn each time.
Lord Lynd had also taken to visiting frequently. All animosity, or whatever tension had been between them, was gone. Lord Dinsmore delighted in his visits and went riding with them when he was able. As time passed, though, he was confined more and more to his bed.
Even Richard showed up occasionally, appearing without warning, rolling up to the front entrance in his curricle. Wearing a mask of politeness, Flora assiduously avoided him. Only once did her mask fall away, one day when he found her alone, reading on the window seat in the library.
"So, my dear Lady Dinsmore," Richard proclaimed as he strode across the room. "Finally I've caught you alone."
She caught her breath as she lowered her book. She must give herself time to act casual. "There is hardly a reason for us to be alone, sir," she replied, proud she'd managed a cool demeanor.
Richard sat next to her on the broad window seat and took her hand. "Dear Flora, I get the definite impression you're avoiding me."
"I am."
An innocent look of amazement crossed his face. "But why?"
This was so difficult. If she could, she'd leap up and run away, but his grasp was tight, and, oh! how the touch of his hand caused her pulse to race. Even now, when she was totally through with him she could feel a tug of attraction between them. "I have nothing to say to you, sir. Further words leaped to her mouth. She decided not to say them, but they poured out anyway. "Did you think your liaison with the countess would go unnoticed?"
"What?" He looked amazed. "You mean...?"
"I mean the house party. I mean those three nights you entertained the countess in your bedchamber."
Startled, he sat back. "Who told you such a thing?"
"One of the countess's emerald and diamond earrings was found in your bed."
"Ah, Mrs. Wendt," he said softly, almost as if to himself. "The woman never liked me." He gazed at her aghast. "Nor you either. You believed her?"
"Why would she lie?"
He abruptly arose and looked down at her, burning accusation in his eyes. "I would never have thought you would be influenced by the idle gossip of servants. Apparently I was wrong."
"You mean you didn't—?" she began, but never finished. Richard had turned on his heel and was gone.
* * * *
That night, Sidney entertained Richard at dinner at Vernon Hill. Sidney had not invited him, but when his old friend showed up at his doorstep, what could he do?
As it turned out, he enjoyed most of the evening. Richard, at his charming, convivial best, shared the latest London on-dit, both the hilarious and the scandalous. Now, as the two shared after-dinner brandies and cigars, the conversation turned to the residents of Pemberly Manor.
"I discovered why our dear Flora has ignored me these past months," said Richard, looking not at all concerned.
"And why is that?" asked Sidney.
"Remember the house party? Thanks to that harridan housekeeper Mrs. Wendt finding the countess's earring in my bed, Flora thinks I was bedding the countess the whole time."
"Well, you were, weren't you?"
Richard gave an elaborate shrug. "Of course I was, but that's beside the point. Actually I don't care a groat what Flora thinks since she won't be mistress of Pemberly Manor much longer. I s'pose you've noticed Lord Dinsmore is in rather fragile health."
Sidney was taken aback. "Fragile health perhaps, but Flora's been taking good care of him."
Richard chuckled with a dry, cynical sound. "The most caring wife in the world is not going to improve those wheezy lungs of his or take away his hacking cough." He peered at Sidney intently. "You have noticed that cough, have you not?"
Sidney felt a sudden chill. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying my cousin is not as healthy as everyone likes to think. Naturally, I don't want him to die, Sidney, so you needn't look at me as if I were a monster." Richard took a long sip of his brandy and sat musing a moment, swirling the contents of his glass. "Still, when the time comes, and it might not be too long, I shall be making other arrangements for his widow."
"What arrangements do you mean?" Yet again, Sidney was surprised by this selfish, unpredictable man.
"I shall send her off, of course. She can always return to her parents. Otherwise, as you know, Dinsmore owns several small estates, all of which I shall inherit. I thought, perhaps, that small estate in Scotland would be suitable. Not nearly so grand as Pemberly Manor, but—" a sour smile spread across his lips "—what is?"
Sidney set his glass down so hard a bit of brandy splashed over the top. "That's cruel. Lady Dinsmore adores Pemberly Manor. Those months she spent renovating—"
"Spare me." Richard raised a laconic hand. "I want Pemberly Manor all to myself. For one thing, I plan on entertaining lavishly. I picture my friends coming down from London in their fancy coaches. Think how impressed they'll be when they catch that first grand glimpse of Pemberly Manor as they roll up that tree-lined driveway. I shall have balls, fox hunts, hawking, hunting—all that is amiable. No host in England will provide a grander affair than I. Even the countess will be impressed—that is, if there's no grieving widow around to spoil the fun."
"And Flora? You'll just throw her out?"
"Of course not. Did I not just say I'd find a place for her? Don't forget I am the heir to the estate. Dinsmore could not disown me even if he wanted to." He eyed Sidney triumphantly. "I shall have it all. When I die, my son inherits everything."
"You don't have a son."
"Ah, but I will." Richard beamed. "The countess has expressed a burning desire to become mistress of Pemberly Manor. She's sure to marry me now." He frowned. "Another thing, too. My funds are at low ebb. Soon as Dinsmore...er, leaves us, I shall sell off part of the land and voilá! my debts are gone."
"Lord Dinsmore never intended—"
"A pox on what he intended." Richard suddenly scowled. "You do realize, what I said was in confidence."
Sidney vehemently responded, "Lord Dinsmore loves Flora with all his heart. He would be distraught if he knew of your despicable plan."
"But you won't tell him, will you? You won't tell him because you're a man of honor and men of honor don't tattle on their friends. And I am a friend, Sidney." Grinning, Richard bent closer. "Saved your life once, if you recall."
Torn by conflicting emotions, Sidney shut his eyes a moment. Lord Dinsmore must be warned. Above all else, he would not want Flora ejected from Pemberly Manor. But on the other hand...
Richard was right. He was indeed a man of honor. Never could he betray a confidence, most especially that of an old friend who once saved his life.
There was only one acceptable solution: Lord Dinsmore must live to a ripe old age and most certainly not die any time soon. That should stop your evil plot, he thought, glaring at his friend with devilish satisfaction.
Only one thing was wrong. Much to Sidney's dismay, he, too, had notice
d that Lord Dinsmore had not been in the best of health lately.
But he can't die now.
Chapter
16
Oh a chill December day, Lord Dinsmore, feeling much improved after a long bout with the "flu," decided to go visiting despite an impending snow storm. The storm struck while his coach was heading for home, causing a biting cold wind to whip across the land and snow to choke the roads. At one point, the coach stuck in a drift and Dinsmore was obliged to assist the coachman in digging out the wheels. In the process, he caught a chill.
Two days later, feverish and coughing, Lord Dinsmore took to his bed.
Next morning he took a turn for the worse. Soon, having heard the news, his friend and good neighbor Lord Lynd arrived. He remained closeted with Dinsmore for over an hour and left wearing an expression of grave concern.
Later in the day, Sir Charles Quigley, Dinsmore's solicitor, arrived to discuss what appeared to be important matters behind closed doors. His visit culminated with the butler and housekeeper being called to the sick chamber to witness signatures on new documents, including a change in his lordship's will.
Next day, Lord Dinsmore lay weak, wan and feverish, fighting for each breath. Flora sat by his side, gripping his hand, her face drawn tight with concern.
"You will get better, Charles. You must fight. I cannot lose you now."
Dinsmore gazed at her so lovingly it wrenched her heart. "Dearest Flora, you have given me more joy these past months than I've had in a lifetime. If only..." His eyes closed. She watched helplessly as her husband seemed to drift away. Gently she squeezed his hand.
"If only what, Charles?"
Dinsmore opened his eyes, appearing to have gathered his strength again. "If only you could have known me when I was young. I was strong as a bull...stubborn, convinced I could conquer the world. Quite the handsome buck, too, before..." a fit of coughing racked him. "Back then you would not have been compelled to dream of someone else."
So he knew! Shocked, she couldn't speak. Guilt assailed her. Because of her new attitude she'd been happy these past few months with only one dark cloud hanging over her. Richard's golden image still appeared in her mind in moments of weakness. But never did she dream her husband would guess her guilty secret. Now she wept, knowing she was wrong, vowing if he should live, she would never dream of another man again. "Oh, Charles, I am so sorry—"
"You mustn't cry," Charles whispered. "Our marriage hasn't been all bad, has it?"
"Oh, no! These past few months have been the happiest of my life. You gave me a horse and let me ride it. I've learned I could eat breakfast when I pleased—do what I pleased—stop living my life according to all society's silly rules. Why, I've even learned four-in-hand."
"Thank Lord Lynd for that." Dinsmore managed a faint smile and gripped her hand. "You'll marry again—soon, I hope, and to Sidney."
"Not Richard?" she asked, surprised.
Dinsmore's scoffing laughter was interrupted by a fit of coughing. "You and Sidney will have fine sons. You two will see to it they are men strength and honor, not like..." He sighed and closed him eyes again. When he opened them, he said sharply and clearly, "Watch out for Richard."
There went that stab of pain in her heart again. Despite her anger over the countess, she had hoped Charles would completely forgive his cousin, recognize his many fine qualities. "I'm not sure I know your meaning." She bent close to hear his answer.
"Yes you do."
At another time she might have argued. Now she sat waiting for Charles to speak again.
He did not. Instead, Charles Fraser, Earl of Dinsmore, Hero of Seedaseer, fell into a deep coma and only hours later slipped the bonds of earth and was gone forever.
* * * *
London
Dressed in a black bombazine gown of supreme dullness, plain black bonnet resting on her head, Flora huddled in the corner of the mourning coach, one of a procession of black-decorated coaches that were wending toward St. Paul's Cathedral for the funeral of the Earl of Dinsmore.
"This is not right," exclaimed her mother who sat next to her, garbed in equally dull black. She stuck her head out the window and peered directly ahead at the first mourning coach. Beyond it, the hearse rolled along at a slow, dignified pace, drawn by six horses covered with black velvet. "Flora, I cannot imagine why you should be delegated to the second coach in line. You were his wife, for pity's sake."
Flora sighed and stared out the window. "It makes no difference."
"Indeed it does."
"Mama, let it rest," said Amy who sat across. "If the new Lord Dinsmore wants the first coach to himself, then so be it. Flora doesn't care, so why should you?"
"I really don't care," said Flora, forcing herself to speak. It was an effort just to talk, let alone involve herself in any kind of argument. She was faintly surprised when, earlier, she'd discovered Richard had decreed he should ride alone in the first mourning coach and relegated her and her family to the second. Perhaps if her father were here, he would stand up for her, but he was ill today and couldn't come. Even Amy's husband, the Duke, might have helped but he was at his hunting lodge in Scotland. At another time, she would have been deeply hurt over such an obvious slight. Now it didn't matter.
Her mother peered out the window again, this time to the rear. "There must be at least fifty mourning coaches. Truly a fitting tribute to Lord Dinsmore." She gave a triumphant little sniff. "With all the dignitaries here, I'd wager Lady Constance Boles's coach is well toward the rear."
Flora exchanged glances with Amy, both silently lamenting their mother's compulsion to consider her social standing no matter where she was, even her son-in-law's funeral. "I doubt the position of her carriage has much to do with rank, Mama."
Her mother ignored her comment. "And just look at the crowds of people," she crowed, "they line the streets." In a kindly gesture, she patted Flora's hand. "But of course everyone loved the Hero of Seedaseer."
Flora wished her mother would stop talking. Charles gone. Oh, how she wished she'd been kinder to him. If only she had loved him as he loved her. But at least she'd come to know him intimately during his last months. If she had not gone to his bed that night, she would feel even worse, if that was possible. Still, his death bed intimation that he knew what her feelings were for Richard had increased her misery a thousand-fold. Exactly how much he knew, or had guessed, she would never know.
Please, just let me get through this, Flora thought in silent prayer. All she wanted in the world was to get through the funeral without falling apart, then hasten to the warm, welcoming shelter of Pemberly Manor. Although she'd lived there but a year, she thought of it as her home, not only for now, but forever as far as she was concerned.
"So what will be your living arrangements?" asked her mother. It was as if she had read Flora's mind.
"The same as before, I should imagine." Her mother's question had surprised her. "I never thought—"
"Perhaps you should think," her mother tartly interrupted. "Pemberly Manor belongs to the new Lord Dinsmore now. Not that you're without resources. Be thankful your father negotiated a fine marriage settlement in your behalf, what with jointure and pin money. Still, as you very well know, land and houses go to the heir."
"It really doesn't matter who owns Pemberly Manor," Flora replied. "The new Lord Dinsmore would never throw me out, or be less than the soul of generosity in any way."
"Hmm," said her mother, sounding doubtful. "What you should do, Flora, is move back with your father and me."
Never. She would lose all the freedom she had gained if she moved back with her parents, although she'd never say so. No question, the new Lord Dinsmore would allow her to stay, Flora assured herself. Nearing the Cathedral, she forgot the depressing conversation with her mother.
As they ascended the steps of St. Paul's, Lady Rensley nudged her. "Here he comes at last. High time."
Richard appeared, garbed to funereal perfection in total black, including a special
black mourning cloak. All shiny gilt buttons and buckles had been removed from his clothing. To complete his aura of mourning, he had replaced his usual pleasant expression with one of the severest gravity.
"Ah, Lord Dinsmore," said her mother, "are you not impressed with the immense size of the crowd? There's no doubt your cousin was greatly beloved and honored."
Richard bowed, rather briefly, Flora thought. For the first time ever, her heart didn't leap at his sight. She sensed there was something different about him. At first she couldn't think what it was, except it seemed as if now he carried a mantle of remoteness about him, tinged with more than a touch of arrogance. "Ah, Lady Rensley," he replied, a touch condescending. "Of course there is a crowd for my dear, departed cousin. I shall escort you all inside. Lady Dinsmore, protocol decrees you shall sit with me during the services."
Protocol decreed? How formal he seemed. How very cold, as if she wouldn't be by his side if it weren't for protocol.
"So you're the new Earl of Dinsmore now," gushed Lady Rensley. Amy nudged her. Finally realizing she sounded much too cheerful, Lady Rensley switched her expression to one more solemn. "My deepest condolences. What are your plans, sir?"
Richard's expression turned even more sober if that was possible. "I shall need months to recover from the lamentable loss of my dear Cousin Charles. Thus, I shall retire from London and return to Pemberly Manor—to my roots, so to speak, where I plan to spend the next few months in prayer and meditation."
"And my daughter?" Lady Rensley asked. Flora flinched. Was there no question too outrageous for her mother to ask? But before she could admonish her mother, Richard turned his attention to her again.
"That reminds me. How soon do you plan on moving back with your parents?"
Thunderstruck, Flora was forming her shocked reply when Richard continued, "Not that you need rush, madam. Take all the time you need. Although...actually, I'd like to leave London as soon as possible and reclaim my home. Do you suppose you could be out by the end of the week?"
Before Flora could begin to answer, a hand shot out of the crowd and gripped Richard's arm. Flora saw it belonged to Lord Lynd, a most unsmiling Lord Lynd with a lethal calmness in his eyes.
Lady Flora's Fantasy Page 20
