A Heart in Flight

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  “Yes, father. I know. I’ve studied them carefully. We have all the information ready.”

  “Oh, if only I were going up.” She was unaware she’d spoken aloud until the men turned to regard her.

  “This is not a task for females.” Uncle Arthur’s face reddened. “It takes intelligence and judgment. A man has to make quick decisions. And right ones.”

  Aurelia bristled. “Do you mean to say that I have no intelligence and judgment?”

  “Of course not, my dear.” Uncle Arthur’s tone was placating. He rubbed his bald head in that way he had when he was worried. “Aurelia, you know that I gave your father my word that I would not let you go aloft.”

  “But it’s not fair. You know it’s not fair.”

  Uncle Arthur sighed. “Would you have me break my word? To your poor dead father?”

  Of course she didn’t want that. But neither did she want to be forever denied the joy of ascent. She had more intelligence than many men. But even if she could prove that, it was no use. He had promised Papa.

  But she hadn’t promised. Somehow, some way, she was going to get up there. She meant to experience the heavens firsthand.

  “You took the handbill to the printer?” Uncle Arthur asked.

  “Yes.” Harold gave her a commiserating look. “He promised them faithfully for Tuesday morning.”

  “Good. That will give us ample time to hand them out. Tell me again, how did the wording read?”

  Harold closed his eyes and recited. “Thursday next, 11:00 A.M. Balloon Ascent from Hyde Park. Howard Amesley, Celebrated Aeronaut. Spectators welcome.”

  Uncle Arthur nodded. “Very good, my boy. Very good indeed.” He pushed back his chair. “Now to dinner.”

  * * * *

  Some time later, the remains of the meal cleared away, Aurelia retired to her room and lit the lamp. She did not join the men in their computations. They would simply figure and refigure—an exceedingly dull task.

  She did not put a match to the little fire laid on the hearth, but instead pulled her shawl closer and settled down with The Dark Stranger. Lady Incognita’s romances could always be counted on to keep one’s interest. And that night she needed something to distract her mind from the intended flight and Uncle Arthur’s unreasonable attitude.

  She was several chapters into the book when she realized that she had been casting the hero in the likeness of a certain Lord Ranfield. From piercing eyes to broad shoulders, the dark stranger, whose name the heroine had yet to discover, was the image of the Earl. A slightly sobered Earl, perhaps, but still amazingly like.

  Aurelia made a moue of distaste. This afternoon’s adventure had been just that—an adventure and nothing more. She should not be so foolish as to refine on it.

  Still, she let her eyes slowly close. Talking to him had been invigorating. Even now her blood raced at the memory. What a terribly vivid blue his eyes were. And how they could hold a woman’s gaze! For several minutes she let herself imagine what might have happened.

  For one thing, they might have attended the theater together. Though she’d never had a chance to attend, she’d heard about the performances at Drury Lane and Covent Garden. How the ton went to see each other, not the play.

  She and the Earl might have ridden in Hyde Park, behind the highsteppers he no doubt kept. Or they might have waltzed at Almack’s, the “wanton” waltz as Byron called it, because he said it heated the blood. And, perhaps, the gossips whispered, because his clubfoot prevented him from enjoying it himself.

  She stirred uncomfortably in her chair. She didn’t need a waltz to heat her blood. Just imagining a look from the Earl’s heavy-lidded eyes could do that quite adequately. The thought rather shocked her.

  She was a grown woman, of course, with some knowledge of the ways of the world. And she’d turned down more than one invitation to matrimony for the very reason that she could not countenance intimacy with the man who offered it, even though some of them had been likable enough. But this was a far different feeling than any she had previously experienced. And really rather strange. It made her feel ...

  She sighed. Perhaps she should put The Dark Stranger aside and try instead Miss Eliza Muscat’s book.

  She was quite determined to think no more of the Earl. Consequently, she had read a great deal of Miss Muscat’s Romance of the 18th Century, Altered from the Italian, by the time she rose to prepare for bed. What a strange book it was—imagine a seventeen-year-old heroine passionately in love with a married man of fifty. Surely this was too much.

  But she had to admit that these romances had considerably brightened her own dull existence. Without them, her winters would have been exceedingly drab. And no matter what their peculiarities, she did not intend to give them up.

  By the time she turned out the lamp and slid between the sheets, she had made another decision. She would think no more of the Earl of Ranfield.

  However, this excellent resolution proved not so easily achieved. For immediately upon the conclusion of her prayers, the image of the man intruded again upon her consciousness. With an irritated exclamation, she admitted the truth to herself: Wrong and utterly hopeless as she knew the thing to be, an idea much more fitting for a green schoolroom girl than a grown woman of sense, she very much desired to see the dark, handsome Earl again.

  She knew, of course, that she would not. Her behavior that afternoon had certainly convinced him that she found his company abhorrent. She would not have the excitement of his conversation, but then neither would she be led into temptation. She sighed, actually regretting her rudeness. Never before had temptation appeared so pleasant.

  Chapter Three

  The first Thursday in May dawned bright and sunny—a good day for flight. Aurelia put on her best bombazine and the bonnet with the pink rosette.

  Harold, of course, wore his aeronautical attire. His scarlet coat was adorned with enough gold braid to dazzle the weariest worldly eye. And his curly-brimmed beaver sported a dashing crimson feather. Beside such splendor she felt quite the drab sparrow.

  But of course his clothes were part of the spectacle. Spectators wanted to see something more than just a balloon rising into the air. They came out for a show. And Uncle Arthur meant to give them one.

  As the three of them approached the balloon, the crowd began to wave and cheer. For a moment she felt that they were cheering her. But only for a moment. Then she was brought back to the sad realization that when Harold soared heavenward, she would be left behind.

  The balloon strained against the mooring ropes, its red, blue, yellow, and green panels glowing in the sun. The brightly painted wicker gondola seemed small, even fragile. But she knew it was all quite safe.

  A hundred times she’d heard them discuss it. How simple it was to go up. To go down. A hundred times she’d done it in her imagination.

  Of course, they hadn’t yet figured out a foolproof way to travel in the proper direction. To do that they had to find the right air current. And sometimes that could be difficult.

  Still, none of that really mattered. They could fly. And that was above all wonderful.

  “Oh, Uncle Arthur! It’s quite the most marvelous thing I’ve ever seen.”

  He nodded happily, his round face glowing. “Yes, my dear. It is indeed.”

  They stopped beside the basket, and she reached out a tentative hand to touch it. It moved under her fingers, almost like a live thing. It wanted to go, too. To float free.

  Oh, it was so grossly unfair.

  “Time to load up,” Harold said. He began to unpack the things they’d brought—blankets, maps, food, and water.

  She forced herself to smile at him. It was not, after all, Harold’s fault that Papa had elicited that promise from Uncle Arthur. Harold would be willing—even happy— to share the heavens with her. It was Uncle Arthur who refused her that much-longed-for happiness.

  “Oh, if only I could stand in it.” She turned to her uncle. “Please? Just for a little while? To see wh
at it’s like? That wouldn’t break your promise.”

  He was weakening, she could see. “Oh, very well. You may get in the basket. Harold will hand you the supplies. Pack them carefully.”

  “Oh yes. Thank you.”

  She climbed the platform and lowered herself into the gondola.

  “You can help me weigh-off,” Harold said.

  He was smiling, and she knew he understood her excitement. “Now, release a little gas.”

  She pulled the rope that opened the lever.

  “Just a little,” Harold cautioned. “Too much and she won’t rise.”

  The balloon quivered. It was a strange sensation—to have it moving under her feet like some living being.

  He passed her a pile of blankets, and she put them along the basket’s edge. They always traveled with emergency supplies. Uncle Arthur was a careful man.

  She cast a longing look up at the sky. Soon Harold would be up there.

  He handed her the water jugs. “I’m sorry, Reely,” he whispered. “I know you want to go up.”

  She nodded, unable to speak. She wanted it so badly. It was horribly unfair.

  Under a tree some distance away, her uncle was discussing aeronautics with two elegantly dressed gentlemen. “Harold,” he called.

  “Coming, Papa.”

  Aurelia watched them for a moment. Then she looked up at the towering balloon. It strained at the tether ropes. Oh, to go up. Just once.

  But in a few minutes they would come back. They would make her get out of the gondola. And Harold would get in and sail away. Unless . . .

  Her heart jumped around in her throat. Everything was already aboard. She knew exactly what to do. And she would do it. If only they didn’t come back too soon.

  She bent and began unfastening the tether ropes. She would prove to Uncle Arthur that she could be an aeronaut. And then ... The last rope canoe loose, and the balloon floated upward.

  It was quite unlike anything she had imagined. She stood, gripping the basket’s rim, while the ground receded below her. The people, their heads tilted back, watched and cheered. They thought she was part of the act.

  She heard one muttered exclamation from Uncle Arthur. But he did not call up to order her down. Perhaps he didn’t want people to know something had gone wrong.

  But whatever he thought, it couldn’t matter. At that moment nothing mattered but the wondrous fact of being airborne.

  All around her the world was growing. She could see farther and farther—and in all directions. Incredibly, the floor of the basket did not seem to move at all. Under her feet it remained firm and solid.

  As Hyde Park fell away, she drew in a deep breath. Oh, the beauty of it. The peace. The serenity.

  She stretched her arms wide, wanting to encompass it all. It was worth everything—anything—to have this experience at last.

  But she must make the most of it. Let’s see. Drop ballast to go up. Release gas to go down. She was already quite high, gloriously high.

  Treetops like green carpet. And the sky—the brilliant blue sky. Oh, it was so marvelously beautiful.

  It was some minutes later before she realized that she was growing chill. Of course, she was reaching the rarefied atmosphere Uncle Arthur had mentioned.

  She took a blanket from the pile and draped it, shawl-like, around her shoulders. Snuggled into it, she smiled and leaned on the basket’s rim. Air flight at last.

  The world unfolded itself beneath her, and Aurelia lost herself in its beauty. Twice she added blankets to the one around her shoulders. But finally the increasing cold became too much to bear. And she could no longer forget Uncle Arthur. He would be angry. But he would also be worried.

  With a sigh, she pulled herself from contemplation of the lovely vista of sky and earth and began searching for that particular patch of green from which she’d ascended. She’d had her fun, and now it was time to pay the piper.

  But she could not see Hyde Park. There were meadows and treetops. Winding ribbon roads and miniature houses and barns. Even little dots of people. But there was nothing that looked like Hyde Park. Nothing at all.

  And then she noticed that the ground beneath was flowing by quite rapidly. The wind was bearing the balloon along, faster and faster. But in what direction?

  She consulted the compass mounted on the basket’s rim. Southeast—the wind was bearing her to the southeast. That way lay Dover. And beyond Dover the Channel!

  “Well.” She said it aloud because she longed suddenly for the sound of a human voice. “I’ll just drop down and catch a current going the other way.”

  She pulled the rope that opened the valve to release gas. The balloon descended a little. But the air current still kept pushing it toward the Channel.

  “Calm,” said Aurelia to herself, in a voice that was not noticeably so. “I must be calm. If I can’t get back to Hyde Park, I’ll just land. Anywhere will do.” And she released more gas. “It will just take a little time.”

  But this current, too, bore the balloon southeast. And the sky, which had been so breathtakingly blue, turned dark and threatening. A great glowering cloud blotted out the sun. And huge drops of rain began pelting down, bouncing off her bonnet, and soaking into the blankets.

  Thunder rumbled and rolled above her. A flash of lightning leaping out of a cloud sent her tumbling backward. She hit the rim of the gondola and slid to the floor. For a moment she huddled there, dazed.

  But then she scrambled to her feet and reached for the rope. If she could bring the balloon down safely through such a raging storm, wouldn’t Uncle Arthur have to admit to her capabilities?

  There! To the left. Beyond that mass of treetops. Was that a meadow? She pulled again at the rope.

  The wind was growing stronger. It buffeted the big balloon from side to side, making it hard for her to keep erect.

  Clinging to the basket’s rim, she peered from beneath her dripping bonnet. That was a meadow. She yanked at the valve rope.

  Suddenly, the wind took the balloon and, with a great sickening swoop, dropped it downward. Aurelia tumbled backward again. There were terrible noises—of scratching, of scraping, of snapping branches. She dragged herself to her feet in time to see that she was headed right for a huge wall.

  The gondola struck another branch and tilted sideways. She lost her grip, falling heavily against the ballast. There was a terrible sickening crash, the sound of whinnying horses, and, then, blessed darkness.

  She woke to find herself in a strange bed. She was oddly light-headed and the room’ had a curious tendency to blur, but she was alive. She tried to raise her head, but it was terribly heavy and throbbed horribly.

  Her right ankle, too, must have been injured. A dull pain ate at it. Slowly, she tested her limbs, laboriously raising each of them. They, at least, were functioning.

  Carefully, she raised a hand to her head, which by now was thudding dully. Her probing fingers found a large lump on her left temple. She let her arm fall back onto the coverlet. Oh dear, weak as a newborn kitten. And what had happened to the balloon? Uncle Arthur was going to be very angry. And rightly so.

  The door opened, and she heard someone crossing the room. A man moved into her line of vision.

  “So,” observed the Earl of Ranfield with obvious satisfaction. “You’re awake.”

  A riot of questions raced through Aurelia’s mind, but she could only stare, wide-eyed.

  “I suppose you’re wondering what happened,” he continued companionably, pulling up a delicate lyre-back chair and straddling it. Poor thing, she was obviously dazed. His first suspicion was clearly unfounded. No one would deliberately engineer such a mishap, not even a fortune-struck young woman.

  Besides, her appearance had solved a problem for him. Now he would not have to return to the city to seek her out.

  He suppressed an urge to pat her shoulder, and an even stronger one to smooth that golden hair.

  Finally she found her tongue. “The balloon? What happened to th
e balloon?”

  “It only suffered a few tears. I shouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t!” She gave him a dark look. “But balloons cost a lot of money.” In her agitation she attempted to sit up, then grabbed at her head, and fell back.

  “Please,” he said. “Don’t bedevil yourself.”

  But she wasn’t hearing him. “I must get back to London.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible just yet. My physician assures me that travel is out of the question for you for some time to come.”

  “Oh no.” She pulled herself up in the bed. More slowly this time. “Really, milord, I cannot possibly impose upon your hospitality. I must return to London.”

  He tried to smile encouragingly. Why didn’t she believe him? “I assure you, my dear Miss Amesley, I always attend to the words of my physician, a very wise man.”

  “But ...”she faltered.

  She must still be in pain. Cleariy she was not up to traveling.

  “They will be worried about me. Harold and Uncle Arthur.”

  He tried to reassure her. “I have thought of that very contingency. In fact, I dispatched a rider to tell Harold that you’re here.”

  She was looking quite pale. “Here,” he said, getting to his feet. “Let me help you to lie down. You don’t want to take a chill.”

  And then she looked down and realized that she was wearing only a nightdress. With a gasp she slid downward, clutching the coverlet. How refreshing her innocence was.

  He reseated himself. “How fortunate that you and Phoebe are of a size.”

  She stared at him. “Phoebe?”

  “Yes,” he explained. “It is her nightdress that you are wearing. Phoebe is Cousin Prudence’s daughter.” He smiled at her again. “Several years ago Cousin Prudence was widowed. And, since I needed someone to manage my household, she came here. And Phoebe with her.”

  Aurelia nodded. Her bead seemed all fuzzy. Thoughts wandered around, bumping into each other like pedestrians in a London fog. But always her thoughts kept coming back to one thing—Uncle Arthur and their balloon.