Feeling herself blush with embarrassment, Flora quickly lowered her arm and watched as the handsome viscount led Amy to the dance floor and spun her away to the lively melody of a waltz. Crushing disappointment overwhelmed her. She had been so certain! Then her common sense took hold. She saw how vain she was to assume he'd choose her first, over every young lady present in the dance hall. Obviously not every man in the ballroom was dying to dance with her, and that, she informed herself, should be a good lesson in humility. Still, she felt hurt—much more than she should have, given the circumstances. Good grief, she and Lord Dashwood had just been introduced, yet she felt like a love-sick schoolgirl.
"May I have this dance?" came a man's voice beside her.
Flora turned and through a kind of daze saw it was Lord Dashwood's friend, the one who had been at the beach this morning. Gratefully she nodded a yes. At this point she would dance with the devil himself rather than be obliged to stand, humiliated, on the sidelines. The orchestra struck up another waltz. "It appears we shall be waltzing, Lord...er..."
"Lynd," he said flatly and led her to the floor.
"So you are a friend of Lord Dashwood," she remarked as they started dancing, hardly aware of what she was saying. With a conscious effort, she forced herself to keep her eyes on her partner, although her mind was elsewhere.
"Lord Dashwood is a cousin of my neighbor, Lord Dinsmore. Also his heir presumptive since Dinsmore has no sons. Dashwood visited often when he was a boy. We're the same age and used to play together. I know him well." Lynd cocked an eyebrow and inquired, "And where do you reside, Lady Flora, that is, when you're not arising like—how did Dashwood put it?—Aphrodite from the sea, if memory serves."
She supposed he had intended the remark humorously, but she could not muster so much as a faint smile. "My family has a country home in Sussex. Also a town house in London."
"Ah, so you'll soon be enjoying another Season, I'd wager."
She bristled immediately. "I'm not planning on another Season. I have better things to do."
"And what do you do, Lady Flora?" His intense gaze drilled into hers.
The way he asked, she thought was rude. She wished she didn't have to dance with this man. Too late now, but at least she could make sure he would not ask again. "Well, I shall tell you what I don't do," she bluntly replied. "I have no talent for art so I don't paint. I don't sing, either, because my voice is so abominable that when I sing, our dog runs and hides. Nor do I play the piano because I hated it and rebelled after one lesson. As for needlework, I embroidered a sampler once. It was so terrible, my mother threw it away and never mentioned the subject again." There, that should show him. She gave him a smug smile. "And what do you do, Lord Lynd?"
He gave her a smug smile right back. "The proper answer to that is nothing, since we of the ton are all aware that ladies and gentlemen would not be caught dead doing actual work."
"So you do nothing, sir?" she inquired, none too politely.
Not hesitating, dead-pan serious, he replied, "I, too, cannot sing nor play the piano. As to what became of my sampler, its fate is too terrible to relate."
In her cranky mood, she didn't immediately perceive he wasn't serious. Then the humor of it struck her and she could not help but laugh, especially when he managed to keep a straight face the whole time. She felt better, knowing laughter had somewhat assuaged her disappointment. For the first time, she regarded Lord Lynd with genuine curiosity. He was tall, with powerful shoulders, just like Lord Dashwood, but his face could not compare with the enchanting perfection of the viscount's sharply chiseled features. In fact, this man looked like some sort of brigand with those heavy brows over dark, brooding eyes, slightly crooked nose, and that prominent, set chin that suggested a stubborn streak. Nor did he possess a charming smile. In fact, he hardly smiled at all but instead kept looking at her in a quizzical fashion.
She realized she'd been rude and hastened to answer the question he'd asked in the first place. "The things I do are not too terribly interesting, I'm afraid. When in London I practically live at Hatchards because I read a lot, various things like military history and—"
"The classics," he ventured.
"How did you know?"
"Your reference to Homer."
"I've never seen you in London. Surely you go for the Season?"
"I go to London for two reasons—an occasional visit to Tattersoll's, but mainly for The Four-in-hand Club."
Her interest peaked immediately. "You belong?"
He nodded.
She knew she shouldn't ask, but curiosity spurred her on. "Does Lord Dashwood belong?"
The shadow of a frown crossed his face before he answered, "Dashwood, too." For the first time, he actually smiled. "When we were boys we had a pact that when we grew up we would both be coachmen on the Brighton Road."
She opened her mouth to say, Oh, I, too..., but thought better of it. Perish the thought a well-brought-up young lady would dream of being a coachman. But then, why shouldn't she speak her mind? Lord Lynd was most certainly not a suitor, so there was hardly a need to impress him with her feminine charms. "Don't laugh, but I would love to try four-in-hand myself sometime." She waited for his derisive laughter. The few men in whom she'd confided always laughed at the thought that a woman wanted to drive four-in-hand.
He didn't laugh but replied, "Then you should try. I've always thought it absurd—this notion that our women must be treated like delicate flowers. Such hypocrisy. And what's truly outrageous is that our concern for the so-called 'gentler sex' extends only to those in the ton. Among the so-called lower classes, women toil as hard as their men, but that's acceptable." He looked her up and down, but not in a licentious way. "You're young and strong. I've no doubt you could handle driving four-in-hand. Have you ever tried?"
"Never. I can just see my mother if she caught me attempting such a thing. She won't even let me on a horse except for an old nag we own."
"Of course," he answered with a rueful shrug. "Naturally it would be considered most unseemly."
"But still, I would like to try it sometime. I can't think of a more exciting sight than a coach just ready to start from the courtyard of an inn."
"Ah, yes, and the coach itself, all gleaming," Lord Lynd agreed, "and the harness, so skillfully arranged—"
"—and the beautiful horses, impatient to be off. The inside of the coach full and the outside covered with men, women and children and—"
"—boxes, bags, and bundles," Lord Lynd enthusiastically continued, "and then there's the coachman himself, master of all he surveys, taking his reins in one hand, whip in the other. He gives the signal with his foot and away they go—"
"—with the coachman calling, 'All right. Wo-ho! So-ho then!'" Flora spiritedly supplied. "Imagine, soon they're going a whole ten miles an hour."
"Astonishing." Lord Lynd paused a moment, as if to savor their mutual delight at coaching. "You have it exactly right." A faint light twinkled in the depths of his brown eyes. "I hope your wish comes true someday. I've no doubt you could drive a coach and four with the best of them." He gazed down at her with a thoughtful look in his eyes. "You are not what I thought you were, Lady Flora."
"And just what did you think I was?" If he answered, she didn't hear because just then, out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of yellow floating by. It was Amy in her yellow silk ball dress trimmed with yellow satin bows. She was still dancing with Lord Dashwood, who, judging from that dazzling smile he was flashing at her, was enjoying the dance immensely.
A stab of envy filled Flora's heart. How strange, for she was never jealous of her sister. They had always gotten along just fine, perhaps because they were completely unalike and their interests differed. Come to think of it, she had never been jealous of anybody. But when it came to Lord Dashwood, perhaps hers and Amy's interests had converged. If that was true, she wouldn't dream of standing in Amy's way.
The music stopped. She heard, "I shall return you to your
chaperone, Lady Flora," and suddenly remembered with whom she was dancing.
"That will be fine," she said with scarce attention as Lord Lynd led her from the dance floor. By rote she added, "I enjoyed the dance."
His eyebrows raised inquiringly. "Did you?" Before she could answer, he gave her a slight bow and moved away.
She knew she'd been rude but couldn't bring herself to care. Lord Lynd was nice enough, she supposed, but Lord Dashwood—so dashing, so spirited, so handsome.—had stirred a fire within her, and she could think of nothing else. Eagerly her gaze swept the throng of dancers. Where were they? She must find out if Amy was attracted to the handsome viscount. Pray God, she was not.
When Flora found Amy for a moment alone, she asked, "What did you think of Lord Dashwood?"
Amy shrugged and answered, "Oh, he's all right, I suppose. Awfully handsome, isn't he? And charming, too, but still...not for me."
Flora's heart was gladdened but only briefly. Lord Dashwood still did not ask her to dance. As the evening wore on, she invented all sorts of reasons why he was ignoring her. Perhaps he had not had the chance, what with eager mothers pressing their daughters upon him. Or perhaps he was saving her until last. Yes, that was it. Once he got his obligations out of the way, he would appear before her, that wicked little gleam in his eye...
"Come dance with me, Lady Flora. It's you I have wanted to dance with all evening."
"Really? I am surprised. You have shown no indication of it."
"Please, give me a chance. Don't you understand? It was only out of courtesy that I was forced to dance with all those other young ladies..."
But he never asked. As the evening drew to a close, she convinced herself he wasn't going to. How dare he not ask? How could he possibly ignore the belle of the ball?
She caught herself, and inwardly laughed at her own arrogance and stupidity.
Let that be a lesson to you, Miss Fancy Flora. You can't catch every man with the crook of your little finger after all.
Besides, why should she care? Not only had she danced every dance, she'd been showered with compliments and attention—things she ordinarily didn't care about, but tonight the attention was a boon to her wounded pride.
Blast you, Lord Dashwood, you insignificant coxcomb.
At the beginning of the last dance, Lord Dashwood finally appeared before her and flashed his dazzling smile.
"Lady Flora, I must have a dance before it's over."
The anguish of the evening disappeared, although she was not about to let him know how her heart had suddenly filled with joy. "I would be honored, sir," she answered none too warmly. "Luckily you found me without a partner."
"I know," he said as they started dancing. "You've been the belle of the ball tonight."
She cocked her head and tartly asked, "Really? How would you know?"
"I am aware of every man you danced with, starting with that milksop, Lord Farley. Then Lieutenant Kenniston, followed by that major, then the milksop again—I saw him step on your toes, followed by—"
"Stop," she said, finally laughing, her doubts replaced by a gush of pure joy. She smiled back at him coquettishly. "You could have asked me sooner."
"Ah, but I saved the best until last."
They danced mostly in silence with Flora noticing how quick, how graceful he was. At the end, he stepped back and said, "You're a marvelous waltzer, Lady Flora. I vow, you waltz as quick, if not quicker, than Madame Lieven herself."
What a marvelous compliment, to be compared to one of the esteemed patroness of Almack's. When he led her back to the sidelines, her mother spoke up.
"My dear Lord Dashwood, you must come visit us tomorrow." She added as an afterthought, "And your friend, Lord Lynd, of course."
At any other time, Flora would have been embarrassed over her mother's blatant invitation, but now she held her breath, waiting for his answer.
A broad smile spread over Dashwood's face. "We'd be delighted. The house on the hill, is it not? Don't worry, we'll find our way. Tomorrow then." He bowed to Flora, a definite gleam of interest in his eyes.
Chapter 3
The moon barely shone through the heavy ocean mist as Richard flicked his whip over the bays pulling their curricle back to the house on the Marine parade he'd leased for the summer. He glanced sideways at Sidney, who sat silent beside him. "You did not enjoy the ball."
Sidney took a long time answering. "All things considered, no." He wished his friend was not so damnably observant.
Richard nudged his companion's arm. "I note that you and that old reprobate, Lord Marshall, sat in a corner most of the evening. No doubt exchanging your tedious war stories."
"As a matter of fact, we were. I found my conversation with Marshall to be far more interesting than dancing with a passel of giddy young debutantes."
"But you hardly danced, except the once with Lady Flora."
"Had you nothing better to do all evening than observe me?"
"That's absurd. You very well know I devoted myself to the ladies tonight." Richard's voice lightened as he continued, "But of course I kept an eye on you. You are my guest. I wanted to see you had a good time."
Sidney felt a twinge of guilt. In this life, a man could count on but a handful of friends who truly cared about his well-being. Despite his many faults, Richard was one of those. "Sorry. As for Lady Flora, yes, I danced with her once and wished I hadn't."
"But she was the most beautiful girl there tonight, by far the most popular."
"Then why did you dance only one dance with her yourself, and the last one at that?"
"Ah, so you noticed," Richard replied, his voice suffused with self satisfaction. "But you see, that's my strategy. I know women well enough to know they want what they cannot have. If you want a woman, the worst thing you can do is chase after her like some puppy dog, especially one with as many suitors as Lady Flora. How old is she? Twenty-two or three? Been out since she was eighteen? So she's had several years of men begging for favors, throwing themselves at her feet. She's utterly spoiled, and that's what she expects now, but by God, she won't find me fawning over her. Au contrair." Chuckling, Richard snapped the reins, bringing the bays to a swift, trotting pace.
Sidney cast his friend a look of disgust, even though he knew Richard couldn't possibly see it in dark. "So just what is your strategy?"
"Indifference, that's the key. Amazing, how well it works. When I see a woman I want, I ignore her, though not entirely, of course. I give her a sample of that old Dashwood charm, just enough to rouse her interest. Soon she's dying for my attention. It's not long before she's dying for more." Even in the darkness, Sidney sensed Richard's triumphant little smile. "Works every time."
"Richard, you are absolute scum."
His friend met the insult with a hearty laugh. "Scum, perhaps, but I assure you my strategy works. Did you notice Lady Flora tonight? She could not keep her eyes off me. At the end of the evening when I danced with her, or, to put it another way, when I finally threw her a crumb, she was not only exceedingly grateful, she was ecstatic with relief that at last I had deigned to notice her."
So that's why she ignored me. Sidney gritted his teeth, surprised at his own irritation. After his unsatisfactory dance with Lady Flora, he vowed not to dance again, telling himself he'd be an idiot if ever he attended another ball. "Why do you do this? What's to be gained?"
"Am I not free to pursue my pleasures?"
"That's not the point."
"Since when are you such a prude?" Richard asked with mild exasperation. "Am I not doing what most men do?"
"I can't argue." Sidney would say no more. Far be it from him to preach and moralize. Besides, in a society like the ton, prudish on the surface, but rife with corruption underneath, how could he possibly explain how, in recent years, he increasingly found the loose morals abhorrent? "So go pursue your pleasures," he said with a sigh.
Richard thought a moment. "So far, it's been a game—the chase, the conquest. But lately...y
ou know how Lord Dinsmore has been after me to marry. I have resisted, of course. Why should I give up this delightful life I lead?"
"Why should you indeed?" Sidney cynically observed. "Women, drinking, gambling, more women...the word 'decadent' comes to mind."
"Exactly." If Richard was the least insulted, he gave no indication. "But on the other hand, I am sick to death of my cousin plaguing me, so lately I've been thinking, why not marry? Then I shall do what most men do—take a wife, get her with child, then go about my 'decadent' life just as before."
"Not every woman would have you on those terms."
"My dear boy, what woman would not have me? Aren't I titled and soon to be rich? My dear cousin grows more feeble by the day. Not that I want him to go, mind you, but facts are facts."
"The fact is, you can hardly wait for your cousin's demise." Sidney did not bother to hide his annoyance.
"Well, it's true, isn't it? I could marry any woman I chose, but where's the fun in that? I enjoy the challenge–the chase. So I shall choose a woman with spirit like Lady Flora, who's not only beautiful and charming but has a munificent father who will doubtless provide an obscenely generous dowry. I'll have my fun with her, marry her, get her with child, which will thrill my dear cousin no end and stop him plaguing me. Then I shall be free to resume my carefree life while my obedient wife stays home and produces a pack of little Dashwoods to carry on the family name." Laughing aloud, Richard slapped his friend on the back. "A fine scheme, don't you think?"
"You are despicable."
"Now there's a true friend," Richard answered warmly. "One of the things I like best about you, Sidney, is you always say what you think."
True enough, thought Sidney. But that's not all I'm thinking. Despite the comradery of the Four-in-Hand club in which they both took an active part, despite the history of their friendship which extended back to before he could remember, there were times he could barely tolerate his wayward friend. Richard had been a sweet child, obedient, pleasant, never whining, but when he reached his teens, he began to change into the arrogant, uncaring man he was today. Sidney suspected the death of Richard's parents in a carriage accident when he was twelve was much to blame.
Lady Flora's Fantasy Page 3