Lady Flora's Fantasy (8 page)

Dashwood bowed in his usual gallant fashion and kissed the countess's hand. "I am honored that one of the most beautiful women in London has chosen to flatter me."

"Only 'one of?'" The countess pouted. "Ah well, I am but a poor refugee and should be grateful for the smallest of favors,
n'est pas?
"

"
Au contraire
,
mam'selle
. A woman like you could never be a 'poor refugee.'" Richard gave her a dazzling smile of his own. "You are looking positively radiant tonight. Shall we dance?"

Flora felt a tug of despair when she saw the countess melt into Dashwood's arms. They danced the next dance, too, and the next.

He never came back.

After the ball, when they were home again, and she was chatting with Amy about the events of the evening, Flora said with a frown, "How could he call me his 'powerful enchantress' then simply walk away and not dance with me again?"

"It's a puzzlement," Amy agreed. "But I am inclined to think...no, I shouldn't say anything."

Instantly alert, Flora demanded, "Speak up. Say what's on your mind."

Still hesitant, Amy answered slowly, "We know Lord Dashwood is as handsome as they come, and ever so charming, but don't you think he's a bit...well, the word
effuse
comes to mind."

How could Amy think such a thing
? Rarely did Flora ever feel like snapping at her sister, but now was one of those times.

"I have no idea what you mean by effuse," she responded coldly.

Amy appeared to take a deep breath, as if she were preparing to jump off a cliff. "What I mean is, all his fancy words and quoting of poetry out of the blue I equate to insincerity."

Flora quelled a sudden surge of anger. How dare Amy
. Could she not see that Lord Dashwood was near-perfect in every way? Still, she took a moment to consider, reminding herself that over the years, Amy's perceptive remarks on human nature had always been quite keen for one so young, and her opinion should be respectfully considered. But no. Her sister's opinion of Lord Dashwood was wrong, wrong, wrong.

"I appreciate your concern, Amy, but in this case you are mistaken."

"Forgive me for saying this, but I fear you have a blind spot when it comes to Lord Dashwood. Quite frankly, I think he's a bit of a wastrel."

Flora drew herself up. "Lord Dashwood is a well-mannered gentleman who is a great credit to the English nobility." Resentment welled within her. In a gust of emotion she could not control, she continued, "He is honorable, creditable, altogether delightful, and—" the words burst out "—how could you even imply he's not sincere? I would stake my life that he is. If he only danced with me the once, then he had good reason. Perhaps he was tired, or not feeling well, or did not wish to monopolize my time."

Amy thoughtfully bit her lip. "Flora, forgive me for saying so, but I'm worried about you. You've always been so sharp-witted, and in most matters so temperate. It rather surprises me that when it comes to Lord Dashwood, you're not listening to reason."

Flora's anger deepened, but she had never argued with her sister, not since they were children, and would certainly not start now. "You have your opinion and I have mine. I have nothing more to say on the subject, so shall we talk of something else?"

Amy, always the tactful one, nodded in agreement. "Forgive me. That was just my humble opinion, and of course we'll change the subject."

"You're forgiven." Amy's words didn't really hurt because Flora knew she was wrong. But what caused that strange look that had flashed for the briefest of moments through Amy's eyes? Surely not concern, mixed with pity. Surely not that.

"I saw you talking to Lord Lynd tonight," Amy said.

Lord Lynd
. Flora gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh, no, I hadn't thought till now. I left him without saying a thank you or goodbye—just walked off with Lord Dashwood and started dancing. How rude of me."

Amy shrugged. "A trifle rude, but I doubt you'll be banished from the
ton
because of it."

"I feel bad. Mama taught me better than that. It's not like me to forget my manners in such a fashion."

Amy smiled. "Could it be you were distracted by a certain enchanting gentleman whom we're not going to discuss?"

"Perhaps Lord Lynd didn't notice," Flora replied, ignoring Amy's comment. "After all, why would he care? Even if he had noticed, he's surely forgotten my slight social
faux pas
by now."

When Flora finally crawled into bed that night, she knew she'd have a hard time getting to sleep. Lord Dashwood liked her
. She knew he did...or did he? She would spend a restless tossing, turning night trying to figure him out. As for Lord Lynd, she really should apologize next time she saw him. And she certainly would, if she remembered.

    
* * * *                                                                                                                                                                                                        

In his London lodgings, Sidney yanked off his Hessian boots and dropped them with resounding thuds upon his plush Axminster carpet. His valet had built a fire before Sidney sent him to bed. Now he stretched his long legs before it and remarked to his guest, "Well, Richard, it appears you were the darling of the ladies tonight, yet again."

Richard, equally at ease in front of the fire, smugly replied, "I was, wasn't I?" Looking exceedingly pleased with himself, he took a leisurely sip from his brandy glass before remarking, "Did you see me with Lady Flora?"

"I did indeed." All of a sudden, Sidney realized he had gripped the stem of his glass so tightly it might break. He forced himself to loosen his grip. "So how is your campaign to marry the beautiful Lady Flora proceeding? Do you still plan to capture the lady's heart?"

"My campaign is coming along quite well, thank you." Richard's smile of satisfaction set Sidney's teeth on edge.

Richard set his glass on the giltwood side table and clasped his hands dramatically to his heart. "Ah, my dearest Aphrodite," he mockingly recited, "ah, my powerful enchantress
."

"Don't tell me she believed such garbage."

"She's ready to fall at my feet, dear boy. I even quoted Euripides—that always impresses them." He waved his hand theatrically through the air. "'May you never launch at me, Lady of Cyprus, your passion-poisoned arrows, which no man can avoid.' A nice touch, don't you agree?"

"If she believes your drivel, she's not as smart as I thought she was. You're an ass, Richard."

Richard gave an elaborate shrug. "Am I really so terrible? After all, I plan to marry the chit, unless something better comes along. Not likely, though. Rumor has it her dowry is more than plentiful." He leveled a keenly curious gaze at his host. "You wouldn't happen to know, would you?"

Inordinately annoyed, Sidney snapped, "I have no idea what Lady Flora's dowry is worth."

Richard looked genuinely puzzled. "See here, Sidney...you don't have feelings for the young lady yourself, do you? Because if you do—"

"Nonsense." Again, Sidney got a grip on his emotions. "Are you sure you know what you want, Richard?" Tonight I saw you dancing with the Countess de Clairmont, enjoying yourself immensely, if I'm any judge."

"Ah, the countess." Richard broke into a delighted smile. "What a woman. That dress!" He kissed his fingers and flung the imaginary kiss into the air.

"Isn't she more your style?"

"Of course she is. I find her beautiful, delightful enticing—all that, but, alas, the lady is penniless. Therefore,
voilá
! Lady Flora is more my style, that is–" he leveled a quizzical gaze at his friend "—are you sure you don't want her, Sidney?"

Sidney sighed wearily. "She's all yours, if you can catch her. I could not care less." He was speaking the truth, he assured himself. He had already recovered from the sharp disappointment he'd felt tonight when Lady Flora waltzed blithely away with Richard without so much as a word. Actually, what he was feeling was not disappointment so much as a natural reaction to her rudeness, which, if it had been some other young lady, he would have felt exactly the same. Of course, what made matters worse was that Lady Flora and he had been getting along famously, or so he had thought, talking about their mutual interest in four-in-hand, enjoying a laugh or two. All that before Richard appeared, of course.

The chit was besotted with Dashwood, that was obvious.

And I don't give a groat
.

Why should he, a titled landowner, rich, passably good-looking, give a thought to a young woman who was fast becoming enamored of his supposed best friend, and whose manners were atrocious?

Well, he shouldn't, he didn't, and he wouldn't.

A pox on Lady Flora Winton. He had more important things to think about than a completely hopeless cause. In fact, he'd only come to London in order to see the latest offerings at Tattersol's, and would not have dreamed of attending the ball had not Richard talked him into it. His attendance had nothing to do with Lady Flora.

Sidney, you're a liar
, came a voice within, a voice he stilled immediately. He had too much pride to even think of entertaining lascivious thoughts about a rude young woman who didn't know his name and walked away from him. He might worry about her, though. Yes, he would permit himself to feel concern for that poor, weak girl who, because of her stubbornness and bad sense, was falling in love with one of the most devious rakes in all England.

Chapter
5

Halfway through the Season, Flora sat in the drawing room of the family's London town house, taking tea with her parents and sister. It was one of the rare afternoons they were not receiving visitors or had gone calling themselves.

"You seem quite cheerful of late, Flora," her mother said. "Don't you agree, George?"

"Quite," responded Lord Rensley. He eyed his older daughter over the top of his spectacles. "You've been seeing a lot of that Dashwood chap, haven't you? At least the fellow comes from an excellent blood line. I suppose you know he's the heir presumptive of Charles Fraser, Earl of Dinsmore?"

As usual, Flora's heart executed a flutter of excitement at the sound of Lord Dashwood's name. She chose to ignore the way her father said, 'at least,' although she wondered what he meant. "I have yet to meet Lord Dinsmore, but I have certainly heard enough about him. He's one of England's greatest
heroes."

"Indeed, the man's a legend." Her father harumphed and signaled the butler. "Time for my pill, Trent, the 'Dr. Warens,' if you please. Bring it here." He returned his attention to Flora. "I could spend the day relating Dinsmore's exploits on the field of battle. Egypt...India...what a grand soldier he was. Most courageous
."

"And quite a dashing figure," added Lady Rensley.

"Now, alas–" Lord Rensley took the pill Trent proffered and washed it down with a swallow of tea "—poor health notwithstanding, I am better off than Dinsmore." As an afterthought, he muttered, "If you could believe such a thing."

"He's sick now, Papa?" Flora asked politely. She wasn't too concerned over her father's health because her whole life she'd heard him complaining of various ailments that never seemed to materialize.

"Dinsmore's not sick," her father went on. "Last I heard, he was still in possession of his health. That is, he's not suffering from any disease. It's the injuries that keep him at his country estate most of the time." He shook his head and clucked with sympathy. "The man's a wreck. Lost an eye in Egypt. Got thrown from his steed at some battle or other in India and banged up his leg. Now he walks with a limp. At Seedaseer his face was slashed with a saber. He never looked right after that. I suspect that's what keeps him practically a hermit."

"Such a pity," chimed Lady Rensley. "I knew him before the scar and all those other dreadful wounds. Such a handsome man he was, and quite the swashbuckler. But now..." She shrugged and made a little moué. "The ladies used to swoon over him. Now they turn away in horror, what with that dreadful scar on his face. These days they swoon over his heir." She glanced fondly at Flora. "Popular though Lord Dashwood is, though, it appears our daughter has a definite edge."

To Flora's surprise, her father did not express his delight but instead issued an unresponsive, "Hmm."

She had to know. "You don't appear enthused in the slightest, Papa. May I ask why?" A touch of trepidation ran through her. Did her father find Dashwood less than perfect? If so, how could that possibly be? Didn't he realize how lucky she was that as the Season progressed, Dashwood was paying more attention to her? Such sweet torture she'd gone through at the beginning, after Lady Hemple's ball, when Dashwood kept her in a constant dither. One moment he appeared to adore her, the next she wasn't sure he even knew her name. She recalled the dreadful night at Almack's when he'd totally ignored her—not asked for one single dance. She had been so crushed, she spent much of the next day fighting the lump in her throat that wouldn't go away. But next day he sent her a bouquet of roses, and that night at King's Theater, he appeared at the family's box, all charm and attentiveness. Invited to join them, he sat next to Flora, surreptitiously took her hand, and whispered such sweet compliments in her ear that when the great Catalani sang
Semiramide
she never heard a single note.