Lady Flora's Fantasy (25 page)

"Good evening, Lord Lynd, is something wrong?"

"I note you were talking to Dashwood."

She met his accusing eyes without flinching. "As a matter of fact, I was."

"Damme," he near exploded. "What did he want of you?"

"If you must know, Lord Dashwood is truly sorry for his past conduct. He's desperate to reconcile with his cousin."

"And you—" Lynd rocked back on his heels, crossed his arms and glared. "Don't tell me you've offered to assist."

"What if I have?" She spoke with as reasonable a voice as she could manage. "Lord Dashwood asked for my help, so of course I plan to speak to my husband. Surely you cannot fault me for wanting to reconcile the two."

"But don't you see—?"

"Haven't we been through this? You've already called me a selfish, head-in-the-clouds, dim-witted female. What's left?"

Flora watched in silence as Lord Lynd waged some sort of battle within himself. Words seemed to rise to his lips, but he kept struggling to suppress them. "What a fool you are," he finally said.

"I most certainly am not
."

"What a wheyfaced little milksop."

"What have I done?"

"You have no idea, do you?"

She jammed a hand to her hip. "Enlighten me."

His usually pleasant face suffused with anger. "Why waste my time? How can I deal with such fuzzy-headed thinking? You are so entranced by the saintly Lord Dashwood, nothing I say could possibly change your mind."

She fought the need to defend herself but couldn't resist. "You misread my motive. There's nothing personal in my offer to help, and I resent your implication."

His lip curled. "Can you look me square in the eye and tell me you have no feeling for Dashwood?"

"I..." Damnation! Faced with that cold, hard, knowing stare she could not lie.

"I thought not." His face regained its mask of composure. "I had best take my leave, but before I do, here's a warning. Think what you're doing, my dear Lady Dinsmore. Your husband may be old and crippled, but he's still a man to be reckoned with."

"I...I am outraged."

"Be outraged. Just don't cuckold him."

How could Lynd be so blind, so without feeling? He must be made to understand. "You, sir, are so lacking in delicacy you would never understand that the love Lord Dashwood and I have for each other not only transcends the physical, it tends toward the purely spiritual, something you would never understand."

"Good God, spare me such sop." Lynd stepped back and bowed. "Good day, Lady Dinsmore. I wish you luck with your purely spiritual love that transcends the physical."

She glowered at him. "I won't need any luck."

"Oh, yes you will." Lynd turned on his heel and left her
sputtering, clenching her fists. How dare he question the pure, chaste love she felt for Lord Dashwood? Did he not realize her conduct would always be beyond reproach? Suffice to say, Lord Lynd was despicable and she never wanted to speak to him again.

* * * *
                                                                                                                                

Days later, back at Pemberly Manor, Flora and Lord Dinsmore, mounted on Primrose and Jupiter, were riding side by side through the woods when Dinsmore remarked, "You are not your usual cheerful self today."

Flora knew he was right. Not only was Amy's unfortunate wedding much on her mind, she did not look forward to the conversation she knew she must have with her husband. Actually she wanted desperately to help Richard, but she was much afraid her true feelings for him might show. This morning she'd hardly uttered a word beyond a curt greeting. "I'm fine.".

"I hardly think so." Slowing his horse, Dinsmore threw her a look of concern. "Something's been bothering you these past few days. Can you tell me what?"

This was the moment. It was now or never. She hated to use her so-called feminine wiles but had no choice.

"I do believe I shall have a house party. We shall invite the gentry from the countryside, as well as friends from London. Mrs. Wendt has worked hard, as well as Baker. It would be the perfect excuse to make the servants finally get new uniforms."

"A fine idea," Dinsmore said indulgently.

"Will you give me a list of what guests you'd like invited? I shall add it to mine."

"Gladly."

Now was the time to mention Richard. She must broach the subject extremely carefully. "Charles?" She reined in her horse at a pretty little spot by the side of a bubbling stream. "I've been thinking about your rift with Richard. Surely you want it healed some day."

Dinsmore reined in beside her. "My cousin is not welcome at Pemberly Manor."

"Oh, I know, Charles, and you have good reason."

"His treatment of you was abominable."

"True. But I hardly think of it." Flora smiled at her husband, well aware of the dimples that formed in her cheeks when she did so. "What upsets me now is my fear I've caused the estrangement between you two."

Dinsmore shrugged. "Richard has not grown up to be the heir I had hope for, for many reasons, not only his treatment of you."

"Still, I feel responsible. And I feel bad because I know you miss him, and I'd wager he misses you."

Dinsmore stroked his chin, regarding her thoughtfully. "Richard has disappointed me in many ways. Still, he is my flesh and blood." He smiled wryly. "I would have wished otherwise, but that's another story."

"Then let him come home. We shall invite him for our house party. Surely you don't wish to remain estranged."

After a moment, Lord Dinsmore broke into a laugh that held a twist of irony. "You are aware, are you not, Flora, how you can twist me around your little finger? Very well, Richard shall come home again. I cannot say I forgive him for all his peccadillos, I do not. However, I miss the boy, and if you won't be upset, then go ahead, invite him."

"Splendid
. I am so happy you two will be friends again."

Guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders all the way home. She'd been downright devious, inventing the house party simply as an elaborate ruse. Never again would she be so duplicitous, but at least something good had come of it, and Lord Dinsmore would soon reconcile with his cousin. However, despite her noble resolve, certain thoughts she should not be having had crept, uninvited, into her head...

"Welcome, Lord Dashwood. How lovely to see you at Pemberly Manor."

"Ah, Flora..." He is staring at her with such longing in his eyes she cannot mistake his feelings. "It's going to be deucedly difficult, staying away from you."

"I know. I feel the same."

"My darling, must we?"

"Honor decrees we must. We have no choice..."

How thrilled she would be, seeing the love of her life again
. What joy to gaze into his blue eyes, inhale again the heady aroma of his musk-heavy cologne. Ah, just to be in his presence!

But such thoughts were foolish and forbidden. If nothing else, her parents had taught her right from wrong
, what was honorable and what was not. Her thoughts were not honorable. Worse, to make her thoughts a reality would go against everything decent she had ever learned. Sternly she promised herself there would be nothing between them, not a gesture, not a glance, not so much as the blink of an eye.

And Richard, being the man of high integrity that he was, would feel likewise.

She could blame no one but herself and her impetuous nature for rushing into a loveless marriage. Certainly Dinsmore was not to blame. He had been nothing but generous and kind. She knew she would yearn for Richard until the day she died, but she would be loyal and true to her husband.

Chapter
14

During the weeks that followed, Flora threw herself into readying Pemberly Manor for the upcoming house party. So much to be done. Forty guests, all of whom would expect nothing less than royal treatment, would require a well-trained servant to be available day or night, at the tug of a bell pull, to grant their every need. Upper and lower servants, cooks, grooms, stable boys—all must be trained and ready. Rooms must be renovated and cleaned; proper uniforms selected and stitched for the servants; elegant invitations sent; menus planned. Unused for years, the grand ballroom, a shambles when Flora arrived, must be made ready for the crowning event of what portended to be a glorious weekend.

Flora was grateful for the distraction, although she was so busy she was forced to forsake her leisurely daily rides with Dinsmore. Now, with only one day left, her compensation was the sense of pride she felt over the transformation of Pemberly Manor. There was still much to do, but at last the old Tudor mansion stood nearly restored to its former glory.

No thanks to the housekeeper, Mrs. Wendt, who battled her every step of the way. Whenever Flora gave an order, no matter how tactfully, resentment lurked in the older woman's eyes. She had a habit of unnerving Flora by saying with a sniff, "The first Lady Dinsmore never did it that way." Finally Lord Dinsmore overheard and set his recalcitrant housekeeper straight.

"You have a new mistress now, Mrs. Wendt. Do as she says or I promise you, if you persist in this disobedience, you'll be dismissed and out the door in a twinkling."

After that, the housekeeper sullenly obeyed, but Flora knew she'd made an enemy.

"Even Baker cannot complain," Flora told Lord Dinsmore as they stood in the middle of the empty ballroom that had recently been in a state of ruinous disorder. Now the ceiling, delicately carved in a classic Georgian design, had been repainted; the Ionic columns complimenting the four corners of the room had been restored to their former alabaster white; the graceful Gothic windows, dulled by years of dirt, were sparkling clean; the many years' accumulation of soot and ashes on the cavernous, stone-carved fireplace had been removed, transforming it into a classic showpiece once again.

"Not half bad," remarked Lord Dinsmore, gazing at her fondly. "You've done a remarkable job, my dear. Your mother will be pleased."

Flora felt like wincing. "I fear Mama's been looking over my shoulder the whole time," she said ruefully, heartily wishing for the day when she wouldn't think to seek her mother's approval.

"You must relax and enjoy your weekend," said Lord Dinsmore, sensing her discomfiture.

Flora grimaced. "Have I thought of everything? Only one day more and the guests will arrive. I do hope they'll have a good time."

Dinsmore smiled indulgently. "Of course they will. Hasn't the vivacious Countess de Clairmont accepted? Not a dull moment when she's around. Then there's your parents, your sister and the Duke—a fine guest list, including my cousin." He smiled. "It'll be good seeing him again. I've missed him."

Not as much as I
, Flora thought, then chided herself for thinking of Richard yet again. She vowed to keep her thoughts pure and chaste the entire weekend and devote herself to her guests.

* * * *
                                                                                                                                

The guests began the next day, including Richard. Driving his curricle, he rolled to his usual daredevil stop and alighted under the porte cochere looking smashingly handsome as usual. Whatever doubts Flora might have had concerning the rift were dispelled when Lord Dinsmore hailed his heir on the steps with a warm greeting and gave him an uncharacteristic hug.

"Sir, it's good to be back," Richard said when he pulled back, his blue eyes gazing with deep sincerity into his cousin's. "I've changed, you'll see. I've missed you." He gave Flora no more than a quick greeting and brief nod, but she understood. Above all, they must conceal their feelings.

Soon after, the Countess de Clairmont arrived with her entourage of servants and two London dandies who seemed to serve no purpose but to fawn and simper over her. And no wonder. The vivacious Frenchwoman was not only rich and beautiful, it was obvious her spectacular wardrobe came straight from Paris.

To Flora's surprise, Lord Lynd arrived. She had not seen nor heard from him since their unpleasant discussion at Amy's wedding. Considering the awful things he'd said, she had assumed he had chosen to avoid her, but here he was, greeting her in the entry hall with a bow and a smile.

"What a pleasure to see you again, Lady Dinsmore."

She couldn't believe his cordial manner. He was acting as if she were his dearest friend. She looked around to make sure no one was listening. "And why would you say that?" she murmured, and added with a bite, "considering I am but a wheyfaced little milksop."

He showed no discomfit but bowed again, quirked an eyebrow, and replied softly, "True, but a charming wheyfaced little milksop."

"You are despicable. Why did you come?"

"Didn't you know I received an invitation? You seem to forget Lord Dinsmore is like a second father to me. Besides–" this time it was Lynd who looked around, then lowered his voice. "Richard is here, is he not?" She nodded. "I find the prospect of observing the frustrated lovebirds irresistible. Love unrequited, how sad. Or will it be?"