Lady Flora's Fantasy (33 page)

"Pemberly Manor is mine," she retorted.

"So tell me, do you think more of Pemberly Manor than your sister?" He awarded her a knowing smile. "I think not. You may fight me all you want, but in the end you'll come 'round. You will marry me. You have no choice."

"We always have a choice," she softly said. Her anger had faded. Somehow she'd managed to regain her composure, as well as her pride. She thought of Lord Lynd—his kindness, his genuine admiration over what she had done, so devoid of hypocrisy and pretense. He hadn't minded she was a woman. She was no threat to his masculinity, not like...

She regarded the man who was once her hero. She had thought him charming, but it was easy to be charming when you were a noble, and rich, and life was pleasant. Given a crisis, his true colors emerged. Thanks heaven, she finally saw him for what he was. Now she could hardly abide the sight of him and knew that beyond the shadow of a doubt she could never marry him.

But what could she do about Amy?

Old Lord Dinsmore's words came back to her:
That's the trouble with you women. You think you have no power, but you do. You must be bold enough to take it, though, and not stay a milksop all your life.

Was she a milksop? she asked herself and had to answer yes. But where was her power? What could she do?

Suddenly she knew. It would mean sacrifice, but life was full of sacrifice. Besides, she had her pride and honor, so what more did she need? "Richard, I shall never marry you," she said firmly.

"Then I shall go straight to the Duke."

"No you won't. I propose a compromise." She drew a deep breath, knowing her world was about to change forever. "You give me your word you won't go to the Duke and I'll give you Pemberly Manor." She waited. He remained silent, as if astounded. "Well? It's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

He finally found his voice. "You mean you would actually give up your precious estate?"

"When all is said and done, it's only a pile of stones and mortar. There are things I value more."

"Where will you go?"

"Do you care?" Back to her parents, of course, but he needn't know that.

Richard's face wreathed in a smile. "I believe you do mean it. Splendid, I agree. I'll have my solicitor draw up the papers." He reached for her hand. "We can still be good friends, you know."

She drew her hand back and thrust it behind her. "I find you absolutely loathsome," she said in a voice cold as ice. "Kindly have the papers drawn as soon as possible."

As she turned to leave, she was startled to see a furious Amy, her fists clenched, standing in the doorway. "You heard?" she asked in dismay, hoping her sister had not heard everything.

"It won't be necessary to draw up any papers." Amy's usually soft gray eyes were stone cold with anger.

Richard's mouth pulled into a sour grin. "Whatever do you mean, Your Grace? Surely you don't want Armond—"

"I no longer care what the Duke thinks." Amy squared her shoulders and tossed her head with defiance. She turned to Flora. "I have decided to accompany my beloved Edward to America."

"Oh, no
." Flora's hand went to her heart. "That's too great a sacrifice. I can't allow you to throw your life away on my account."

"It's not on your account," Amy firmly declared, "and I am most certainly not throwing my life away. I stood here and listened to your entire conversation with this...this vile excuse for a human being. Flora, I'm so grateful you finally found your backbone. It was a delight listening to you. Your example has caused me to find my backbone, too. For once I shall do what I want to do, not what is expected of me." A wide, open smile lit her face as she clasped her hands. "I shall go to America with Edward
. Nothing can stop me!" Cheeks flushed with excitement, Amy had to pause to catch her breath.

"I do believe you mean it," Flora said in a quiet voice.

Richard roared, "I shall immediately inform the Duke."

"You can't, he's in Scotland," Amy sweetly replied. "I shall be long gone by the time he returns."

* * * *                                                                                                                                

When Flora's left Richard's bed chamber, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was happy for her sister—happy for herself. Now there was only one other matter of importance to take care of. During the course of her discovery that she didn't love Richard, she had discovered many things about herself. How pig-headed she had been. How utterly blind. What irony that she'd finally realized Lord Lynd was the man she truly loved, but of course it was too late. He had made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing more to do with her. Was it really too late? Perhaps if she went to him this minute and poured her heart out...

Lord Lynd, I have made a terrible mistake. It isn't Richard I love, it's you. It's been you for a long time, but I just didn't realize. Can you forgive me? Can you forget the past? Can you find it in your heart to give me another chance?

Ha! Are you daft? I loved you once, but I wiped you out of my mind and heart a long time ago. Get out of my sight, you harebrained woman. I want never to see you again...

Hopeless. There wasn't a chance in the world he would ever forgive her. Still, she would tell him anyway. After all she'd put him through, she owed him that much. She descended the stairs. Perhaps he was in the drawing room.

* * * *
                                                                                                                                

Flora found Lord Lynd standing, his back to the drawing room fireplace. "So you're feeling better now," he said.

"Oh, much."

"Fine, then." he said rather stiffly. "In case you're wondering, I shall make arrangements for your return to Pemberly Manor as soon as the snow lets up."

"You have been most kind." She heard his response—a faint, derisive sniff. "I don't blame you."

"Don't blame me for what?" he asked.

"For a lot of things." Here was her chance to pour out her heart, but the words stuck in her throat.

"Such as?" he inquired indifferently.

"Well..." It was now or never. After all, the worst thing he could do to her was throw her out and she doubted he would because of the snow. So what did she have to lose? "You said once I had committed blunder after blunder. Do you recall?"

"You are the queen of blunders." He regarded her with hooded eyes. "What are you getting at?"

"Well..." She gathered her courage and plunged on. "I have just realized I have indeed committed blunders, the biggest being my supposed love for Richard."

"Supposed?" he asked cynically. "It seemed genuine to me."

"Yes, well, whatever. What I'm saying is, I don't love him anymore. In fact, I think now I never did. He was some sort of fantasy."

"So you don't love Dinsmore," he said dismissively. "Anything else?"

"Yes. I love you."

There, she'd finally choked the words out. She stood hearing her heart pound, feeling the blood rush to her face. Here came the part where he would laugh and tell her to get out.

Except for one near imperceptible quiver, he had hardly moved. Still stood with his arms behind him, just staring as if he could hardly believe such idiocy. "And when did you decide this?" he finally asked.

"I think I knew it all along. You've been wonderful to me. You've been there when I needed you."

"How flattering. So has your mother."

Oops, here was the part where he was going to throw her out. Yet, he hadn't. She should leave this instant, save herself further embarrassment, but she had more to say and she'd say it, even if it killed her. What was it that Charles had said about power? Time to put his advice to use. Time to act boldly instead of waiting like the typical docile female for the man to make the next move.

She walked to where Sidney warmed himself by the fireplace and stood in front of him, just inches away. With a direct gaze upward into his imperious dark eyes, she said, "Do you remember that day you kissed me? I liked it, and I'd like very much if you'd do it again."

"Don't," he said, arms still behind him. "You've wounded my heart too many times, Lady Dinsmore. "I can't—"

"Yes you can." With great deliberation she pressed her palm to the front of his dark woolen waistcoat. Lightly, she slid it upward until her fingers traveled over the folds of his cravat to his clear-cut jaw. It immediately tensed.

"Stop
." He caught her hand in a grip like iron. "I cannot believe you're through with him."

"But I am. I have much to tell you." She pulled at her hand; he let go; her fingers continued their travels, now the other hand, too, until she had cupped his face in her hands. "Listen," she said, rising on tiptoe. "I love you with all my heart, Lord Lynd. I know I was a fool, but can't we talk about it later?"

A faint light twinkled in the depths of his beautiful dark eyes. "Don't think we won't." With a ragged breath, he swept her into his arms.

                                                       The End