A Heart in Flight

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  The Earl straightened and his jaw tightened. It was really quite a handsome jaw. “You shall do no such thing,” he said.

  “Really, milord.”

  “Miss Amesley, I will brook no resistance in this matter. Your cousin left you to my care. I would be remiss to neglect my responsibility.”

  She was perfectly able to take care of herself. But it was kind of him. “Really, milord, I am not your responsibility. I am scarcely a green ...”

  The Earl took her hand and drew it through his arm. “Miss Amesley, you are wasting your breath. Come, my carriage is waiting outside the gate.”

  It would be nice to have a carriage ride. They seldom bothered with niceties like that. Uncle Arthur said walking was good for the constitution and the pocket. And he was quite correct. After all, air flight was not a pursuit to be financed on pin money.

  In spite of herself, she glanced down at her clothes. The Earl was quite a pattern card of perfection. Not ostentatious, of course. But just so nicely turned out.

  While her gown ... But her clothes were quite presentable. Just because she didn’t look like the ladies around her ... After all, the Earl of Ranfield was talking to her, not to any of those fashionably dressed females.

  Ranfield frowned. “I apologize for Alvanley. The man has no tact.” He smiled. “But really, being seen with me is not the worst fate in the world.”

  Indeed, it was not. It was turning into a rare treat. So she let him guide her through the crowds and out to a carriage that was, quite as it should be, the highest stare of fashion.

  The tiger up behind gave her one slightly bemused look. No doubt he was accustomed to more fashionably turned out ladies. But she gave him a smile anyway.

  Then the Earl handed her up with all the consideration any woman could desire. In fact, his fingers lingered around hers for so long that her heart started getting those funny notions again.

  Chapter Two

  Some time later the carriage stopped before 33 Leadenhall Street. In the niche above the door stood the statue of Minerva. With her spear in one hand and her shield in the other, the helmeted goddess stood guard over the Press and Lending Library which bore her name.

  The Earl smiled as he handed her down, that smile that said so much. And made Aurelia feel even more. How strange that he should have such an effect on her. But then, it had been a long winter and she had consumed many, many romances. Probably some of that had colored her perception of him.

  “Thank you for the ride.” She endeavored to speak calmly, but it was difficult. Who would have thought that just being near a man could be so exciting? “I shall be here some time, and then I have other errands to attend to. So you needn’t wait.” That was only fair. They had imposed on the man enough.

  Ranfield nodded. “I shall just escort you inside.”

  She wanted him to do that, but she didn’t want him to know she wanted it. “I ...”

  “There are several books I wish to borrow for myself.”

  So Aurelia took the arm he offered her. A pleasantly warm sensation stole over her at the feel of it under her fingertips. Was this the sensation Lady Incognita’s heroines described?

  She much wanted to leave her hand there, to feel so pleasant for a little longer. But she did have some sense of propriety. Papa had not wasted all the money he spent on Miss Rutherford.

  So, immediately after they were inside the door, she removed her hand, saying formally, “Good day, milord. And thank you again.”

  “Good day, Miss Amesley.”

  For a brief moment she experienced disappointment that he had not continued their conversation. The feeling was almost as bad as when they had called off that ascension last year.

  Perhaps it was even worse. Her insides were all aboil. And, unaccountably, she wanted to sniffle.

  She turned away, and, conscious of his eyes following her, moved off into the shelves of books.

  It took some moments, once she was out of his sight, to compose herself. She did not, after all, have many days like this one! Imagine meeting a flesh and blood hero. The more she thought about it, the more she felt certain of his “hero-hood.”

  Well, it was a pleasant memory, something to think on during the cold winter nights when the men had gone to their beds and she couldn’t sleep.

  She took several deep calming breaths, and, smoothing her skirts, made her way to the shelf that held Lady Incognita’s romances. Of course, she had long ago admitted to herself that her passion for such literary fare might be considered unwise.

  In spite of Papa’s predilection for flight, he had insisted that she receive a good education. And one of the things that Miss Rutherford had determined that her charge commit to memory was the revered Dr. Samuel Johnson’s comments on the novel.

  Aurelia recited them to herself: “These books are written chiefly to the young, the ignorant, and the idle, to whom they serve as lectures of conduct, and introduction to life.” Well, that seemed true enough. Unlike a romance, a novel was supposed to be real.

  “Vice,” the good doctor continued “(for vice is necessary to be shown) should always disgust.” That was true, too. “It is therefore to be steadily inculcated that virtue is the highest proof of understanding, and the only solid basis of greatness, and that vice is the natural consequence of narrow thoughts, that it begins in mistake, and ends in ignominy.”

  As long as Miss Rutherford had remained in residence, no romances, and only the best novels (and consequently the very dullest), had come within Aurelia’s ken. Human nature being what it is, her desire for the forbidden had only quickened. So as soon as she found herself without supervision, Aurelia had immersed herself in novels of the wrong sort and in numerous romances of terror.

  She was well aware that the problems dramatized in romances seldom presented themselves in normal everyday occurrence. And a life spent in haunted castles and abbeys, amongst ghosts and villains, could hardly be considered felicitous.

  Still, she did enjoy romances. She liked that world of villains so evil they made one’s blood ran cold, of heroines helpless and beautiful, of heroes handsome, strong, and victorious, it was a world much more interesting than her own, especially in the winter when their experiments in air flight were made impossible by inclement weather.

  She made her way to the familiar shelf that held Lady Incognita’s works. Of all the writers of romances of terror, she preferred those of the unknown and mysterious Lady Incognita. Her eyes slid over the titles till they came to rest for a moment on Love in the Ruins, which she had returned on her last visit. The triumph of Reginald and Bernice over the villainous monk Columbo had thrilled her to the core. And, even though she knew the outcome of The Dark Stranger, she looked forward to reading it again.

  A slight noise made her start and look up. A short distance away, leaning against the wall, stood the Earl of Ranfield. He smiled lazily and gave her a slight bow.

  Aurelia turned away. Why was the man still in the library? And more important, why was he watching her? It was common knowledge that rakes would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. But what could he want? Perhaps she was going to find out.

  So, said Ranfield to himself, she had seen him. He detached himself from the wall and advanced toward her. “Miss Amesley, we meet again.”

  She met this comment with silence, but, since she did not give him the cut direct, he continued. “I see that you are looking at Lady Incognita’s romances. I confess to reading one now and then.”

  “You read romances!”

  How did she widen those great dark eyes like that? And, more to the point, could she possibly be unaware of their effect upon a man?

  “I do,” he declared. “Why not?”

  “I thought ... that is, a gentleman ...” She floundered to a halt.

  “A gentleman may enjoy a little escape.” What could he say to keep her talking? “Also, the heroes of such pieces may give one an idea of what appeals to the ladies.”

  She raised an eyebro
w, a sweet golden eyebrow.

  “I hardly think anyone is going to be called upon to rescue fair maidens from dire villains these days.”

  “Touche,” he replied. She was a quick-witted little thing. “How pleasant it is to see you smile. I feared you were one of those dreadful bluestockings who are always predicting calamity.”

  Her smile vanished. ““Here is nothing wrong with a woman using the brains God has given her.”

  “Of course not, provided He did give her some.” He saw instantly that he was in the suds and hastened to add, “I am only joking, of course. I have nothing against learned ladies.”

  How could such a little thing look so icy? “I humbly beg your pardon. I meant no disrespect to the ladies. Truly I didn’t.”

  Against her better judgment, Aurelia looked up and found his eyes upon her. Strange, how a man’s eyes could impart so much warmth.

  “Am I to be forgiven?”

  She shrugged. “I do not see what difference my forgiveness makes.”

  “I want it.” The words were low and accompanied by another lazy smite that said much more than words could ever convey. It said so much that she found herself actually yearning toward him.

  Miss Rutherford’s vivid warnings came immediately to mind. So this was the way the rakes operated. No wonder it was so effective. But this one had overestimated his charm. She might have a palpitating heart, but her brains were still in prime condition.

  She made her tone deliberately sharp. “You presume too much, milord.”

  He nodded ingratiatingly. “A frequent mistake of mine. Will you forgive me?”

  She wanted to be angry, she should be angry, but that was to no avail. He was really very good at this sort of thing. And she was sadly out of her depth. “Yes,” she said shortly, turning back to the shelf. The man was intoxicating. He made her feel ... Yes, that was it. He made her feel as she had imagined she would feel up there. Breathless and awestruck. Soaring higher and higher.

  This was the outside of enough! No man was going to make her feel things like that. She moved away from him.

  He followed immediately. “Yes,” he said. “I find nothing more relaxing than a nice romp with a knight and his lady as they extricate themselves from the toils of a despicable villain.”

  “I should think a man of your stature would wish to occupy himself with other, more important, things.” The memory of his conversation with Alvanley returned, and she colored.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “I do sometimes read for the edification of my mind,” he replied soberly. “But even in doing that I must be most careful.”

  “How so?” She could not help being interested. Uncle Arthur and Harold scoffed at her romances. Neither one had ever so much as opened a novel and certainly not a romance.

  “If I read novels,” he said. “I am endangering my character. Unless, of course, I choose them carefully.”

  Aurelia had to smile. He did know Dr. Johnson. “I hardly think Dr. Johnson had men of your stamp in mind. You are neither young nor ignorant.”

  “Nor idle,” he added with that charming grin.

  “Nor are you so impressionable as to take an erroneous view of the world from such works.” She banished her smile and tried to keep her expression severe. This was not a matter for laughter, but for serious discussion.

  “You are right enough about that,” said the Earl, moving slightly closer. “I have been on the town for some time. However, this is the first I have ever encountered a woman conversant with Dr. Johnson’s theories on the novel.”

  “And you are the first man I have known who ...” Her tongue seemed to get twisted in itself, and she could not finish.

  He did not seem to mind. “Ah, we have something, then, in common. Besides our passion for things aeronautical.”

  When he used the word passion, he smiled at her again. It was only a smile, a lazy sort of expression, but she clasped the book that she held tightly, hoping to still the quivering of her fingers. No wonder the Earl did so well with the ladies; few women lived who could resist such a man.

  Of course, he was only playing with her. This was probably his usual attitude with women. But he had mistaken his game.

  Although the pleasures of love had so far been denied her, she could not consider indulging in them without benefit of matrimony. And certainly matrimony was a far cry from what the Earl’s eyes proposed.

  “I should still be happy to give you a ride home,” he said pleasantly.

  She shook her head. The afternoon had been enjoyable. Too enjoyable, in sober fact. Now it was time to be sensible. And the sensible thing was to cut this short. “No, thank you. As I said, I have several errands to do.” It was a lie, of course, but surely one was allowed a small lie in such a situation.

  Ranfield found, inexplicably, that he did not want this conversation to end. She was different. She was entertaining. She was ...

  “I should be happy to put the services of my carriage at your disposal.”

  Again she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  She was stubborn, too. “Miss Amesley, Be sensible.”

  She turned ice maiden. Evidently he had said the wrong thing. Maybe it was that word—sensible.

  “Has it ever occurred to you that I might not enjoy your company?”

  “No.” He kept his smile cheerful, that smile that had served him so well for so long. “Actually, my experience has convinced me that women find my companionship desirable. Indeed, they are even apt to go to some trouble to acquire it.”

  She bit her lip, but the icy look remained. “You are quite insufferable. And exceedingly high in the instep.”

  “I know,” he agreed, waiting for her smile to break. “But I cannot help it; it’s part of my considerable charm.”

  She didn’t smile; she frowned. “Milord, since you refuse to take even a broad hint, I am forced to be quite plain. I do not desire your company. Neither today nor at any other time.”

  It struck him quite forcibly that perhaps she was not playing a game, not trading bon mots like ladies of the ton. Perhaps she had taken a distinct dislike to him.

  The thought was decidedly unpleasant. He refused to consider it further. No woman had ever persisted in refusing him. Still, he must act the gentleman. If she said she didn’t want to see him, he must believe her. For the moment.

  He bowed from the waist, formally. “I beg your pardon. I shall not bother you any further.” And then he marched away, his back straight beneath the well-tailored coat.

  For some moments Aurelia stood, staring at the titles through a blur of sudden tears. She had really offended him, and she could not help being sorry. Their conversation bad been the most enjoyable she’d had in a long time. It was too bad to have driven him away.

  Miss Rutherford would have been proud of her, though, giving him a set down like that. A little smile came to Aurelia’s lips. Miss Rutherford would have had some choice phrases about behaving like a green schoolroom girl. The Earl had probably been plagued with ennui and had used their chance meeting as a little diversion. Something to wile away an afternoon. By tomorrow he would have forgotten all about- it. And so would she.

  So she gathered up The Dark Stranger, selected another volume by a Miss Eliza Muscat, entitled Cave of Corenza, and made her way to the desk. She did not look around her, and, even if she had, the tall man watching her from the shadows of a remote corner would probably not have caught her eye. So, when she stepped through the door and out into the spring air, she had no idea that the Earl of Ranfield was smiling thoughtfully, and looking not at all like a man who had just received a proper set down.

  By the time Aurelia reached the second floor rooms off Bloomsbury Square that she now called home, she had thrust the meeting with the Earl out of her mind. She had to consider the evening meal.

  At her insistence, they had dispensed with the services of cooks and maids in order to free more funds for air flight. She did not mind doing household chores.


  She only wished Uncle Arthur would listen to her. She wanted so much to go up, to become a female aeronaut like Madame Blanchard. When other girls were playing with dolls, she had been playing with balloons. When they were thinking of trousseaus and weddings, she was thinking of ascending into the heavens in a wicker basket. But Uncle Arthur ...

  The door opened. “If the wind is favorable, everything should go right,” declared Harold, running a rough hand through his brilliant hair and unbuttoning his shabby coat.

  “Just so long as it don’t change after they get up,” Uncle Arthur said. “You remember what happened to Sadler when he went up during the Victory Celebration in ‘15. Got blown off course and landed in the Mucking Marshes.”

  Uncle Arthur’s red hair was not as vivid as his son’s, and there was much less of it. But it presented a rather startling picture, curling as it did round a shiny bald pate.

  “I’m sure it will go right,” repeated Harold. “We’ve considered all the things we could.”

  Uncle Arthur sighed. “It’s the things we can’t consider that worry me. If we’re ever going to get anywhere with commercial air flight, we’ve got to show people that it’s safe and convenient. That it can actually work.”

  Harold scratched his peeling nose, constantly sunburned from his days outdoors. “We need a female aeronaut. To prove it ain’t dangerous.”

  Bless Harold, he was trying his best to help her go aloft.

  But Uncle Arthur just frowned. “A female’s got no place in air flight. Wouldn’t want one in a balloon with me.”

  Biting her lip, Aurelia turned back to the pot of soup she was ladling up. Why couldn’t Uncle Arthur understand? Why couldn’t he see that a female could be as devoted to air flight as any man?

  “I want to read again about the Montgolfier flights,” Uncle Arthur went on. “Even though we are using hydrogen gas instead of hot air like they did, we may find mention of something we’ve missed.”

  He looked at his son. “You have consulted your records on air currents, temperature, and pressure variations? Wind velocities, too? You know how important they are.”