When a Rake Falls

by Sally Orr

  Boyce elbowed Drexel. “Yes, yes, my father reads every paper.”

  The crowd’s cheers erupted again after the mention of the winnings.

  The earl held his arms out. “I tell you, my friends, I’m excited about this race. To help defray the cost of your journey, any man who takes up our challenges will receive a hundred pounds after reaching Paris.”

  Shouts and applause echoed around the square.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen, Lady Sarah and I look forward to hearing the adventures of England’s finest men. I am positive that once my daughter is acquainted with you fine fellows, she will fall in love. With such excellent examples of the greatness inherent in the English, how could she not? We also anticipate the pleasure of your company during our summer in Paris. The only other thing I can say is…” The earl lifted his quizzing glass to his eye and scanned the crowd. “Ready, steady, go!”

  * * *

  An unusually warm and cloudless sky greeted Boyce the next morning as he started his journey to Paris. It took some effort to hide his disappointment that Drexel had changed his mind and agreed to be his witness for only one day. During the night, his friend had run into trouble of the female kind and needed to return to London before the day’s end.

  The first man out of the stable yard was Drexel, and he pointed his dappled gray south.

  Boyce whistled to get his attention. “We must head north.”

  Drexel reigned in his horse. “But Paris is to the east and south, not north.”

  “No, no.” He patted his horse’s neck. “I will win by heading north. Why that direction, you might ask. Follow me.”

  Boyce and Drexel traveled northward before taking a sharp turn to the east.

  After ten minutes of silence, Boyce winked at his friend. “So tell me about the female trouble you ran into yesterday.”

  A scowl crossed Drexel’s sharp features. “I will never forgive you for coercing me, and Ross, into writing The Rake’s Handbook: Including Field Guide. Help you with your publishing career be damned. That handbook has been nothing but trouble for all of us. Now some chit is angered over the section of the book I wrote, The Field Guide. Claims the wrong initials were added under ‘Happy Goers.’ But don’t worry, I have a clever plan to deal with her.” The tone of his voice, combined with his wicked smile, meant certain trouble for some unsuspecting female.

  After a long gallop, followed by a conversation about troublesome women, they found themselves riding down Frog Lane, surrounded by open fields near the village of Islington. On one side, London’s vegetable gardens stretched out into the distance, filling the air with the odor of manure. On the other side, several dozen people gathered around a large, wooden platform. A large balloon half-filled with the newly discovered inflammable air—created during the manufacture of illuminating gas—fixed everyone’s attention. A silver-blue monster of over forty feet in diameter, the silk balloon swayed with every little puff of wind.

  Drexel whistled softly. “You have more courage than I if you go up in that thing.”

  Brimming with confidence, Boyce straightened in the saddle. “Now you understand the brilliance of my plan. I’ll win both the courage and intelligence challenge. Courage, because no other challenger will journey to Paris by balloon. Intelligence, because this balloon represents a new technology that will lead the way in transportation. My successful flight may one day prove that ordinary people can travel great distances by air.”

  “I’ll give you courage, but not intelligence. It’s too dangerous to travel far. Balloons are only used for paid ascensions or to observe troop movements.”

  “No, no, expand your imagination. The prince—I mean that sorry fellow who is now our king—has gone on hundreds of ascensions, so they’re not dangerous at all. Think of the balloon’s future on a grand scale, a way to cross deserts, find the source of the Amazon, or lift heavy cargo. Perhaps one day you will reach for your wings in the morning instead of your riding boots. Let’s watch them prepare, shall we?”

  Up on the platform, three people worked diligently. The youngest was a lad of eight or nine who seemed to run wherever directed. Next, a young woman dressed in a tan wool overcoat, her brown hair neatly plaited, lifted birdcages into the balloon’s basket. The third person, a slim gentleman, stood next to the balloon and shouted incoherent instructions to the boy.

  In a chair, by one of the many barrels that must have contained the inflammable air, sat an older man with remarkable whiskers that arched along the top of his cheeks. Boyce had met the aeronaut, Mr. Thomas Mountfloy, on the previous evening when he had made arrangements for the balloon’s hire. The flight had been planned to perform several atmospheric experiments, like testing the ability of birds to fly at high altitudes. So Mr. Mountfloy initially refused Boyce’s proposal. He only agreed to his scheme after Boyce paid an outrageous sum and agreed to assist with the experiments.

  Boyce studied the basket. Made of wicker, about eight feet in length and perhaps five feet tall, it was shaped somewhat like a dinghy with several birdcages piled on one side.

  Drexel shook his head. “What a sight. I’ve never seen a balloon up close.”

  The slim man held a long tube attached to the bottom of the balloon. The shiny silk undulated in the light breeze and quickly inflated to about three-quarters of its size.

  Last night, Boyce had read that balloons were never fully inflated before ascending, because they needed room for the gas to expand at high altitudes. So when the slim man pulled the tube away, he knew it was time for his ascent. He tied a sack, containing clothing for cold weather and a tin of biscuits, around his waist before swallowing a swift mouthful of brandy from his silver flask. This movement caught Drexel’s attention, but he spoke first. “You are the official witness to my ascension, remember? Now watch me.”

  Drexel grabbed his arm. “No! Please reconsider. You might be killed.”

  “Nowadays people don’t die in balloons. They are as safe as a gallop on Charity. Oh, and thank you for taking her back to the stables. Now keep your eye on me.” He jumped up onto the platform and climbed into the basket. The girl had entered before him and seemed to be tying down the birdcages. He urged Mr. Mountfloy to come aboard with haste.

  Mr. Mountfloy called out, “Are you ready, my lord?”

  “Right ho,” Boyce replied.

  The girl looked at Mr. Mountfloy. “Father, please.”

  The slim man started to fiddle with the ropes, so Boyce wondered when Mr. Mountfloy would climb aboard. Then one side of the basket started to lift off the platform, so he shouted for the aeronaut to hurry.

  After a nod in the direction of the slim man, Mr. Mountfloy waved his arm. “Good luck, your lordship. See you soon. Hang on!”

  The balloon shot upward.

  Two

  Boyce yelled like a lunatic.

  Whoosh. His hat blew off.

  He clutched the side of the basket.

  His favorite old hat tumbled away, far out in front of him.

  Despite the blast of cold air, it was the most thrilling moment of his twenty-seven years.

  He tried to lift his head, but it felt like a heavy cannonball pressed down to his chest by an unseen hand.

  The wooden platform grew smaller as the balloon gained altitude. It didn’t take long until the townsfolk looked like little black insects moving around in green grass. Several men on horseback followed in their direction, apparently chasing the balloon. Seconds later, the fields and hedgerows below resembled the irregular squares of a mottled green chessboard.

  Boyce continued to yell as Islington shrank into the distance.

  The balloon’s upward movement seemed to slow, and several minutes later, it stopped.

  Now certain of his survival after that remarkable ascent, joy swelled in his chest. He laughed without reserve. Never had he felt so free. He needed to sing his thanks
and praises to the magnificence of the balloon. “Away from my view fly the world and its strife, the banquet of fancy’s feast is my life.” He hung over the basket, spread his arms wide, and serenaded the town. “My spirits are mounting, my heart’s full of glee.” An odd sensation overcame his ears, and his voice sounded like he was singing under water. In the process of poking his ear with his pinky, he saw the girl.

  She smiled at him before reaching up to pull the draw line, opening the spring valve. The escaping gas hissed softly. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes.”

  “No! Close the valve.” Boyce looked up at the swollen balloon. “What are you doing?”

  Several strands of brown hair escaped her plait and blew around her close-fitting woolen cap. “I am releasing some of the gas. We need to land immediately.”

  “What? No, no, stop.”

  She spun to face him. “You don’t want to descend? Every gentleman we take on a paid ascension wants to land soon after they retch…after such a rapid ascent.”

  “I didn’t retch. I thought it was wonderful, and I have no desire to land.” Being at least a foot taller, he grabbed the rope above her hand and pulled it out of her grasp. The valve clanged shut, and he stood with one hand holding the draw line high in the air, so she could not reach it.

  “We must land and soon,” she said. “Once I get you safely on the ground, we have plans for experiments today.”

  “But I hired this balloon to go to France.”

  “Of course you did.” She backed away, placing both hands on her hips, emphasizing her slim figure on a statuesque frame. “Are you touched in your upper works? You need special equipment, like cork jackets, and experienced aeronauts for such a flight. Perhaps there was some miscommunication. My father did inform you this was a scientific balloon, right? I expected to take you up, then descend to drop you off—a regular paid ascension. Once on the ground, my father and his assistant will board. Then we can begin our experiments. We must hurry. Otherwise, we will land too far away for the flight to resume today.”

  He shook his head. “I do not wish to be dropped off. I am not like other men. How many bleaters paid for ascensions and then called off?”

  She lifted a strong chin set on a pretty oval face. “Six.”

  “They all insisted on descending immediately?” He tied the draw line onto the rope rigging.

  “Yes.”

  “Really? Well, I do not. I paid for this flight, so I expect to travel to France.” He glanced ahead. “Since we are going in the right direction, you and I will have to make the flight together.”

  “No! Time is of the essence. The valve must be opened.” She squinted her sky-blue eyes, like she was studying the best way to reach the draw line. Her breathing increased, and she noticeably swallowed. Leaning forward, as if to attack, she widened her stance. Her hard stare never wavered.

  Her actions caught him off guard. He too began to pant, and he crouched in anticipation of repelling her charge. Under the circumstances, he found her opposition stimulating, and he stiffened in excitement. Who would move first? He returned her narrow-eyed stare.

  She jumped forward to her left.

  He leaped to his right.

  At the last second, she dove past him on the other side and attempted to grab the draw line controlling the valve.

  Picking her up by the waist, he carried her to the opposite end of the swaying basket then held her in place. “I paid your father to take me to France, and he cheerfully agreed. So when I let you go, you must not try to open the valve again.”

  Squirming earnestly to free herself, she only managed to turn sideways. “You’re a madman.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Who but a madman would…sing all the way up?”

  “You expected me to cry?” He watched her eyes sparkle with ire and realized she was quite pretty. A Long Meg with her forehead currently furrowed in anger, her glare only emphasized an adorable button nose, while her almost-sneering mouth had the most delicious apple-red lips he had ever seen. The thought of sweet, angry apples made him want to taste her. So he instinctively leaned close, but then he remembered his manners. Besides, she smelled like chemicals, perhaps the gas used to inflate the balloon.

  She struggled, but his grip held fast, so she stomped on his foot.

  “Ow, you little hoyden. What did you do that for?”

  “Let me go.”

  “Only if you keep your father’s word and take me to France. Promise?”

  She stilled, as if weighing her next response. “Don’t our experiments take precedence, now that you know it’s all just a misunderstanding?”

  “You appear to be the only one suffering from a misunderstanding. In terms of your experiments, I’d be delighted to assist you. I’m sure, together, we can get the job done.”

  She inhaled sharply and paused. “Well…it is not appropriate that I travel without a chaperone, so we have to land. You do not want my reputation to be compromised?”

  He glanced around from left to right.

  “Answer the question, madman.”

  “Wait a minute, what a hum. You made ascensions with six other fellows. But your point is noted. I am a gentleman, so a chaperone is not required. Besides, you know full well no one can see us together up here. However, I give you my word that once we reach France, we will land in an empty field where we will not be seen. I’ll then make arrangements for your return, and we can separate before anyone catches us together.” He pointed eastward. “Onward to France.”

  “France! You really are a madman.” She struggled to free herself, but to no avail. “This balloon is not an exploratory machine that just flies about, trying to break records.” She glanced around her. “We have no equipment or instruments on board for such a long journey.”

  “But the crossing can be accomplished, correct? Last night I read all about balloons. Considering the elevations they can achieve and the fine weather today, we should be able to make it with ease. That Frenchman made the journey in just a couple of hours.”

  “You’re a madman and a simpleton. The crossing to France is a major undertaking. There is a chance we could land in the Channel and perish. Father must have assumed you were liver-hearted, like everyone else, and would demand to land immediately. A journey to France is so farcical, he probably did not take you seriously.”

  “Sounds like your father has a little racket fleecing coves. A rapid ascent to scare a fellow to death, so he’ll demand to land immediately?”

  A blush appeared high on her cheeks. “He uses the money to pay for his research. As a dutiful daughter, I must do what he says.” Her brows knit. “I’m curious, why are you in such a hurry? Why today? Why France?”

  “I didn’t know of the earl’s challenges until yesterday.” Boyce then explained the race and his hopes of winning multiple cups. “So, without enough time to arrange my own balloon, the only way I could triumph in several challenges was to hire a balloon already prepared for flight. I figure the intelligence, courage, and possibly sportsmanship cups are in the bag. Don’t you?”

  “No. A crash from lack of preparations is not very intelligent. And failing to consider the wishes of your companion is not very sportsmanlike.” She glared up at him. “That Lady Sarah was right. There are no gentlemen left in London. The entire city must be populated by madmen. Now let me go.”

  “Now that’s not very generous, is it, my daring miss?”

  “Listen. Let’s look at this situation logically.” She paused, lifting a finely arched brow.

  Boyce guessed she stopped because the wiseacre expected him to ask what the word logically meant. “Since you are a pretty miss dangling in my arms, enjoying my friendly embrace, you deserve a serenade too.” Now, up here in this magnificent balloon, the wind whistling by in a steady melody, he could be himself and freely exp
ress—without being mocked—the happiness bubbling up from his toes. “Oh, but first let me introduce myself. My name is Lord Boyce Parker. I assume you are Miss Mountfloy. A pleasure to meet you.”

  She failed to answer and halfheartedly struggled to free herself from his grip.

  “In your honor, let me think of a song where the last word rhymes with floy. Perhaps a refrain ending in the word boy or toy. Funny that, the only songs that come to mind at the moment are about candles alight, drummers, and drumsticks. Oh, beg pardon.”

  “No songs, please.”

  “Yes, yes, my sincere apologies.”

  “Listen. I’ve dedicated my life to helping my father collect important scientific data from the experiments performed during each flight. With these results, we can learn about the characteristics and behavior of our atmosphere. Future men of science will then have more reliable information with which to warn our populace when dangerous storms approach. Think, Lord Madman, we may save humanity.”

  Boyce lifted a brow. The young damsel believed this with all of her heart, so he had no intention of disrespecting her dream. Anyhow, he’d rather look at her cheeks. They had returned to that fine, pinkish sort of color that complemented the apple-red lips nicely.

  “‘Save humanity’ might be an exaggeration,” she said, “but science is important work. With data from our experiments, we hope to understand our weather, clouds, and the chemical properties of our atmosphere. So this balloon has a purpose. It is not just some easy convenience to complete the harum-scarum scheme of some bored nobleman.”

  “I’ve never been bored in my life.”