Lady Flora's Fantasy

by Shirley Kennedy

  "Watch out, Flora, you are about to spill your tea."

  Flora quickly removed herself from Lovers' Walk, in time to see her cup was at a precarious angle. "Sorry, Mama. I was thinking about...what I was going to wear to Vauxhall's."

  * * * *

  "May I ask why you've returned to London so soon, Sidney?"

  After a leisurely dinner at Watier's, Richard pushed his plate back and looked quizzically across the table at his friend. "You were at Tatt's less than a month ago, so I doubt you need another horse." His eyebrow raised suggestively. "My guess is, you've finally grown weary of the utterly boring countryside. You crave a bit of excitement, eh? Well, I say tonight we stay here and gamble. Later, we shall take ourselves over to Regent Street to see what we can find." He raised a lascivious eyebrow. "You know what I mean."

  Sidney sighed wearily. "When will you learn? I did not come to London to fritter away my time with lady birds."

  "Do tell. Then why did you come?"

  A good question, Sidney reflected. He had come to London because...

  Richard was right. He had no need to visit Tatt's so soon again. In fact, he had no need to come to London either. So why had he come? He hated to admit it, but Lady Flora was the reason. This past month since he'd been home, she had constantly been on his mind. Whether he was dining with a neighbor, or galloping across a meadow atop one of his thoroughbreds, or discussing the harvesting of the wheat crop with one of his tenants, thoughts of her crept, totally uninvited, into his head. Not smart and most impractical. Also how very unwise to have such an interest in a woman who obviously cared for someone else. Or did she? Richard had not mentioned her once throughout dinner. Perhaps the relationship had cooled. Perhaps...?

  "So, Richard, how is your courtship of Lady Flora proceeding?"

  A slow grin spread over his friend's face. "Even better than I expected. The poor girl is so enamored of me I've taken pity on her. I'm spending more time with her than I intended."

  "How noble of you."

  If Richard detected his subtle sarcasm he gave no indication. "Besides, I've got to marry soon. Confound it, I'm nearly rolled up."

  "How fortunate Lady Flora's ample dowry will bail you out."

  This time Sidney made no effort to conceal his contempt, but Richard seemed not to hear the sarcasm in his voice and glanced slyly around before he bent closer and confided, "Mark my words, by the time I finish, that dowry will be larger than it is already."

  "How is that possible?"

  "I've got Lady Flora so desirous of my...er, company, that if I reject her dowry, she'll have dear papa selling off his land, if necessary, to up the ante so she can get what she wants. Just wait until I start the marriage negotiations. It'll be through Lord Dinsmore and his solicitor, of course, but I'll be in the background to help matters along. By the time we finish, her dowry will be fit for a queen, and her jointure, pin money—all that frippery women ask for—will be minimal, if nonexistent."

  Richard sat back, wearing such a smug expression Sidney wanted to smack him. "Lord Rensley's a tough old bird. He would never agree to such an affront."

  "He loves his daughters. He'll agree soon enough when he's witness to Flora's despair should she lose me."

  Sidney could hardly control the combination of shock and outrage that welled within him. "Have you no shame?"

  "Desperate measures for desperate times, my boy. Besides, where's the harm? I shall give her exactly what she wants, thus making her exceedingly happy and myself, as well. After all, not only shall I then have the wherewithal to pay my debts, I shall have the additional pleasure of bedding a woman who's not bad looking by half and quite lively. Should be fun, especially since she's madly in love with me." His lips curved into an infuriating grin. "What's wrong with that? By the way, did I tell you my esteemed cousin is in London? He's come mainly for the sales at Tatt's and the gala at Vauxhall's tomorrow night where he said he'd join us. Fortuitous timing, don't you agree? He'll be here to help negotiate the dowry."

  "Why didn't you tell me?" Sidney asked, delighted. Next to his own father, who had died five years before, he admired the Earl of Dinsmore more than any man in the world. "He's staying with you, of course."

  Richard frowned. "He's at the Clarendon." At Sidney's quizzical glance, he reluctantly admitted, "He won't stay with me. I...have not been in his favor of late."

  "Perhaps if you stopped wallowing in your unrestrained pursuit of pleasure, he might regain his respect for you."

  Richard bristled. "Restraint is for fools. Rest assured, despite our differences, Dinsmore is more than pleased I'm planning to wed. He's anxious to meet Lady Flora. It appears he thinks marriage will bring some, what he calls 'stability' to my life." He laughed and continued, "He's so old-fashioned I doubt he ever once cheated on his wife. What a fool. Look what he missed."

  Sidney threw down his napkin and rose from the table. "I cannot stomach this. Goodnight, Richard."

  "Cool off, Sidney," Richard, jovial as ever, called after him as he left. "Come with me to Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow night. I shall need your help. I want to get the lady alone long enough to propose."

  "Rot in hell," Sidney flung over his shoulder as he strode out, his anger turning to scalding fury as he thought of Richard's loathsome plan to capture Lady Flora. He quickly regained control. By the time he reached his lodgings, he had not only calmed himself, he was searching his innermost self as to why he'd had such a violent reaction to Richard's revelation of his devious scheme.

  Rarely, if ever, did Sidney lose his temper. That he had done so tonight was a cause not only of puzzlement but great concern. He was not in love with Lady Flora, even though he had to admit he found her deucedly attractive. Still, why he should react to Richard's plan with such vehemence was beyond him, other than he, being an honorable gentleman, would doubtless react the same upon hearing of any lady treated so abominably.

  Honor carried a heavy price. For one thing, it decreed he could never reveal the confidences of a friend. But even if he did chose to reveal the truth about Richard to Lady Flora, he had been in the world long enough to realize that in her love-besotted state, she, stubborn wench that she was, would never listen to reason.

  Still, he would go to Vauxhall with Richard, if for no other reason than to see his idol, Lord Dinsmore, once again. As for the feckless Lady Flora, she would doubtless ignore him. Ha! He would consider himself fortunate if she remembered his name.

  Regardless, if he could help in any way, he would do so. Beyond that...yes, he was loathe to admit it, but he looked forward to seeing her again. He felt a stir of yearning just thinking about—curse Richard for giving her such a ridiculous appellation!—but, yes, beautiful Aphrodite rising from the sea in that clinging wet bathing costume.

  * * * *

  That evening, as Flora strolled along The Grand Walk in Vauxhall Gardens, she felt giddy with delight, almost beyond all reason. But then, why shouldn't she be giddy? On this glorious warm evening it seemed nearly every member of The Polite World had come to Vauxhall. All were dressed to the nines in their jewelry and fancy clothes. All, it seemed, were staring in her direction, some boldly, some surreptitiously, but staring all the same. Without doubt, she was the center of attention, and all because Lord Dashwood hovered close beside her, bending toward her attentively, gazing at her adoringly. How the on-dit would fly tomorrow. That one of England's most eligible bachelors was openly courting her, there could be no doubt. He loved her. Her heart raced with excitement. He might even propose tonight.

  "Aren't the gardens lovely tonight?" Lady Rensley called from where she, Lord Rensley, and Amy were strolling close behind.

  "Indeed, Mama," Flora answered exuberantly. She had attended the gardens several times, thoroughly enjoying the fairyland spectacle of walkways lined with tall trees, incredible numbers of globe lamps casting a myriad of lights, glorious music, the Chinese Pavilion, fountains, dancing, entertainment, fireworks, and patrons beautifully dressed. But tonight
held a special magic. Never had she felt more thrilled as she strolled past the statue of Handel, toward the amphitheater in the middle of the garden, her hand lightly resting on Lord Dashwood's arm. Never had she felt so happy, so gloriously alive.

  "You look beautiful," Lord Dashwood whispered in her ear, bending intimately close.

  "And you look marvelously handsome, sir," she lightly replied, giving a silent thanks to Baker who had spent diligent hours dressing her in a pale green crepe gown, worn over white satin. It had white crape long sleeves, and was ornamented around the bottom with an applique of white satin decorated with crescents of flowers. Baker had arranged her hair in a simple but elegant style, curled in ringlets around her face and in back, very full curls confined with a pearl comb. Pearl earrings, white kid gloves, white satin shoes with gold rosettes completed her outfit. Flora knew she looked her best.

  Lord Dashwood spoke again. "I've a feeling this will be a special night." He took her gloved hand and lightly ran his finger across the back, causing a wild current of desire to run through her veins. "Very special. I warn you, my beautiful Lady Flora, I plan to get you alone."

  She felt such joy she could hardly contain herself, but managed to whisper back, "But you know such conduct is not appropriate."

  He squeezed her hand. "Who cares what's appropriate when one is in love?"

  He loved her. He had said so. Throughout the early evening, as Flora, her parents, sister, and Lord Dashwood dined in one of the small booths in the middle of the garden, Flora was so excited she lost her usually healthy appetite.

  "Are you not feeling well?" inquired Lady Rensley, pointing to Flora's untouched plate of thinly sliced ham, assorted biscuits, fruits, sweetmeats and cheese cake.

  "Perhaps it's the excitement, Mama."

  "And no wonder," helpful Amy exclaimed. "Just think, an orchestra with over a hundred musicians. All that music, dancing, fireworks—" she slanted a knowing glance at her sister "—almost too much to bear, isn't it, Flora?"

  "Oh, indeed, I..." There was a stir in the crowd. Flora saw that everyone was looking toward the entrance.

  Lady Rensley remarked, "Someone important must be coming. Prinny, do you suppose? Or...oh, look!"

  "It's my cousin and Lord Lynd," said Lord Dashwood. He arose from the table as they all did. "High time you met the old gentleman. Be prepared for...well, you'll see."

  Chapter 6

  Looking toward the entryway, Flora recognized Lord Lynd, who was following an older man resplendently attired in a uniform consisting of white breeches, red jacket abundantly decorated with gold braid, plumed hat, and a sword at his side. A swelling murmur arose from the crowd, then swelling applause and warmly shouted greetings as the Hero of Seedaseer acknowledged the crowd with a modest wave and small nod. He paused, and with the utmost equanimity took his time to gaze about the amphitheater. Not until he spotted Dashwood and started toward their booth did Flora perceive he walked with a decided limp and leaned heavily on a cane. Despite his affliction, he had a regal bearing about him, a spring of confidence in his step. Lord Dashwood was wrong. His appellation of "old gentleman" simply did not fit. Unlike her father, this man was not bald-headed, nor all soft and out of shape. Rather, he was lean and sinewy. Not only that, even though he was sixty at least, there was an alertness about him, and a toughness she could sense from clear across the room.

  Her mother nudged her. "Don't flinch when you meet the man. He's not a pretty sight."

  As Lord Dinsmore drew closer, Flora saw that a black eyepatch covered his left eye. There was something about his face...how awful. Flora fought to hide her revulsion, but it was hard not to react to the first startling sight of the hideous scar that cut a jagged, puckered path from the corner of Dinsmore's good eye, down his cheek, to the bottom of his chin. It was the ugliest scar she had ever seen. To make matters worse, his deeply tanned face was a weather-worn map of deep wrinkles, no doubt a permanent reminder of his arduous life in the military. So grotesque. She was truly taken aback, but because of all the warnings, she managed to keep her own face a mask. When Lord Dashwood greeted his illustrious cousin and began the introductions, she put on her most pleasant smile.

  "I am so delighted to meet you, sir," she recited with great aplomb. She bobbed her best curtsey, proud she hadn't flinched at the sight of the man's disfigurement or shown her horrified reaction in the slightest way. "I have heard so many wonderful things about you."

  "Have you now?" Lord Dinsmore asked in a deep, resonant voice that was polite enough, yet contained an acerbic edge. He did not smile in return. The piercing gaze from his one good eye drilled into her, sending a message that clearly read, Beware, I do not tolerate pity.

  She suddenly felt gauche, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Indeed I have, sir," she answered, not quite as confident as before. She plunged ahead. "Who has not heard of your heroic feats in India at the battles of Seedaseer and...uh, Argaum."

  "I did not fight at Argaum," Lord Dinsmore stated, regarding her with a granite-eyed stare. "That was Wellington."

  "Oh, of course not, it was..." Her mind went blank. Panic swept through her. Frantically she searched her memory for the correct name of the battle. "Uh..." Damnation. What was it?

  "Assaye," supplied Lord Dinsmore, his one eye examining her as if she were utterly witless and had just crawled out from under a rock.

  "Oh, yes, Assaye," she answered, feeling the complete fool. She had wanted Lord Dashwood's cousin to like her, but, alas, she'd gotten off to a terrible start.

  As introductions were made all around, Flora caught Lord Lynd's eyes upon her. Such kind eyes. She was glad he was there. She dropped a curtsey and murmured, "Lord Lynd, how delightful to see you again."

  An expression of surprise, mixed with amusement, crossed his face. She had no idea why. He bowed, and said with a wry smile, "And I, you, Lady Flora. How delightful you remembered my name."

  For an instant the smile intrigued her, but her attention quickly returned to her gaffe with Lord Dinsmore. "I hope I didn't offend him," she whispered to Lord Lynd.

  "The man has been through the horrors of war countless times," Lynd whispered back. "It's not likely he would fly into a pet over a young lady's momentary lapse of memory."

  "Er, Hrrumph," began her father as he addressed Lord Dinsmore. "We are honored, sir, to be in the presence of one of England's greatest heroes. Such gallantry as yours—"

  "My days of glory are long gone, Rensley." Dinsmore had broken in so brusquely that Lord Rensley was visibly taken aback. With a cynical laugh, Dinsmore continued, "Take a good look. Do you see a bloody hero standing before you or do you see a crippled, half-blind old man?"

  "'Pon my word, I see a hero," exclaimed Lord Rensley in a reverent, ringing tone that made Flora proud. Her father wasn't perfect, but he never allowed himself to be intimidated and always stood up for what he thought was right. "All England owes you its gratitude," her father went on. "Once a hero, always a hero, sir. Nothing will change that."

  Dinsmore appeared to concede, or at least not argue, and awarded her father a mocking bow. "Then I accept your accolade, sir, and offer my apologies. My public appearances are few these days, and my social skills rusty."

  "Lord Dinsmore was never one for public gatherings," contributed Lord Dashwood, who had not lost his composure in the slightest, despite his cousin's brusque behavior.

  Lady Rensley, looking definitely uncomfortable, said to her husband, "Shall we take a stroll?"

  "Of course, my dear, we shall go directly."

  "We'll come with you," Lord Dashwood said.

  Good, thought Flora. She would love to take a stroll with Lord Dashwood and in the process get away from his abrasive father. War hero or no, Lord Dinsmore was making her feel horribly uncomfortable.

  To her astonishment, Lord Dashwood turned to Amy.

  "May I escort you, Lady Amy?" He flicked a glance at Flora. "We shall give Lord Dinsmore and Lady Flora a chance to become better acqu
ainted."

  Flora was assailed by a rush of mixed feelings as her sister nodded a yes. How wonderful that Lord Dashwood wanted her to become better acquainted with the man who had practically raised him. That could mean only one thing. Still, she watched, dismayed, as everyone left. Even Lord Lynd moved away, leaving her alone with this singular man, one of England's greatest heroes, to whom, at the moment she could think of nothing to say.

  She stood nonplused before she remembered her manners. "Won't you sit down, Lord Dinsmore? We have finished eating, but I'm sure the warder can bring—"

  "Not necessary. I wanted to have a word with you. It shouldn't take long." Dinsmore slid his cane under the table, sat down, and motioned for her to sit.

  As she did so, she decided that first she would further apologize. "I regret I forgot the name of the battle. Call it a momentary slip. I know that battle very well."

  "Do you now." Lord Dinsmore raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I would have thought well-brought-up young ladies confined themselves to the study of watercolors, music and the like, not bloody battlefields."

  "I am the despair of my mother," she replied with a smile, making light of it, and proceeded to describe the Battle of Assaye in some detail, ending with, "You led your battalion through the thick black jungles of the Coorga Country, into the jaws of battle. Eighteen thousand of the Tippoo Sultan's best troops opposed you, led by the Sultan himself. But did you retreat? No. You bravely stayed the course and won the battle, and then..."

  By the time she finished, Dinsmore's face had lost its skepticism. He looked impressed. "Is that the only battle you are familiar with?"

  She had not meant to show off her considerable knowledge of England's greatest battles, but being a student of history would surely not hurt her at this point. When she mentioned Waterloo, they engaged in a lively discussion concerning the tactics of Napoleon. Minutes went by in which she enjoyed herself thoroughly, almost forgetting the importance of making a good impression on the esteemed cousin of the man she adored. She even grew accustomed to the awful scar. Somehow, after she'd been looking directly at it for a while, she forgot how horrible it was.