A Heart in Flight (6 page)

He considered the ramifications of this unpleasant possibility with some thoroughness. It was possible. But it certainly didn’t seem probable. How could they have predicted a thunderstorm? And that story of how she’d gotten around her uncle’s edict against going up— knowing her as he did now, that seemed so likely.

And there was something else to consider. He was no stranger to female tricks. He’d been exposed to the whole battery—and more than once. But with her there were no fluttering eyelashes or coy looks. No tinkling laughter or accidental brushing of hand against hand. Indeed, she’d been—or at least seemed—quite disconcerted by his carrying her about like that. Too bad, for he had found it most enjoyable.

He experienced a twinge of guilt. How could he be suspecting such an innocent? And she not even recovered from the effects of the crash. Was this excursion outdoors too much for her? Had he let his desire for her conversation override his instincts to protect her?

He considered her face, soft and relaxed as she took in the beauty of the flowers. He intended to look for signs of weariness, but soon he was just enjoying the sight of her.

“Milord?” she asked finally, hesitantly, putting a hand to her cheek.

“Yes, Miss Amesley?”

“Why do you stare at me so? Have I perhaps some other injury?”

“No, no.” He hastened to reassure her. “I am just looking to see if you’re fatigued.”

She sighed, a little wisp of sound that made him want to take her in his arms, to shield her, to keep her safe forever. And then she turned those great dark eyes on him. “You’re very kind. I am feeling just a trifle fatigued.”

“Then I shall return you to your room.” He wanted more of her companionship. But her comfort was of more importance than his wants. So, before he could talk himself out of it, he gathered her up and went striding off toward the house.

Aurelia found her heart beginning to pound. She tried to calm the silly thing. After all, he had carried her before. But with her arms wrapped around his neck and her cheek resting against his waistcoat, she could feel the beating of his heart, a heart that seemed to throb in rhythm with her own.

So by the time they reached her room, she knew her cheeks were quite pinker and her breath quite faster than they should be.

He put her carefully on the bed and smiled down at her. “Perhaps a nap would be in order before dinner.”

“Yes.” Now why had she said that? She was not feeling the least bit tired. She’d only come back to her room because he suggested it.

She felt his touch, featherlight, as he smoothed back a curl on her forehead. And then he was gone.

The minute the door closed behind him she regretted her acquiescence. Here she was, wide awake and fall of energy—and forced to lie abed like some invalid. It was quite annoying.

Chapter Five

Aurelia was still annoyed a long time later when a slight creaking sound turned her attention to the door. It opened very slowly and Phoebe peered around it.

“
Oh
,
do come in!” Aurelia cried. “Please. I am quite beside myself with boredom.”

Phoebe advanced to the bed. “Perhaps I should not bother you. Ranfield said you were sleeping.”

Aurelia shook her head. “He suggested that I nap, but I could not. I have already rested for so long.” She picked at the coverlet. “I am not used to doing nothing.”

Phoebe nodded. “I suspected as much. So I brought you some books to read.”

Aurelia took the proffered volumes.
“The Dark Stranger.
Oh, thank you. And a new book,
Frankenstein
by Mary Shelley. I hope I have time to finish it before I must leave.”

“Leave!” Phoebe’s face reflected alarm. “You cannot leave!”

Aurelia smiled sadly. “Phoebe, I’m afraid I must. Uncle Arthur and Harold will be coming for me. We’ll have to return to London.”

Phoebe dragged a zebrawood chair to the bed. “I don’t believe you shall be returning to the city.”

“You don’t?”

Lowering her voice, Phoebe looked rather anxiously toward the door. “You see, you are the answer to my prayers.”

“I am? Why?”

Phoebe’s forehead wrinkled. “I have been so dreadfully lonely here. Mama reads nothing but Scripture. Why, if it were not for Ranfield’s library, I should have long ago gone mad.”

At the mention of his name, Aurelia felt herself coloring. What an extraordinary effect the man had on her.

“His lordship buys romances for you?” she asked.

Phoebe nodded, her eyes again on the door. “He tells Mama they are for him. She can’t disapprove of
him, of
course. And he does read them sometimes. I know—for we talk about them.”

The prospect of daily discussion with the Earl, and over such an interesting topic, left Aurelia wishing herself in Phoebe’s slippers. She heaved a giant sigh. “That must be quite interesting.”

“It is.” Phoebe’s eyes took on a speculative light. “What do you think of Ranfield?”

“I ... He .. .” Aurelia found it difficult to go on. Thinking about the Earl made her heart behave in a most peculiar fashion. Speaking about him was even more difficult.

Phoebe smiled. “Aurelia, you aren’t ... You haven’t ... That is, could you possibly have conceived a
tendre
for Ranfield?”

The question left Aurelia almost as breathless as the Earl did. “A
tendre
for
Ranfield? I truly don’t know.”

The two looked at each other.

Aurelia sighed again. “I have been feeling most peculiar lately.”

Phoebe considered this. “Since your accident?”

“Well, actually since that day in the park.”

Phoebe’s mouth fell open. “What day in the park? Oh,
do tell me.”

“The day Harold introduced me to his lordship.”

Phoebe pleated the material of her gown and looked thoughtful. “And has your heart been palpitating?”

Aurelia frowned. “Hearts do not really palpi-- Oh, Phoebe, they do! At least, mine does. Do you really think ... ?”

Phoebe nodded. “I’m afraid it sounds suspiciously like love.”

Aurelia’s heart gave several lively jumps. “Love? But Phoebe, I know nothing of love.”

Phoebe’s sigh echoed through the room. “Nor I. But oh, I should like to. I should very much like to.” She clasped Aurelia’s hand. “Just think, when you and Ranfield marry, we shall be cousins.”

“M-marry?” Aurelia repeated. “But surely if his lordship wanted a wife, he would have chosen one by now.”

Phoebe looked thoughtful. “He’s three and thirty. He’s had plenty of time.”

“Then perhaps he does not mean to many.”

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “Impossible. He must marry and provide an heir.”

“Still ...”

“No.” Phoebe smiled. “It’s actually quite obvious. The man needs a wife.”

“But ...”

“No ‘
buts,’ “
said Phoebe, in a tone so like Ranfield’s that Aurelia dissolved into laughter.

When she could speak again, she shook her head. “Phoebe, we should not build dream castles like this.”

“And why not?”

“Well, dream castles are so unreal. After all, we have no indication that his lordship ...” She faltered. “That is, he has been most kind, but perhaps he has a liking in another direction.”

Phoebe considered this. “I think not. He has made no mention of hanging out for a wife.”

Aurelia bethought herself of the Earl’s meeting with Alvanley. “Is there someone named Annette?”

Phoebe shook her head. “I know no one of that name. Ranfield wouldn’t marry without telling us.”

“But Phoebe, dear, you still forget. I’ll be going back to London.”

Phoebe shook her head. “You must not. You must stay and marry Ranfield. Oh, Aurelia, it will be above all marvelous. You and I deal so famously together already.”

“Yes, we do. But isn’t it more important ... ? That is, shouldn’t the Earl and I ... ?”

“Shouldn’t the Earl and you what?” came his voice from the doorway.

Aurelia jumped, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. Her mind went a perfect blank. “I ...” His coming in so unexpectedly had cast her into a regular flutter. She could not think. She could not speak. She could scarcely breathe. But she did have enough presence of mind to look at Phoebe.

And, blessedly, Phoebe sprang into the breach. “Shouldn’t Aurelia and you talk about ballooning,” she explained.

How resourceful Phoebe was. Aurelia felt her wits returning. “Yes,” she said. “I was afraid that perhaps I had bent your ear too much. Earlier when we were discussing air flight.”

“Of course you did not.” The Earl advanced into the room. “As I told you, I am much interested in ballooning.”

What a fine figure of a man he made. His coat fit so smoothly across his shoulders, his fawn inexpressibles showed not a single wrinkle, and his Wellingtons gleamed in the spring sun.

Her heart
was
palpitating. Could Phoebe be right? Could these strange feelings mean that she had, at last, met a man who could make her think seriously of matrimony?

The thought was disconcerting, especially with him standing right there, bigger than life. And oh so handsome.

“I came to check on you. To see if you were still resting. But since I find you awake, I’ll just leave you to Phoebe’s company till dinner.”

He surveyed her carefully. “You’re looking rather flushed,” he remarked. “Are you sure you’re not coming down with a fever?”

“Oh no, milord. I feel quite well.”

She could hardly tell him that her high color was the direct result of his presence. But she was quite certain he was the cause.

He came toward the bed and put a hand to her forehead. His touch was gentle, tender. Like a mother’s. Except that no mother’s touch had ever set a heart to such insane fluttering.

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “You don’t feel feverish.”

He turned to Phoebe. “If she seems tired, you will see that she rests.”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll see you both at dinner.”

Aurelia stared after his departing figure, her mind a veritable chaos of thoughts.

There was silence for several moments after his departure. Then Phoebe turned back to the bed. “Well?”

“I ... I think perhaps you are right. I seem to have conceived a partiality for the Earl.”

Phoebe’s smile was ecstatic. “Oh, this is so romantic.”

Aurelia was still not convinced. “But Phoebe dear, these are
my
feelings. Not his lordship’s.”

Phoebe shook her head. “Oh, but I saw how he looked at you! With longing in his eyes. Just like the dark stranger looked at Corrinne.”

A modicum of sense still remained to Aurelia, but it was being rapidly reduced by visions of herself on Ranfield’s arm. Still, she tried hard to be sensible. “He has only been kind to me.”

“Kind!” Phoebe’s snort was very like her mother’s. “Kind needn’t include carrying you about like that. Or checking your forehead for a fever.”

“Phoebe!”

“It’s plain as the nose on your face,” Phoebe declared. “He’s taken with you.”

Aurelia sighed. “Oh, if only that were true.” To be wife to Ranfield—the picture was so enchanting she lost herself in it.

But she was not a green girl. Common sense had not entirely deserted her. “Oh, Phoebe, it simply won’t wash. Your cousin is merely being kind. He has no romantic interest in me.”

Phoebe frowned. “Then we shall see that he does.”

“We
shall?”

“Of course.”

Aurelia frowned. “But Phoebe, I thought ... That is, shouldn’t the woman wait for the man to fix his interest on her?”

Phoebe frowned and went to pleating her gown again. “Perhaps. But what if he doesn’t?”

“I don’t know. I know nothing of dangling after men. And as you said, you are equally ignorant.”

“I know.” Absently, Phoebe picked up the copy of
The Dark Stranger
and tapped it impatiently against her palm. “How to do it?” she mused. “How to ... ?”

And then, looking down, she smiled. “Aurelia! That’s it. It’s all here!”

The quick succession of emotions had left Aurelia bewildered. Could it have also affected her ability to comprehend? “I don’t understand.”

“It’s all here!” Phoebe repeated. “In Lady Incognita’s book. Aurelia, think. Doesn’t the dark stranger fall in love with Corrine?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, we’ll just see how she did it. And then we’ll do the same.”

“But Phoebe,
The Dark Stranger
is not life.”

“But did it not strike you as so real ...?”

“Yes, but we have no ruined abbeys, no ghosts, no ... And besides, Uncle Arthur will be coming.”

Phoebe frowned. “Do you want Ranfield to dangle after you or do you not?” she demanded.

In the face of such a question Aurelia could only breathe a heartfelt, “Oh, yes, I do.”

“Then we must use what we have. And what we have is
The Dark Stranger.”
Phoebe smiled. “We’ll find a way to keep you here.”

“Bat ...” Phoebe’s reasoning seemed faulty, somehow. Still, she was so insistent. And perhaps ... Who was to say that she was wrong? “All right,” Aurelia agreed, finally capitulating.

Phoebe shoved the book into her hands. “Here. Read. When we come upon something that brought them together, we’ll mark it.”

Her eyes glittered. “We’ll write it all out. We’ll make it work.”

Part of Aurelia still objected, but it was a small part, and growing smaller. She opened the book and began to read. “A dark cloud covered the face of the gibbous moon as though to hide from mankind’s shocked sight the heinous deeds about to be perpetrated. Corrinne’s tender heart quivered ...”

Downstairs in his library, the Earl of Ranfield relaxed in a rosewood chair. His long legs stretched out in front of him, he contemplated the Turner landscape over the mantel. But he did not really see its brilliant recreations of sunlight and storm.

Those two upstairs had not been talking about ballooning when he chanced into the room. That little quiver of Phoebe’s bottom lip had always signaled falsehood. But what
had
they been discussing? And how had they so quickly become close?

He sighed. Better to ask some questions he could answer. Questions of himself. Why, for instance, had the coming of Aurelia Amesley made such a difference in his life? It had been a reasonably content life—besides the work of his estate, he’d had the theater, the balls, the pretty ladies—dark willowy ladies with classic features. And life had been pleasant with all its little fripperies. Of course, he hadn’t considered them fripperies, then. Before Aurelia Amesley came along, disturbing everything.