Lady Flora's Fantasy

by Shirley Kennedy

  Later in her bed chamber, Flora, dressed for travel, found herself alone with her mother. "One thing before I go, Mama. Surely Amy isn't interested in the Duke of Armond?"

  "Why not? He's the catch of the Season. Surely you wouldn't mind if your sister married a duke?"

  Flora had no time to discuss the matter further. She watched two footmen carry the last of her trunks out the door. "That's the last of my baggage. It's time to go."

  Her mother gave her an unexpected hug, a rare circumstance, indeed. Her eyes dampened as she said, "More than anything else, I want you to be happy, Flora. If I have been too harsh, too judgmental, please forgive me."

  "It's all right, Mama." Flora warmly returned the hug. "You mustn't worry about me. I shall be fine. I know Lord Dinsmore will treat me with the greatest consideration and respect."

  "Of course. I never meant to imply he wouldn't." Her mother smiled through her tears. "I shall never say another derogatory word. In fact, I shall rejoice at your marriage and eagerly await the day when you make me a grandmama."

  "Oh, dear." Flora smiled ruefully. "I guess I should have told you. There will be no babies."

  Lady Rensley's eyelids flew wide with surprise. "Just what do you mean?"

  "I mean..." Flora searched for the proper words, beginning to feel uncomfortable as the conversation strayed into delicate territory. Such matters as these were never discussed in their family. "Lord Dinsmore and I will be occupying separate bed chambers."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  "It's true, though. Lord Dinsmore assured me he had no interest in...you know."

  To Flora's amazement, her mother started to laugh. "No interest? They all have interest."

  "He's a gentleman of his word."

  Her mother laughed all the harder. "Of all men, gentlemen are the worst, hiding behind all their pretty words." She grew serious. "My dear girl, I'm afraid you're in for a rude awakening. Take my word, be they saints, devils, or anything in-between, men will all, and I mean every last one of them, plot, lie, cheat, and scheme to lure you into their bed."

  "Mama!" Flora was quite shocked, not only at her mother speaking so frankly, but the import of what she said. "That may be true of other men, but not Lord Dinsmore."

  Baker entered. "Are you ready, m'lady? His lordship awaits below."

  Flora gave her thanks to Baker and assured her mother, "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I shall be fine."

  Lady Rensley sighed. "We should have had this talk a little earlier."

  Yes we should have. "I had best get downstairs."

  As she headed for the door, her mother called, "Don't forget, Flora, we're expecting you to become the greatest hostess in all England. With a mansion such as Pemberly Manor, how could you not?"

  With a mumbled, "Perhaps, Mama," Flora left her bed chamber. With all eyes upon her from below, Flora descended the staircase, regally as she could manage. Ordinarily she would have been pleased, knowing she looked very smart indeed in her new brown redinggote with multiple capelets and matching bonnet, carrying a large fox muff. Now she didn't care what she wore and was hardly aware of it. Her new husband awaited her at the bottom, the glittering candlelight from the chandelier casting an uneven glow on the terrible scar.

  What has happened to me? she wondered, her thoughts increasingly in a turmoil. How could it be that in the space of a few short weeks she'd lost the only man she could ever love for reasons she knew not why. Then, to compound her misfortune, had turned right around and married a crippled old man. Was her mother right? Would Lord Dinsmore demand his marriage rights? She believed him when he'd assured her he would never force himself upon her, but according to Mama she had been a fool.

  She caught sight of Lord Lynd. From a far corner he was following her progress as she descended the stairs. Their gazes locked. That look he was giving her! Full of...was it pity? Accusation? Admiration? All three? She heartily wished she knew. For the first time, she realized she valued his opinion. Lord Lynd was not just some nonentity lurking in Richard's shadow. He was a man to be reckoned with.

  Through Lord Lynd's eyes, I must indeed look like a fool.

  Before, she had been positive she'd done the right thing, but now, for the first time since she'd consented to marry Dinsmore, she questioned her decision.

  What have I done?

  I should never have married a man I don't love.

  Now it's too late and my life is ruined.

  * * * *

  Although Lord Lynd had many friends, since early childhood he had never minded being alone, unlike his friend, Lord Dashwood, who could not abide solitude and demanded lively companionship at all times. When he wasn't managing his estate, Lynd enjoyed his solitude in many ways: reading, studying history, writing letters, or simply strolling around his gardens, contemplating life's mysteries and the role he was intended to play in the world. He was not a dull, studious scholar, though, and on a more active note, enjoyed nothing more than riding, ofttimes accompanied by his sister, their horses hellbent along a verdant path through the woods, or cantering along the splendid trail that followed the river that flowed through his estate.

  Lynd was fortunate in that he had received from his parents the gifts of tolerance and acceptance, not only of the foibles of others, but of his own. Not that he had many foibles. Those he did have, he accepted, content he was not perfect, maintaining the utmost confidence in himself. When he was alone, he found himself in good company.

  The night of Flora's marriage, Lynd preferred not to be alone and thus dined at White's with Lord Sefton and Sir John Lade, two of his Four-in-Hand cronies. After, he agreed to play a few hands of Whist. He didn't care much for cards and could not have explained why he craved companionship that particular night except that a heavy, gray cloud seemed to be hanging over his shoulders, pressing him down. After some thought, he suspected Lady Flora might well be the reason. No. He must remember, Lady Dinsmore now. Although why he should be the least concerned about that stubborn, wrong-headed woman was beyond him. He knew she was a dreamer. He could tell by the occasional faraway look in her eyes that her thoughts had drifted to a far-off land of fluffy clouds where Richard was not a scoundrel, where Dinsmore's countenance was not the ultimate horror to look upon.

  He'd wager when she and Dinsmore made love it would be in the dark. That way, she wouldn't have to look at him...

  What am I thinking?

  Good God. Lynd nearly let his cards drop, feeling suddenly ashamed. Lord Dinsmore had been his idol since before he could remember. That he could so much as entertain one single thought concerning the private life of England's Hero was unthinkable. The intimate portion of Flora's marriage was entirely her own affair and her husband's, most certainly not his.

  And yet...

  Candles snuffed, pitch black dark. She and the old man lie entwined in bed together. He runs a hand through her soft hair, spread enticingly on the pillow. She wraps her arms around his neck and whispers, "I love you, Charles. I'm yours, completely. I do not care that you're disfigured, I only know that you're a hero..."

  "Your play, Lynd. I say, Lynd?"

  "Yes, sorry, Sefton." As Sidney discarded a deuce, a deep, unaccustomed torment gnawed deep within him. He felt bereft and desolate, feelings he'd never had before. He finished the hand and announced he was leaving. "Good night, gentlemen. Must arise early tomorrow. Sir Thomas can take my place."

  On the way out, he was shaking his head in disbelief at himself when who should walk into White's but the last man on earth he wanted to see.

  "Sidney," Richard loudly exclaimed. Too loud. Hair disarrayed, cravat crooked, he was obviously in his cups, although the hour was not all that late.

  "Hello, Richard, I was just on my way home."

  Lynd tried to pass by, but his friend grabbed his arm. "No you don't. I am in a frenzy to hear about the wedding. Did they—?"

  "They did. Lady Flora is now Lady Dinsmore." As Sidney freed his arm, he could not resist his next
stinging words. "Think of it, Richard, Flora is now your new cousin."

  "That so? Well..." To Lynd's surprise, Richard's face fell and his lip protruded in a pout. "Dinsmore could at least have invited me to the wedding."

  Lynd groaned inwardly. "Is your mind so jumbled you don't have an inkling why he did not?"

  Ignoring the question, Richard grew thoughtful. "So the chit actually married the old boy."

  "What did you expect?"

  "She might have waited."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Can't you see? If she hadn't rushed into this stupid marriage with Dinsmore so precipitously, I might have come around and married her after all."

  Amazing how Richard had outdone himself and reached new depths of the absurd. "Last I heard, you were about to propose to the countess. Don't tell me—"

  "Women are a devilish, conniving lot, Sidney." Richard looked much put-upon. "The countess led me on. Oh, indeed, she put on a fine show of being madly in love with me, but when the tidings of her newly-found fortune traveled far, wide, and fast, poof! The romance was over. Our dear countess immediately received offers far more tempting than mine. By the time I proposed, she practically laughed in my face. How ironic that I, who could have practically any woman I choose, was done in by a French feather-brain who allowed herself to fall into the clutches of greedy fortune hunters."

  And you are not one? Sidney thought to ask but why bother? Talking sense to Richard was wasting one's breath.

  In a sulky voice, Richard continued. "As if that weren't enough, the high-and-mighty Lady Flora deigned not to wait for me."

  Sidney wondered if he heard correctly. "But you spurned the poor girl."

  "So what? If she truly loved me, she would have waited, in hopes I would change my mind." Richard scowled. "I really had a fondness for her, you know. I don't like it that she married my cousin."

  "God's blood." Sidney had to restrain himself.

  "Now don't get into a snit. Bear in mind, the mistake is hers, not mine. Mark my words, our proud Flora will soon regret her hasty marriage, if she hasn't already. And when she does regret it..." a smug grin crept over Richard's face "...I see now, I shall be visiting Pemberly Manor more often than before. Might not the new Lady Dinsmore soon be looking for a shoulder to cry on? And who could better provide it than the man she adores?"

  How Sidney longed to plant a fist in the middle of that unbearably smug face! "Adored, not adores. Her love belongs to someone else now."

  "Does it?"

  "You had best be careful. If you're thinking to cuckold Lord Dinsmore, you're playing a dangerous game."

  "I would never dream of such a thing." Richard broke into one of his wide, charming smiles. "You've known me all my life, Sidney. Do I not brim with family loyalty? Do I not possess the most sterling of characters?"

  "Yes, Richard, I have known you all your life," Sidney replied, his words charged with a vibrant intensity. "That's why I'm warning you, if I see the slightest impropriety in your dealings with Lady Flora, you'll have me to reckon with. Do you understand?"

  Richard looked abashed. "Where's your sense of humor? It was just a little joke."

  "No, it was not," Sidney said with feeling, and forced himself to walk away.

  Chapter

  9

  Pemberly Manor. Richard's home.

  As the exquisite gardens and rolling green lawns of Lord Dinsmore's country estate came into view, Flora poked her head out the window of the heavy oak coach to get a better view. "How lovely!"

  "Like it?" Lord Dinsmore had been asleep. Now he sat straight and stretched on the seat beside her.

  Flora had always believed no estate in all England could be more beautiful than Sweffham Park, her family's country home, but as the coach rolled through graceful wrought-iron gates and up a winding driveway shaded by poplars, she was struck by the perfection of huge Pemberly Manor with its well-proportioned exteriors of grey stone and rosy brick and enchanting sequence of bays and gables. "I am most impressed."

  Dinsmore looked pleased. "It's been in the family since Tudor times." He slid across the seat until he leaned against her back and arm as she gazed out the window. Resting one hand on her shoulder, he pointed out the window with the other. "See the stables? And there, on the other side and up the hill is the greenhouse."

  "Oh, yes, I see." She responded automatically, more aware of his sudden close proximity than the beauty of the vast estate unfolding before her. He did not appear to be taking liberties, though. Logic told her he was only trying to point out the superlative features of his estate. Still, a feeling of aversion stole over her as she felt his warm breath behind her ear and smelled the scent of him. Actually, the combination of soap and lemon scented cologne was not unpleasant. Even so, a deep-seated fear stirred within her, giving her an impulse to flinch away.

  Tonight is our wedding night. What am I going to do?

  All the way from London, she wrestled with the growing realization of what might happen that very night. Would her new husband claim his marital rights? He clearly stated he would not, but her mother had laughed at such a ridiculous notion and just as clearly stated he would. Mama was usually right, although she hated to admit it. But how horrible. When all was said and done, she hardly knew Lord Dinsmore. The very thought of practically a stranger crawling into bed with her, undressing her—perhaps ripping off her nightgown to reach the most intimate parts of her body...

  Oh, no. She nearly shuddered. She had heard men did that sort of thing, especially a husband who was well within his rights to do what he pleased with his wife. Oh, dear God. Despite her admonitions to herself to remain stoic no matter what, she stiffened and pressed herself away from him against the squabs.

  He immediately slid away, back to his own side of the seat. Had he sensed her revulsion? She hoped not. So far, the man had been nothing but kindness, and she certainly did not want to hurt or insult him in any way. But how can I endure it if he comes to my bed tonight?

  As the coach rolled to a stop in front of the marbled portico, Flora saw a group of servants awaiting, including Baker, her sharp-nosed lady's maid, who had traveled ahead in a separate coach loaded with Flora's clothes, jewels and furbelows. Flora immediately noticed there was something different about the servants. Not Baker, of course, who stood on the steps with the others, as usual her face unsmiling, unreadable as a stone. But the rest of the servants presented a far different picture from that which Flora was accustomed to. They were not lined up in rigid order as they would be at Sweffham Park. Instead, they seemed to be milling about in no order at all. Most were smiling, appearing quite at ease. And their uniforms! Flora reflected how horrified her mother would be if she saw what this straggly group of servants was wearing. At least the housekeeper looked like a housekeeper with her dull brown dress and dangling set of keys, but the rest? Where was the butler? Not one man there was dressed in formal attire. Were those the maids, dressed in an assortment of caps, gowns and aprons, not one of which matched? Were those the footmen who, like the maids, seemed to wear what they pleased instead of matching, elaborate livery?

  As she stepped from the coach, a tall, dignified white-haired man, dressed in simple attire, stepped forward to assist. "Welcome to Pemberly Manor, Lady Dinsmore, I am Gillis, the butler." His deep gray eyes warm and welcoming, he handed her from the coach with gracious ease. Flora liked him at once, even though he was not dressed properly.

  The thin, angular woman who she had guessed was the housekeeper also stepped forward. "I am Mrs. Wendt, your ladyship, the housekeeper." In contrast to the butler, there was a cold look in her eye that was definitely not warm and welcoming.

  Smiling, Lord Dinsmore stepped from the carriage. "Well, Gillis, are you surprised?"

  The butler, who appeared to be around the same age as Lord Dinsmore, nodded pleasantly. "Very much surprised, sir, as well as delighted, and may I say what a pleasure it is to see you smiling again?"

  "High time, eh, Gillis?" Din
smore took Flora's arm and faced the group of servants. "Introductions are in order here. Let me begin with our cook, Mrs. Bannister..."

  To Flora's amazement her new husband introduced all the servants by name, down to the youngest stable boy and scullery maid. So different from home, where the lower servants would not even have been acknowledged, let alone mentioned by name. Come to think of it, she doubted her parents even knew the names of all their servants, whereas Lord Dinsmore seemed familiar with each and every one.

  "Shall we go inside?" Lord Dinsmore asked when the introductions were done.

  "Of course." As Flora turned and viewed the grand entrance to Pemberly Manor, a sudden panic welled in her throat, but she would die before she would let it show. This was the beginning of her new life, and she would endure it, she would. Head high, taking her husband's arm, she followed him through the marble arched front entrance.

  Inside, Lord Dinsmore paused in the vast entry hall. "I should imagine you're tired, as well as hungry. Gillis will take you to your room where you can refresh yourself, and then we'll eat."

  "I suppose we're too late for tea," Flora ventured.

  "Tea?" Dinsmore appeared momentarily perplexed. "Er...you're quite right, tea time is past."

  "Then I shall see you at dinner," Flora said. Following a footman laden with luggage, she started up the stairs, noticing immediately that something appeared to be agitating her lady's maid beside her. Her back was rigid as a board. One of her nostrils twitched. "Baker, what's wrong?" Flora whispered.

  The somber, ever-proper lady's maid threw her an enraged glare. "Wait until you see your bed chamber!" she hissed.

  After her maid's dire warning, Flora had no idea what to expect when they stepped into her bed chamber, but to her relief she found the room airy and bright, furnished with an empire cherrywood bed, elegant marble and walnut tables and commode. The walls were covered with a delicate mauve wallpaper. The fabric of the drapes and spread was of a lovely violet pattern.