Lady Flora's Fantasy (6 page)

Her senses leaped to life as she became acutely aware of the charm he projected. He was so compelling she felt an urge to reach out and run her fingers through those glorious golden curls which he wore romantically long, just like a poet. But there was no time to think about it now. Fighting to control her breath, she cleared her throat, pretending not to be affected.

She must greet the friend who stood behind him. His name? she thought frantically. Whatever was his name? Ah, yes, Lord Lynd. He, too, was fashionably dressed but looked not nearly as splendid. He did not bend to kiss her hand, nor did his eyes send any kind of signal except,
I am extremely bored
.

Flora sat through Lords Dashwood and Lynd's mandatory twenty-minute stay, hardly hearing the desultory conversation around her. She had always suspected a strong passion lurked within her, as yet unleashed, but now, as if she were in some sort of daze, she slowly came to realize she was falling in love with Richard, Lord Dashwood.
I must have him
, she thought as she decorously poured tea. "Sugar, Lady Boles?"

"One spoonful, my dear, and you must tell me about your bathing excursion yesterday. Of course, you know how much I heartily approve. I feel both health and pleasure must be equally consulted in these salutary ablutions. An occasional dip in the purifying surge of the ocean can restore..."

Did Lord Dashwood find her attractive? While the voce of Lady Boles droned on, Flora’s mind slipped its bonds and returned to the shore...

In the pitch blackness of the night they are alone on the beach...never mind how they got there or why she is unchaperoned...her back is pressed tight against the sand, her arms spread wide, wrists pinned securely by Lord Dashwood as he bends over her, breath coming hard, trembling with passion.

"Lord Dashwood, we must not be alone like this."

"I had to get you alone, my darling, don't you understand?"

"Understand what, sir?"

"That I am mad for you. That I cannot sleep for thinking of you. That if you don't agree to marry me, I shall take you here, right on the beach. Then you'll be ruined and you'll have to marry me..."

"Are you listening, Flora?" Her mother was looking at her quizzically.

"Of course I'm listening." What was happening? Flora felt as if she were returning from the moon.

"Then answer the question, Flora, and stop day dreaming."

"
Uh…I found the saline immersion to be most invigorating, Lady Boles. Most...uh, energizing and most edifying, and...and..."

"And we most certainly extol the pleasures of bathing," declared Amy, jumping in. Waving her arm dramatically, she continued, "To plunge into refreshing waves and be wrapped around with liquid element is indeed...uh..."

"Gratifying," said Flora, signaling her sister a silent thank you. This wouldn't be the first time Amy had saved her from her fantasy.

When the two lords announced they were leaving, Amy and Flora accompanied them to the door.

"I am so glad you could come," Flora said, making sure her face was arranged into the mask of the polite hostess.

Lord Dashwood bent toward her, his smile as intimate as a kiss. "A pity you're not coming for the Season, Lady Flora. I would like to see you again."

"Oh, but I am coming for the Season. Did I not tell you? Certain circumstances have caused me to change my mind."

She was astounded at herself. The words had flown out of her mouth through no conscious effort on her part—strictly on their own. Beside her, she sensed her sister's start of surprise. At least Amy had the sense not to say a word.

"That's marvelous news," Lord Dashwood exclaimed. He bestowed his charming smile upon her. "I shall see you in London then."

Her whole being felt uplifted. They might have to anchor her to the ground
. But she must remain calm. Out of strict politeness she looked at Dashwood's friend and casually inquired, "And you, Lord Lynd, will you be coming for the Season too?"

"I have an estate to manage, so I shall skip the so-called delights of the Season
."

Lord Lynd had spoken lightly, yet Flora noticed no amusement in his eyes, but rather...
How strange, could that be concern?

Lord Dashwood laughed. "I fear the social life of London holds no interest for my friend. He would rather be on his horse, clomping around in his fields in the hot sun, rather than set foot in London, except for Tattersoll's and the Four-in-Hand Club."

"Time to go, Dashwood." Lord Lynd’s voice held a certain weariness that Flora did not understand.

* * * *                                                                                                                                                                                                       

Later, after all the guests had gone, Lady Rensley expressed her delight that Flora was coming to London for the Season. "What made you change your mind?"

"I'm not sure
." Not for the world would she reveal her infatuation with Lord Dashwood.

"Well, whatever the reason, I am very glad, not only for your sake, but Amy's." A shadow of concern crossed her
mother’s face. "Your sister does not attract suitors the way you do. If only she weren't such a little mouse."

"She's not a mouse," said Flora, hotly defending her sister. "When she's around us, she's not a mouse in the least. It's only when she's out in public she turns shy."

"True." In a rare instance of perception Lady Rensley added, "It must be difficult, having an older sister who's the belle of the ball. Doubtless Amy feels inferior because she's so plain."

"Amy feels she's passed over. No wonder, the way everyone puts such a high value on shallow beauty. Why can't men see how witty she is? Why will they not notice the glorious poetry she writes? How kind and patient she is?" Flora grimaced. "Much more so than I."

Her mother sniffed, obviously returning to her usual insensitive self. "Well, she needs to be a little less dull and a bit more slender."

Flora heaved an inward sigh. "Don't worry, I shall keep an eye on her and she'll be fine." Flora knew her reassurance was oversimplified. The only possible way Amy could blossom would be if she, Flora, was married and out of the picture. A week ago, she would not have thought such a solution was possible. Now, thinking of Lord Dashwood, she wasn't so sure.

Chapte
r
4

London

"Amy, you look..." Flora struggled to keep a straight face. "Very nice."

"I do?" Amy, who was trying on her Court Presentation costume, turned, regarded herself in the mirror, and burst into laughter. She playfully tweaked one of the seven huge purple plumes of her elaborate headdress which Baker, their lady's maid, had just placed upon her head. "Oh, my stars, I look ridiculous."

"You look marvelous, and most appropriate," said the ever-sober-faced Baker, a stringent follower of all society's rules.

Flora silently agreed Amy looked ridiculous, although she would never say so. When she herself was presented at court, she railed at the costume she was forced to wear: the huge, high-waisted hoop skirt of waxed calico over whalebone; three layers of skirts and over them a skirt of pink satin so elaborately decorated there was hardly a spot that wasn't covered by lace, garlands of flowers, little tassels, or lavish embroidery.

Worse was the headdress which had to be constructed according to the many strict requirements made by a court protocol which must absolutely be obeyed. Since a minimum of seven plumes was required, her mother had insisted upon eight, just to be on the safe side. 'Elaborate' was the key. Aside from the plumes, the headdress consisted of a garland of white roses upon a ringlet of pearls, a diamond comb, diamond buckles and white silk tassels. Absolutely the worst of garish taste. To make matters worse, Flora, who adored the empire-waisted styles of the Regency which were simplicity personified, was required to adorn herself with every piece of jewelry for which she could find a place. The result was an absurdity.

Flora hated wearing such ornate trappings atop her head, but at least, being tall, she could carry it off. Not so, short, chubby Amy, who now looked totally overwhelmed beneath the same headdress, subtly changed so that the plumes were pink instead of purple, and there were nine this time, so that their mother could be doubly reassured she had not broken any rule. "How can I even walk with these hoops and headdress?" asked Amy. "I fear I shall do my curtsey to the queen, lose my balance, topple over on my hoops and roll out the door."

"Disgraced," Flora laughingly replied, "ruined forever! Poor Lady Amy Winton, banished to the countryside, never to show her face in society again, and all because of bad curtsying."

Amidst peals of laughter, Lady Rensley entered the room and exchanged disapproving glances with Baker. "Girls, wh
atever are you talking about?" Her forehead creased with concern. "Being presented at court is no laughing matter. You should be grateful you are given the privilege—"

"Yes, Mama, we know," both her daughters chimed. Flora, knowing how her mother worshiped protocol and was naturally upset by her daughters' flippant attitude, hastily added, "It is indeed an honor. Amy looks fine and she'll do well."

Lady Rensley still appeared uneasy. "Just think of all the girls in England who would die for the chance to be presented at court but never will." She left the room muttering, "I vow, I do not know how I could have raised two such ungrateful daughters."

When their mother had gone, Amy laughed again. "Court protocol or no, this headdress and high waist and hoops really are ridiculous." She pulled off the garish headdress and handed it to Baker. "Take it out of my sight, will you please?"

She turned serious. "Despite this foolishness, the court presentation is well worth it." Her face wreathed in a smile. "I'm coming out, Flora. I'm a woman now, and not a little girl, at long last." Her face fell as, standing in her soft batiste chemise, she examined herself in the mirror again. "But look at how fat and ugly I am. What's the use? No man would have me."

"That's not so," Flora instantly protested, and most sincerely. "You've got lovely, soft gray eyes. Your skin is smooth as a petal, and you have hair that's a lovely shade of brown. So don't you dare say you're ugly."

"But I am." Amy ran her hands over her waist down her hips. "Look at how short and squat I am. Why am I not tall and willowy like you? You have a bosom, whereas I am flat. Your waist curves in like an hourglass, whereas mine—" she punched her fingers at her waistline "—I've the shape of a tree stump."

Unfortunately, her sister was mostly right
. Flora searched for something positive to say. Amy's figure did leave a lot to be desired, and her face, although certainly not ugly, was a bit pudgy, a circumstance brought on by Amy's unfortunate extra weight. But beauty wasn't everything. "Amy, you're as pretty as the next. Besides, you're lively, and witty, and you have a sparkling personality. I'd wager you will draw suitors in droves."

Amy sighed. "I shall find a husband, all right. But it won't be because of my beauty. I shall have suitors, but for only one reason."

"Your dowry." Flora sank thoughtfully to Amy's bed. "Papa is most generous. I can't dispute the drawing power of a dowry, but still, I would hope you'll marry a man you love who loves you in return." She smiled gently. "Surely you'll find him." She felt a sudden ache in her heart for her sister, who was so beautiful in so many ways with her generous nature, her loyalty and bright humor. But most men, being what they were, could not look beyond surface beauty to see such things. Flora sent up a silent prayer that some worthy man would see in Amy all her virtues and fall madly in love with her. She smiled brightly. "Just stop worrying about it and simply enjoy the Season. We shall attend every ball, every concert, every soiree. We shall have a marvelous time."

"And what of you?" asked Amy. Aware she alone knew Flora's secret, she lowered her voice. "What will you do if Lord Dashwood doesn't come to London?"

"He will come." Flora lifted her chin with confidence. "I know something very special passed between us that day he and Lord...whatever-his-name-was came to call."

"Do you suppose he'll be at Almack's Wednesday night?"

"Surely he'll have a voucher."

Flora had spoken with a confidence she didn't feel. She had confided some of her feelings to Amy, but even her sister was unaware of the turmoil that churned within her whenever her thoughts focused on Lord Dashwood, an event which occurred more times than she cared to admit, even to herself.

Day and night she thought of him, fixating on his handsome face with its teasing little smile, his commanding presence, those London-tailored clothes that fit to perfection over his broad shoulders, slender waist, and long muscular legs. She'd even tried to picture Pemberly Manor where he lived when not in London. She'd never seen it but had heard it was known far and wide for its size and beauty. The estate wasn't Dashwood's yet—his cousin was still alive—but he would inherit some day. Often she tried to picture what Lord Dashwood's life at Pemberly Manor was like—his horse, even his dog. Or did he even have a dog? What was his bed chamber like? She tingled at the thought of it. Oh, yes, surely he had a bedchamber, and a bed...