A Heart in Flight

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  “Yes, milord. They are rather sodden.”

  She looked up at him again, her eyes pulling at him. And that delectable little mouth crying to be kissed. He leaned toward her, almost mesmerized. Just one little kiss ...

  Abruptly he straightened. One little kiss, indeed! Miss Amesley was a guest in his home. And she was no high-flier to flirt and play with. He had a feeling that Aurelia Amesley took things like kisses quite seriously. And, in her presence at least, so should he.

  Aurelia shivered and swallowed a sigh. The habit was wet and heavy, dragging her down. But it was a mere hindrance. What frightened her—almost—was the look in his eyes. She longed to bury herself in their depths, to ...

  His hands spanned her waist again. And with one great heave he had her remounted. The heavy wet skirt made it difficult to move, and her memory of flying through the air was still quite strong. To say nothing of the crush of landing. But she refused to ask for help. Lady Incognita’s heroines would brave anything to be with their men. Still, she had to admit as she gathered up the reins, the prospect of another runaway was decidedly unnerving.

  Evidently, the Earl thought so, too. “I believe I shall lead this creature home. That could have been a bad spill.”

  He swung up into the saddle, still dripping water, and started out, with her horse trailing behind. She was dreadfully cold, but she would just watch the play of his shoulders as he moved and admire the way his dark hair curled over the back of his collar. That should warm her.

  Unfortunately, by the time they’d reached the house, her body had refused to cooperate with her mind. She was chilled through and through, her teeth chattering with a will of their own.

  The Earl lifted her down. His arms were warm and safe. She wanted to stay there, close to him. But the shivering continued.

  “Please,” she said. “Just help me walk. It will warm me.”

  “Of course.”

  Pratt, with his usual aplomb, had the door open before they reached it.

  “Miss Amesley has had an accident,” the Earl said. “Tell Mrs. Esterhill and Cousin Phoebe to bring hot water and blankets.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  By dint of much effort, and leaning heavily on the Earl, Aurelia reached her room. Because of her sodden condition, she dared not lie down, but stood, clutching the bedpost for support.

  The Earl reached out, tucking a wet curl behind her ear. “Thank you,” he said. “For a most interesting afternoon.”

  “Thank ... me?” Of all things, why should she want to laugh again? But laugh she must.

  So, when an anxious Phoebe, followed by her equally anxious mama, rushed into the room, it was to the sight of the two of them laughing uncontrollably.

  Aurelia attempted to comport herself more sensibly. “My ... my horse ran off,” she managed. “But ...”

  The Earl did better. He suppressed his laughter and wiped his eyes. “But the animal jumped the stream. And Miss Amesley lost her seat. Better get her out of those wet things immediately.” He looked down at himself. “And I shall do the same. Ladies, until dinner.”

  Before the door closed behind him, Phoebe was busy at the military frogs that closed the habit’s jacket. “You are soaked.”

  “To the skin,” Aurelia agreed. She knew Phoebe was bursting to have all the details, but how could she tell her anything with her mama right there?

  Ten minutes later the Esterhills had Aurelia in bed in her nightdress with hot chocolate in her stomach, hot bricks to her feet, and enough covers to make it difficult to move.

  “Now,” said Cousin Prudence. “You just close your eyes. After a shock like that a body needs rest.”

  Phoebe sighed. “I’ll just stay with her till she drops off.”

  Cousin Prudence gave her daughter a hard look. “You’ll do no such thing. You’re coming along with me.”

  “But ...”

  “Now.”

  Phoebe raised her eyes in a gesture of resignation and Aurelia mouthed the word later.

  She meant to lie there and relive every moment of her not so propitious rescue. But all that warmth was doing its work, and before her thoughts got as far as the runaway, she was sound asleep.

  When she woke, some time later, she was wearing a smile. In her dreams they’d been laughing together.

  The door creaked. “I’m awake, Phoebe. Come in.”

  Phoebe needed no second invitation. She hurried to the bedside. “Aurelia, are you truly all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Her face aglow with curiosity, Phoebe pulled up a chair. “Then tell me what happened.”

  “The horse ran away.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “And it threw me in the stream.”

  “I know that, too! Oh, Aurelia, don’t tease me so. I’ve been about to explode, waiting to hear what occurred.”

  “That’s it. The horse threw me in. The Earl carried me out.”

  “And that’s all?”

  Phoebe looked so woebegone Aurelia could hardly keep from laughing. “Well, he picked me up and then he slipped. And fell. And we were both sitting there, in the water, laughing.”

  “Laughing?”

  “Yes. I was in his lap, more or less, and we just got to laughing.”

  “Hmmm. In the water. Laughing.” Phoebe reached in the desk for pen and ink. “Would you say this helped The Plan?”

  “I don’t know. He did rescue me. But I must have looked a fright. And he didn’t say—or do—anything.” There was that look she’d glimpsed in his eyes, that strange look she’d never seen before. But maybe she had imagined it. And, anyway, how could she be sure?

  Phoebe waved the quill. “I’ll put a question mark then.” She consulted their list. “The next thing ...”

  Aurelia sighed. “Phoebe, please. Not today. It’s a wonder the Earl was not all out of sorts. He ruined his clothes. And his boots. Oh, I hope he doesn’t catch a chill.”

  “Of course he won’t. Ranfield’s constitution is par excellence.” She waved the quill again, and an anxious expression wrinkled her brow. “Aurelia, would you explain to me? About balloons and air currents and all that? Young Mr. Amesley was telling me about them this afternoon. But ...”

  A blush suffused her cheeks. “But I was so conscious of the man himself that I could not follow what he was saying. Isn’t that unusual?”

  Aurelia smiled. “I think not,” she said. “It sounds to me suspiciously like love.”

  Chapter Eight

  Wednesday afternoon found them all back at the shed hard at work on the balloon. Aurelia and Phoebe, seated in comfortable chairs, occupied themselves with stitching up the rents in the balloon, which billowed about them till they were almost lost from sight. Across the room the Earl and Harold worked with the wicker gondola.

  Phoebe looked up from her stitching. “Tell me, Aurelia. When they put in the gas, why does it not escape through the holes our needles make?”

  “That is a good question.” Aurelia looked around.

  Phoebe’s eyes, too, turned to where the men, their shirt sleeves rolled up, were retouching the basket’s battered paint.

  Phoebe looked back. “You tell me, please. I do so want to understand. For Mr. Amesley’s sake.”

  Aurelia smiled. Last night she and Phoebe had talked for a long time about Harold. And this interest of hers in ballooning was a further sign ...

  “After we finish our mending, the men will treat the balloon with something to make the silk impenetrable. Sometimes they use varnish. Sometimes something called caoutchouc, which the French prefer.”

  Phoebe smiled. “I see. So then the gas or the hot air cannot escape. Except when you let it by pulling the valve rope.”

  “Yes,” Aurelia replied. “That is it.”

  Phoebe wiggled in her chair, and the great mass of silk made a sighing, almost human, sound. “I do hope I get to go up,” she said.

  “But your mama ...”

  “I will handle Mama,�
� Phoebe replied, her chin jutting. “It is Mr. Amesley I’m worried about.”

  “Uncle Arthur?”

  Phoebe giggled. “Of course not, you goose!” A sudden frown wrinkled her forehead. “Unless you think he would object to ...” She looked toward the men and colored.

  “Oh, Phoebe, don’t worry. Uncle Arthur likes you.” Aurelia smiled. “Besides, he would not want to offend the Earl.” Her gaze went again to where Ranfield worked beside Harold. Even in shirt sleeves the Earl was a fine figure of a man.

  He turned, almost as though he had felt her gaze, and flashed her a smile. Before she even thought about it, she was smiling in return.

  She was about to suggest to Phoebe that they leave their sewing for a moment to stretch their limbs and perhaps admire the new painting on the gondola.

  But before she could do so, the door burst open and Cousin Prudence bustled in. She was followed by half a dozen liveried footmen whose expressions of bored detachment couldn’t quite hide their curiosity.

  “Put the table there,” she ordered, pointing to a place near Aurelia. “And the chairs around it.” And while the others watched in awe, Cousin Prudence set up for afternoon tea, complete with the silver service and Wedgwood china.

  The Earl came forward, rolling down his shirt sleeves. “This was most kind of you. Cousin. But unnecessary. We could have returned to the house.”

  “Could have, perhaps.” She eyed him sternly. “But wouldn’t have.” She marched over to Aurelia. “This young woman is still recovering from two life-threatening accidents.”

  Aurelia felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Cousin Prudence was too much given to the dramatic.

  But the round little woman didn’t even notice. She adjusted her cap and waved a pudgy hand. “The poor child has to have proper sustenance. And as for the rest of you—well, you might as well join her.”

  Before the Earl could finish his thanks, she had bustled out again. “Come, Harold,” he said. “Let us join the ladies.”

  Soon the two of them were comfortably seated. Aurelia and Phoebe pushed the rustling silk aside and drew up their chairs.

  “Miss Amesley,” said the Earl. “Would you be so kind as to pour?”

  “Of course, milord.” Slowly and steadily she filled the delicate Wedgwood cups. Phoebe passed the plate of macaroons, and shortly they were all sipping and chattering as comfortably as in any drawing room.

  “Perhaps my groom will return with the brazier today,” the Earl remarked.

  Aurelia shook her head. “I don’t understand why you still favor hot air as a propellant. Montgolfieres are so old-fashioned.”

  Ranfield smiled and sipped his tea. He did not particularly favor hot air. But he had no intention of giving Miss Amesley that particular information. He loved to hear her discourse on the advantages of hydrogen gas over hot air. Or, more to the point, he liked to watch her face as she waxed eloquent about some technical matter of aeronautics. And, if that matter were one she had covered before, so much the better. He could devote less time to listening and more time to looking.

  He spared a glance to see how Harold was doing. Miss Amesley’s cousin was gazing at Phoebe with calf’s eyes. And Phoebe was returning the favor. Those two were obviously enamored of each other. So be it. His cousin could do far worse than Harold, who, though no aristocrat, was a gentleman in the truest sense.

  He smiled to himself. Perhaps being around Phoebe would put Aurelia in a romantic mood. He had decided to call her Aurelia to himself. Though of course he could not address her that way. Yet.

  He liked the way her name rolled on his tongue. He liked the way she looked, dark eyes sparkling, dainty hands waving. He liked everything about her.

  Well, not everything, he amended hastily. She was by far the worst horsewoman be had ever encountered. And she had a rather disconcerting disposition toward life-endangering accidents. He hadn’t needed to have Cousin Prudence point that out.

  True, Miss Amesley’s accidents had resulted in only minor injuries. But any fool could tell that a crashing balloon might well be fatal. And, as for falls from horseback, more than one Englishman had gone to meet his Maker after just such an event.

  Two such incidents within a single week could give a man pause. Even if that man were taken with great dark eyes and a rosebud mouth. Of course, she was not actually a peabrain. For example, she knew much more about aeronautics than he did. And she had retained much other education. After all, hadn’t she remembered Dr. Johnson’s words about the novel?

  “Hey, Ranny?”

  “Yes, Harold.”

  “Leave off woolgathering and tell us about the balloon you’ve ordered.”

  “Yes. Well, I told them to rush. I want to go up this summer. Let’s see. It’s 30 feet in diameter.”

  He glanced at Aurelia. Her face was wreathed in a smile. Would he ever mean as much to her as air flight did? He pushed the thought aside and turned back to her cousin. “Perhaps when your balloon is repaired, you’ll give me some lessons in flying.”

  “Be glad to,” said Harold. But his glance at Phoebe told plainly whom he preferred as companion. He ran a hand through his hair. “Say, Reely can do it. She can take you up and show you the works.”

  “But Uncle Arthur won’t let me go up. You know that, Harold,”

  Harold grinned. “For once you’re wrong. Papa told me just today—before he left for the supplies. He’s not going to stand in your way. He’s going to teach you all he knows.”

  Watching her, Ranfield saw her face register shock. And elation. “But his promise ...”

  Harold shrugged. “It’s broken already. Besides, he says he never felt right about it. Says it ain’t fair to bring up a child in the way you want it to go and then say it can’t. Says he’d never have promised if your papa hadn’t caught him by surprise, and him dying like that.”

  Ranfield frowned. He wasn’t sure he liked this change of sentiment. It was one thing to listen to her talk. Quite another to have her sailing off.

  And in a flimsy wicker basket. He cast a glance at the gondola, which seemed to have grown decidedly smaller and more fragile. He could summon many arguments against females in air flight.

  But one look at her face told him that all his words would be useless. Worse than useless, actually, for they would turn her against him—and without at all changing her mind about flight.

  He swallowed his words of caution and extended a hand. “Congratulations, Miss Amesley. I know this means a great deal to you.”

  Still stunned by the enormity of Harold’s news, Aurelia automatically put out her hand. The Earl’s fingers were warm; the grip, firm and strong.

  How kind of him to congratulate her—and to understand. Most men would have been quite adamant against female aeronauts.

  She nibbled on a macaroon and watched Phoebe turn to Harold. “Have there been many female aeronauts?” Phoebe asked.

  Harold’s freckles stood out on his fair skin. His smile threatened to split his face. “A few, Miss Esterhill. The first in England was a Mrs. Sage. She went up ...” He looked to Aurelia.

  “In June of ’85.”

  “That’s right.” Harold grinned. “My head’s full of air currents and such. No room in there for dates. You tell it, Reely.”

  “There’s not much to tell. She went up at St. George’s Field, the amusement garden at Newington Butts. And she came down safely.”

  “And of course there is Madame Blanchard,” Harold continued. “She has been going aloft for many, many years. And quite safely.”

  “Nevertheless,” remarked the Earl, “there have been accidents. The charlières can explode. Hydrogen gas is quite flammable.”

  Aurelia felt a pang of fear. He could not mean to forbid her air flight. “Montgolfières can also catch fire,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “But not if precautions are taken.”

  “Precautions,” the Earl repeated.

  “Yes, aeronauts are trained to be careful.”

  �
�But even care may not prevent all mischances.”

  She could think of no more to say. Why must he have such an incisive mind, cutting right to the quick of things?

  The four of them lapsed into silence, sipping their tea.

  Aurelia had just returned her cup to her saucer when the door opened again. “Miserable female,” Uncle Arthur was murmuring. “Oh woman, thy tongue is venom.”

  Harold got to his feet. “Papa, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s that woman.” Uncle Arthur ran a hand across his bald pate. “Begging your pardon, milord, seeing as she’s your relative and all. But she’s monstrous persistent. Wears a man down with her Scriptures.” He grinned ruefully. “Seems like she’s always got one at hand. Or two or three.”

  The Earl stood up. “Well,” he said, clapping Uncle Arthur on the back. “It looks like you’ll have to take up Scripture reading yourself.”

  Uncle Arthur’s face was a study in perplexity. “I, your lordship?”

  “Of course. So you can find material to refute her.”

  Her uncle considered this, then shook his head. “That woman can’t be refuted. That woman is ... is granite.”

  The Earl laughed. “But the Scriptures can move her. If you find the right passage.” He raised an eyebrow. “To the best of my knowledge she hasn’t yet found any that expressly forbid air flight. So perhaps you can find one that seems to praise it.”

  Uncle Arthur shook his head again. “I shall certainly try. But come, let’s get to work on those lashings.”

  The men moved off, and Phoebe and Aurelia returned to their stitching. But Phoebe looked worried. “Is it really so dangerous?” she asked, finally.

  Aurelia considered this. “It’s as Harold said. People die in many fashions. But we are careful, and so it is not that dangerous.”

  She smiled. “Do not frown so. It will wrinkle your fair skin.”

  Phoebe grimaced. “Please, do not mention wrinkles to Mama. She will be after me with her foul-smelling lotions. And some Scriptures, too.”

  Aurelia laughed. “Then you must smile.”

  Phoebe complied. “Very well, I shall try.But listen, should you not be working on The Plan?”