A Heart in Flight (14 page)

“Whatever possessed you to do such a foolish thing?” he demanded.

Since he was looking right at her, Aurelia knew she had to answer. She swallowed. “I ... I don’t know. I’m truly sorry to have put you to so much trouble.”

“You always are.”

The grimness of his tone and the sternness of his expression made her almost wish to be back in the cave, even though it might be cold and wet and exceedingly uncomfortable. She had made him terribly angry, and all for naught. Phoebe’s plan had gone horribly awry. There would be no casting into Harold’s arms tonight.

But Aurelia found herself almost too tired to care. She sighed once more and let the comfort of sleep overtake her.

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning found them no worse for their adventure. But back in the meadow, ready for another series of ascensions. Aurelia was much on edge. The Earl had not persisted in his questions the night before. He had simply carried her up the stairs and unceremoniously dumped her in her room. Mrs. Esterhill, accompanied by fluttering maids, had scurried back and forth between her room and Phoebe’s until the two were tucked in warm and cozy.

But
he
had not returned, and, tired as she was, she had spent a fitful night.

This morning had been but little better. Phoebe was down in spirits because she had lost her opportunity to cast herself into Harold’s arms. Uncle Arthur was so preoccupied that he barely spoke a word to anyone. And the Earl was distant and coldly polite. Only Harold was his usual self.

“I must have a chance to go up with Harold,” Phoebe whispered, her tone urgent.

Aurelia shook her head. “I can arrange nothing for you. You see how the Earl is with me.”

“What’s next on The Plan?”

“No!” The servants looked their way and Aurelia lowered her voice, “No more rescues.”

“But how shall you bring him to the sticking point?”

“I don’t know. But I cannot bear to have him so angry with me.”

Phoebe smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Ranfield’s not one to hold a grudge. Please, will you suggest to Harold ...?”

“Hush. They’re coming.”

The approaching men were a study in contrast. Harold’s clothes always looked like he’d rushed into them without sufficient thought. His rumpled appearance combined with his unruly red hair and cheerful open smile made him look friendly and accessible. As, indeed, he was.

The Earl, on the other hand, looked his usual impeccably dressed self. His dark handsomeness was enhanced by a cool politeness and a smile that never reached his eyes. But in this mood, he was enough to frighten any sensible person. At least, he frightened her.

“So,” Harold said, rubbing his hands together. “Time for another flight. You all set, Reely?”

“Yes. I ...”

A cough from Phoebe brought her words stumbling to a halt. “That is ... I’m not feeling as well as I might.” She flushed as the Earl turned to survey her. “Maybe you should take someone else. The Earl. Or Phoebe.”

“Oh, Har—— Mr. Amesley. I should love to go.”

Harold frowned. “You won’t be afraid?”

“Oh, no! Not with you.”

Harold’s chest seemed to expand another inch. “Well, if it’s all right with Ranny.”

“Ranfield? Oh, please. Please let me go.”

The Earl’s frown deepened. “Are you sure ...?”

“Oh, quite.”

He shrugged. “Very well. But only a short flight. I want you back here soon.”

Minutes later, Phoebe and Harold floated aloft. The workmen went about their other tasks, and Aurelia, her eyes on the balloon, was extremely conscious of the Earl beside her.

The silence between them grew. “You do think she’ll be all right,” he said finally.

“Who? Phoebe? Yes, yes. Of course.” She pulled nervously at the lace that edged her sleeve. It was awkward being with this distant man. She didn’t know how to respond to him.

“Are you sure
you’re
all right? Would you like to sit down?”

Was that real concern in his voice or was he merely playing the proper host? “I ... I am a little tired. That is all.”

“And Phoebe wanted to go aloft.”

She had been staring after the receding balloon. Now she forced herself to meet his eyes. Their brilliance was clouded. “Yes,” she said. “Phoebe wanted to go aloft.”

For a moment she considered swooning into his arms. But the way he was acting, he might well become even angrier. And besides, never having swooned, she didn’t know if she could carry it off.

His face darkened. “Why should a female wish to risk life and limb in such pursuits?”

Was he questioning her motives or Phoebe’s? “It depends. Phoebe has found the idea exciting ever since you first mentioned it. And now ...”

“And now,” he finished for her, his eyes compelling. “She has a
tendre
for Harold.”

“Perhaps.”

He didn’t question her answer. “And you?”

“I simply love to be aloft.”

He frowned. “In a wicker basket. With a brazier full of fire.”

She smiled. “Really, milord. It is not that dangerous. The brazier is suspended, you know. There’s always plenty of water in case something should catch. And, besides, with our balloon there is no fire.”

Ranfield shrugged. He was still upset over last night’s episode. The emotions that had wracked him when Aurelia was found missing had been so intense and his relief on finding her so exhilarating that he’d had the most difficult time not declaring himself then and there. But for Phoebe, he would probably have silenced Aurelia’s laughter with another kiss. And been irrevocably lost.

But a night of sober reflection and very little sleep had convinced him that Providence, and Phoebe’s presence, had saved him from a great mistake. It was foolhardy to marry such a woman—great dark eyes and rosebud mouth notwithstanding.

She raised those eyes to him and asked, “Do you know why Napoleon did not use balloons to attack England?”

He conquered a desire to laugh—not at her, but at himself. While he was wrestling with knotty problems, she was, as usual, contemplating ballooning.

“I believe that at one time he made such plans,” he replied.

“I wonder why he didn’t follow through on them. Though of course I’m glad he didn’t. Victory might then have gone to the other side.”

Balloons, he thought sourly. With her it was always balloons. “I believe I read about it. When he was crowned emperor, they sent up a balloon. And it went off course and came down in Rome, punctured by Nero’s tomb, or some such thing. And Boney was insulted, felt people were laughing at him. So he closed down his ballooning school and gave up his plans to invade us by air.”

“Vanity,” she mused. “His vanity made him give up what could have brought him victory.”

To his surprise he found himself teasing a little. “You sound disappointed.”

Her cheeks turned pink and her eyes sparkled. “Oh, no! I was only thinking that he missed a great opportunity.”

“Of course.” He studied her face. Why could talking to her—and about balloons, always about balloons—make him feel so much better? It was not sensible. Still, he went on doing it. “No doubt you’ve heard about the combination balloon—the
charlo-montgolfi
è
re—
with a hydrogen bag above for the primary lift and a hot-air balloon suspended below to regulate altitude. I understand it eliminates the need for sand ballast.”

She nodded. “Yes, but that one
is
dangerous.”

He could hardly believe his ears. “It is?”

“Of course. To have a fire so close to the gas is inviting trouble. It can be done, of course. But I should not care to do it.”

Why should that simple statement make him feel so relieved? He had already decided marriage to her was out of the question. “You shouldn’t?”

“I shouldn’t. I wish to fly,” she explained sweetly. “Not to be incinerated.”

* * * *

“One lump, please.” Aurelia smiled as Phoebe solemnly poured the tea. Since their return from the meadow, Phoebe’s eyes had glowed. But whatever had transpired up there in the gondola had certainly dulled her other faculties. She had almost missed the cup once, and now she had forgotten everyone’s preferences.

Aurelia sipped her tea and leaned back in the chair. Across the room, Ranfield was deep in conversation with Uncle Arthur. And on Phoebe’s other side sat an enthralled Harold, his teacup forgotten.

Aurelia sipped in contentment. It was good to have the Earl more like his usual self. There seemed still some constraint between them, but it had lessened after their talk in the meadow.

“It was wonderful,” Phoebe said to Harold, her eyes saying much more.

Harold nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, it’s like I told you. Nothing’s better than going aloft. Unless it’s ...” His voice fell away to a murmur, and Phoebe’s face grew pinker.

Whatever had happened up there seemed to have advanced Phoebe’s cause. There was little doubt that Harold would be brought to the question. But why must men be so infernally slow about these things?

Aurelia glanced across the room to where Ranfield leaned against the mantel. Would he ever ask ...?

“Phoebe!” Cousin Prudence hurried into the room, her cap askew, her spectacles on the very end of her nose.

“Yes, Mama?”

“I have just heard the most terrible news.” She fixed Harold with a scowl, and he focused all his attention on the delicate Wedgwood cup in his hand.

Phoebe’s face paled. “What is it, Mama?”

“I just heard that you have been up in that ... that Devil’s contrivance! My own daughter, my own little girl, sailing about in the heavens! Oh, I can’t bear it! How could you? How could you do such a thing to me?”

“Oh, Mama. I didn’t do it
to you.
I did it
for
me.
It’s so beautiful up there. You can see so far. All of God’s beauties are ...”

“Stop!” Cousin Prudence’s face grew redder, and her cap threatened to topple from her head. Hands on hips, she glared at Harold. “It was you!” she cried. “You ... you ... popinjay. You tarnished my little girl’s soul with your wicked talk.”

Aurelia bit her bottom lip. It was unkind to laugh at the woman’s obvious distress. But the idea of Harold as a popinjay ... Or even of him tarnishing souls ...

“If I were a man, I should have you horsewhipped,” Cousin Prudence went on.

Harold paled, but held his ground. “I say, ma’am, there’s no need to go into such a taking. Why, Phoebe was safe up there with me. Safe ... safe as she is sitting here in this drawing room.”

“Safe!” Cousin Prudence’s voice rose several octaves.

The Earl turned and crossed the room. “You must not blame Harold,” he told his cousin. “They asked my permission, and
gave it.”

Cousin Prudence was obviously torn between her desire to speak her mind and her obligation to the kinsman who had provided for her. “It’s not right,” she muttered finally. “The Good Lord didn’t mean for people to fly. If he had, there’d be mention of it in the Good Book.”

Uncle Arthur crossed the room. He rubbed his bald pate. “Excuse me, Mrs. Esterhill. But are those spectacles you’re wearing?”

She eyed him as though he’d lost his reason. “Of course they’re spectacles.”

Uncle Arthur smiled, the smile of a cat ready to pounce. “I should like to remind you that spectacles are not mentioned in the Scriptures.”

Cousin Prudence snorted. “Course not. They didn’t have ‘em then.”

Aurelia pulled in a breath. Uncle Arthur had her fairly trapped.

“Then why are you wearing them?”

“I need ‘em to see.” Cousin Prudence stared at him. “I know what you’re getting at,” she said at last. “But spectacles ... that’s a different thing than flying about in the skies. Spectacles help people.”

“So does air flight.”

Cousin Prudence shook her head. “You’ll never make me believe that.” She looked at the Earl, her gaze accusing. “To think that you’d permit such goings on.”

“I’m sorry, cousin, that you’re offended.” The Earl’s tone was kindly, but firm, the tone of a man accustomed to obedience. And quite sure that he was right. “I saw no danger in Phoebe’s going up. She was well attended. No harm came of it.”

“No ...” The look on the Earl’s dark face made Cousin Prudence swallow the rest of her sentence. “Yes, milord,” she murmured. “If you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to see to.”

Then she was gone, buzzing out like an angry bee. “Now you’re in the suds,” the Earl said to Phoebe.

She smiled. “I cannot help it. I cannot give up air flight. It’s so wonderful. Oh, Ranfield, what can we do to make Mama understand?”

He shook his head. “I do not know, Phoebe. I really do not know.”

Chapter Fourteen

“But, Aurelia, I am not imagining this.” Phoebe turned from the window where a heavy rain beat against the casement.

Aurelia considered her friend. The constant rain had set them all on edge, giving everyone gloomy faces and drooping shoulders. “I don’t see that much difference in your mama’s ways.”

Phoebe frowned. “She is so much quieter. And she doesn’t expound on the Scriptures nearly so much.”

Aurelia patted her friend’s hand. “Perhaps all this rain has been too much for her.”

Phoebe shook her head. “No, it’s not the rain. It’s something else. I’ve never seen her this way before. Never.”

Aurelia sighed. Phoebe was getting more and more difficult. She could sympathize with her friend’s impatience. Two more weeks had passed, and Harold, though he was attentive, had still not come up to snuff. And Ranfield ...

Aurelia would never understand the man. One minute he was all charm and wit, and the next he was cold and distantly polite. Such erratic behavior was very unnerving. She found herself almost as up and down in her spirits as was her friend.

“Well,” said Phoebe, throwing herself on the chaise. “I don’t know what to do about it. But I assure you, something is wrong.”

Aurelia frowned. “She is your mama, and you know her much better than I do. So I will have to take your word for it.” She looked around the room. “Shall we go downstairs or shall we read aloud?”

Phoebe sighed. “Let’s read aloud. The men are off somewhere.” She shoved a pillow under her head. “Something about rigging, I believe. And I’d rather avoid Mama for the present.”