Lady Flora's Fantasy (26 page)

She gasped and could feel the blood rushing from her face, aware she must be turning pale. "I...I...how can you say such a terrible thing? I would never—"

"Never?" His smile was infuriating. "We know what goes on at these country house parties, do we not?"

She drew herself up. "Sir, you are insulting me, and I..." A lump rose in her throat. So unfair. How could she defend herself when he spoke the truth? Tears sprang to her eyes. Only it was not the truth. He had no way of knowing she would never, never...

What have I done?
Sidney wondered as he saw the pain in Flora's soft violet eyes and realized he'd caused it with his goading. Coming here was a terrible mistake. Ever since the night of Amy's wedding, when he'd called Flora a fool, a milksop, his thoughts of her had been tearing him apart. No longer could he deny his love for her. No longer could he put her out of his mind, even though he was well aware his love was hopeless. Doubly hopeless, what with both a husband and Richard, the man she truly loved, an insurmountable barrier between them. The word "lovesick" described him. Just like a green schoolboy. He had tried desperately to erase his thoughts of her but found it impossible. The only sure way to rid himself of Lady Flora was to take a knife to his brain and cut her out.

Now he'd hurt her. Why hadn't he stayed home? He'd tried, but knowing she was close by, he was like a moth to the flame. "Forgive me," he said, fighting to keep some semblance of dignity. "I had no right to say those things."

She blinked back her tears. "Why did you then?"

Because I love you, Flora. Because I'm insane with jealousy and would want to kill the bastard if he so much as laid a hand on you.
"Just my churlish nature coming out."

She gave him a thoughtful smile. "You're not churlish, Lord Lynd. You are one of the most even-tempered men I know, so I can't imagine why you said what you just said."

"Some things are best left unsaid. Am I forgiven?"

"You won't say those things again?"

"God strike me dead if I do."

She smiled that dimpled smile of hers that drove him mad. "Then I forgive you. I hope you enjoy the party."

Enjoy the party? Good God.
"I am certain I shall, Lady Dinsmore."

With a polite bow, Sidney turned and walked away.

* * * *                                                                                                                                

Although she had been shocked by Lord Lynd's initial hostility, Flora had no time to dwell on his insulting words. At least he'd apologized. By the time of the ball Saturday night, the forty house guests, plus the cream of the local gentry, had not only arrived, the party was lively and everyone appeared to be having a marvelous time. Flora was flooded with compliments.

"You've done wonders with the house, my dear."

"Haven't seen Pemberly Manor look this good in years."

"I am extremely proud of you," said her mother. At another time, Flora would have been greatly pleased by her mother's rare compliment, but since Richard's arrival, all pleasure had left her. He had not said one word to her. Worse, whenever she looked in his direction he looked away. She tried to tell herself she was being unreasonable. After all, she had expected his behavior toward her to be circumspect in the extreme. She had wanted it that way, but now that it was, a little circle of pain surrounded her heart and she wanted to cry. She had never dreamed he would completely ignore her. At the back of her mind she'd expected they could at least find a quiet corner for a cozy tête-à tête, most discreet, naturally, and highly proper.

She tried to console herself with the notion that Richard's aloof behavior was easily explained. He was ignoring her in order to cover his love for her. To that end, he was even forcing himself to flirt openly with several women guests, particularly the Countess de Clairmont, who seemed delighted at his attentions. Flora felt ashamed of her weakness. She must try to be as noble as Richard. There were times when she couldn't keep her eyes off him, though. One time when she was stealing a surreptitious glance, she caught the housekeeper looking at her strangely.

"Is anything wrong, Mrs. Wendt?" she asked.

"Nothing, your ladyship." The housekeeper moved away but not before Flora caught a triumphant, malicious gleam in her eye. She knows, Flora thought disconsolately, and the thought made her feel most uneasy.

* * * *                                                                                                                                

When Monday arrived, and most of the guests had gone, Flora knew her country house weekend had been a smashing success. The ball lasted until the wee small hours of the morning and was enjoyed by all. The food, prepared by the French chef recently acquired by Lord Dinsmore, was uniformly delicious. Male and female guests, who had pursued their amusements both together and apart, all claimed to have had a marvelous time. The gentlemen had hunted hare and fowl and practiced shooting on Dinsmore's special shooting range. The ladies gossiped, wrote letters, played cards, and drove about the neighborhood paying calls.

Flora's parents were about to depart. "Simply marvelous," Flora's mother said as she climbed into their coach. "You are truly well on your way to becoming an outstanding hostess."

"How nice," Flora murmured, not caring at all. She knew she was being foolish, but Richard's neglect had spoiled the whole weekend for her.

"Lord Lynd didn't stay very long, did he?" her mother continued. "Such a strange man."

Lord Dinsmore spoke up. "Lynd gave me his regrets. Said he'd a few urgent matters to attend to at home."

Not likely, thought Flora. She'd been so wrapped up in her concern over Richard, she'd hardly given Lynd a thought. He really had been beastly, but she felt relieved he'd apologized and they'd made up.

A sense of desolation seized her as her parents' coach drove away. For the past weeks she had thought of nothing but the house party. Now that it was over she realized that being England's greatest hostess held no appeal to her at all. So nothing was left for her except the prospect of dreary years ahead. No babies...a loveless marriage...no Richard.

"Are you all right?" asked Lord Dinsmore as they reentered the entry hall. "You seem pensive, but I can't imagine why. Thanks to you, our party was a huge success. Not only that, I've reconciled with Richard. That should make you happy. He'll soon be coming back."

Of course
. Flora suddenly felt better. For propriety's sake, Richard had ignored her this weekend, but there were many more weekends to come. I shall see him soon again, she thought, her spirits soaring. She could only love him from afar, but whatever small scraps of time she could have with him she would cherish for a lifetime.

* * * *
                                                                                                                                

The servants spent the day cleaning up the disarray left from the weekend. It was late evening when Mrs. Wendt approached Flora, who sat alone, reading in the drawing room.

"What shall I do with this, your ladyship?"

Flora dropped her book to her lap. "With what?"

"This." The housekeeper extended her palm. On it lay an emerald and diamond earring.

Flora recalled the glittering necklace that matched the earring and immediately knew the owner. "It belongs to the Countess de Clairmont. Where did you find it?"

The housekeeper's lips spread into a thin smile. Flora had the feeling she'd been eagerly awaiting the moment she could reveal some juicy tidbit. "In Lord Dashwood's bed chamber, in his bed," came Mrs. Wendt's reply.

Flora gasped and felt herself turn numb. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, indeed, my lady, she spent all three nights there." The housekeeper raised a sly eyebrow. "The maids were grateful they had one less bed to make."

Flora simply stared, blank, amazed and deeply shaken until at last the many years of her mother's strict training took hold, and she remembered she must never reveal her feelings to a servant. "That's a valuable earring, Mrs. Wendt," Flora said, her voice frosty and aloof. "Give it to his lordship. He can put it in his safe until such time as it can be returned."

"Of course, madam." Mrs. Wendt quickly left the room, but not before she let Flora see her little smile of triumph.

Richard and the countess...

Together in his bed...

Making love... How could he? Flora was struck by a near unbearable swell of pain. She felt the tears coming but held them back. She must get to her bed chamber. Nothing was left for her but to throw herself on the bed and sob her heart out.

Chapter 15

In the weak sunshine of an autumn afternoon, Sidney Bruxton rode, deep in thought, atop his fine new Arabian. With no particular destination in mind, he idly followed a meandering trail through the forest, reflecting, in a rare moment of introspection, that God had made a mistake and that in the scheme of things, he wasn't meant to be born a nobled, leisured member of the aristocracy.

He should have been born poor. If he had, he would surely be a coachman. At this very moment he could be high atop the box of the Quicksilver, flicking his whip over the heads of a crack team of six as the coach wheels flew down the road. He would be totally content. Of a certainty, there'd be no room in his life for pining over the loss of an unreasonable, stubborn woman who, for entirely unfathomable reasons, had married a crippled old man while in love with the world's worst scoundrel.

If not a coachman, then a sea captain. Right now, he could be standing on the dipping bow of a sleek clipper ship, wind whipping through his hair, sailing into a golden sunset, headed for lands far away without a thought for the likes of Flora, Lady Dinsmore, who could rot on the shore, as far as he was concerned, all memories of her totally obliterated.

He hadn't been himself lately. In the past he'd taken his responsibilities seriously, at least since his father died and he'd taken over the management of Vernon Hill, working many wearying hours. Now he took long rides through the woods every day, not caring a groat whether Vernon Hall thrived or fell into ruin. For a full two months, since the night of Lord Dinsmore's ball, he'd been assailed by an inexplicable restlessness, accompanied by a sense of futility that left him without so much as a whiff of ambition. Some, he supposed, would call his condition a malaise of the heart, but he refused to believe such nonsense.

Sidney halted his steed by a rushing stream and swung from the saddle. He tied the reins to a low branch, pulled off his coat and sat dejectedly on a rock warmed by the sun. Had she ever been here? She would enjoy a spot as beautiful as this. But perhaps she had. More than once he'd caught sight of her riding her mare through the woods, sometimes with Dinsmore, sometimes alone. He could have hailed her but always refrained. Had, in fact, made a conscious effort to keep out of her sight. Better that way. Since the night of the ball what more could he say?

Most definitely, he should go away someplace. Travel. Take a long journey to a far-off spot where somehow, in some as yet undecipherable manner, he could forget about her. A foolish notion, of course. Why was he trying to fool himself? The truth was that he, the unflappable Sidney Bruxton, was not only hopelessly in love, he could not bear to leave her, and what utter folly was that? She lived but two miles away, yet she might as well live on the moon. He would not see her. She was not part of his life anymore, and yet...an enigmatic sense that hovered deep within himself kept crying out to him
, don't leave, don't let her go, she'll need you some day
.

"Why Lord Lynd
. Fancy meeting you here."

Flora
. He looked up to see her sitting astride her horse, the skirt of her simple brown riding gown spread gracefully around her. No hat. Her hair a soft cloud about her shoulders. He concealed his surprise, quickly arose and gave her a slight bow. "Lady Dinsmore. I didn't hear you."

"I know." There was a trace of laughter in her voice. "I hadn't meant that you should."

"Sneaking up on me?"

"I instructed Primrose to tiptoe."

"For shame."

"For shame indeed, sir. You are the one who should be ashamed."

He caught a tantalizing glimpse of lace petticoat as she slung her leg over the saddle and dismounted. Despite himself, his pulse raced, he felt a tug in his groin. "And why should I be ashamed?"

"Because you have made yourself a stranger at Pemberly Manor. Mercy, we haven't seen you since—"

"The ball."

She tethered her mare and turned to face him, holding her riding crop at a jaunty angle. "Yes, the ball. Two whole months ago."

"Come sit," he said.

As she walked toward him, he noted the same enchanting blush of roses colored her cheeks; the same youthful capriciousness sparked in her eyes; yet something new had been added, something he couldn't quite define. For a moment he was baffled before he finally realized the flighty young woman cavorting in the waves at Brighton had vanished, for all eternity he should wager. Now a subtle aura of womanliness surrounded her. "I've been busy," he said, taking up his coat. He spread it over the rock, gestured for her to sit.

"Not that busy," she snipped. She sat where he'd spread his coat and crossed her dainty feet, carefully spreading her skirt about her. "Do you stay away because of Lord Dashwood?"

If only it were just that. He could almost laugh, thinking how shocked she'd be if she knew the torment he'd gone through since the night of the ball. "I've been busy," he said again.

She looked up at him with an expression of candor. "Are you still angry at me?"

"I was never angry at you, just disappointed."

She lowered her dark, curly lashes and thought a moment. When they flew back up, he saw an accepting light vivid in her violet eyes. "Everything's different now and it's partly thanks to you."

"Really? How?"

She bent forward and lightly placed two fingertips on his arm. "I shall never forget what you told me once about love. Do you recall?"

"I don't recall." Fire scorched through his body from the spot she'd touched.

"You said, 'Always remember that the most important thing in life is to learn how to give love and how to let love come to you.'"

"Now I remember."

"I heard what you said, sir. This might surprised you, but I listened, and, well...it made a difference in my life." A tiny knowing smile played on her lips. "You'll be happy to hear Lord Dinsmore and I are the best of friends. Also, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that I've...well, I do not associate with Lord Dashwood."

"You mean you've actually come to your senses?"

"Oh." A look of anger crossed her face, then she surprised him by bursting into laughter. "You love to goad me, don't you, Lord Lynd? Well, I refuse to be goaded today. I'm in too good a mood."

Had she finally found her way to Lord Dinsmore's bed? But no, she would have said. He took a moment to collect himself, then addressed her softly. "Can you tell me why you've finally gotten Dashwood off your brain?"

She bristled, as he knew she would. "That's none of your concern. But since you ask, any feelings I once had for him are most definitely terminated."

"Definitely terminated, eh? Exactly what do you mean by that?"

"I mean I consider him the lowest of the low, besides being a rakehell, a scapegrace, and utterly worthless. Furthermore, if he lay dying in the street I would pass right by and try to refrain from spitting on him."

"My, my." Sidney raised an eyebrow. "I get the impression you're not as fond of him as before."

She caught his subtle humor and could not suppress a smile. "You could say that."

Thank God she's over him
, he thought as he turned the conversation to inconsequential matters. They chatted until she said, "I had best get back. I'm concerned for Lord Dinsmore. It's his lungs, I fear. He has a cold, as well as 'flu,' and won't stop coughing."

Sidney frowned with concern. "Yes, you should get back. I'll get Primrose."

Flora watched, admiring, as Lord Lynd went to untether her mare. She had never seen him with his coat off, and she did have to admire how the muscles of his broad chest rippled beneath his plain white shirt. He moved with easy grace, too, and had a tough, lean, sinewy body she'd never noticed before. Come to think of it, she had indeed seen him without his coat: that day on the beach at Brighton when he and Richard had been wearing their bathing costumes. She hadn't really seen him, though. That day, fool that she was, she'd had eyes only for Richard.

Sidney brought the mare to a halt in front of her. She set her left foot in the stirrup, but he shook his head and frowned. "I'll give you a boost."

In a twinkling she was astride her mount, impressed by the way he'd lifted her as if she were a lady's plume. He stood close, steadying Primrose who'd gotten restless and was fidgeting about. "Thank you. You are most kind. And I do appreciate your advice to me that day. It made all the difference in the world."

"Be careful riding home. My regards to Lord Dinsmore."

Her gaze locked with his. A force beyond herself compelled her not to look away, as good manners dictated she should, but to hold her gaze steady and look deep into his warm, dark eyes. Her pulse quickened when she saw that for once his customary veil of indifference had lifted, permitting her a rare glimpse into the deep well of his innermost feelings. She had never imagined Lord Lynd would reveal such raw, honest emotion, but there it all lay, open for her to see: a pulsing mixture of love, desire, frustration, and heart-rending tenderness. Shaken, she finally looked away. Nothing less than love could explain such a look, but what were her own eyes saying? What exactly were her feelings for Lynd? Until recently she'd hardly given him a thought, what with Richard being constantly on her mind. Now, however...?

His look had shaken her, but whatever her feelings, she knew she must cease such errant speculations immediately. "I am most grateful for your advice," she said with great politeness. "I shall give Lord Dinsmore your regards."

"Good," he replied, regarding her with cool detachment. It was clear the revealing moment was gone; the veil of indifference lowered once again.