Lady Flora's Fantasy

by Shirley Kennedy

  In the courtyard, Flora took a long look at the little filly and immediately fell in love. Fondly patting Primrose's withers, Flora announced, "She's perfect."

  "She's yours if you want her," Dinsmore said quietly.

  "You really mean I can have my very own horse?"

  "High time, don't you think?"

  Flora returned delighted laughter. "But I haven't ridden much. When I did, it was always over Mama's objections. She made Amy and me ride the oldest horse in our stables, never fast, by the way. Not that Mama was being mean, she was just afraid I'd get thrown and break something, preferably not my neck."

  "Then I'd say it's time you owned your own horse, don't you agree?"

  "Oh, yes." Flora joyfully wrapped her arms around Primroses's neck and buried her head into the horse's sleek chestnut mane. "Of course I want her." She knew she was acting like a ten-year-old, but she was so delighted she didn't care.

  "Then let's go riding," said Dinsmore. She could tell from the warmth of his voice he was pleased. He continued, "Wait here a moment while I get my horse and the saddles." She was surprised that a man illustrious as her husband ignored help from the stable boys and was about to saddle his own horse, hers as well. He further surprised her when he inquired, "What kind of saddle would you like?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I was hoping you would want to ride astride, not side saddle."

  "Are you joking? A lady always rides sidesaddle."

  "Do tell," he dryly replied.

  "But ride astride?" What an astounding notion. She still could not comprehend. "Only little girls are allowed to ride astride."

  The sound of galloping hooves interrupted them. Flora turned to see Lord Lynd, mounted atop a magnificent black thoroughbred. He was accompanied by an attractive, raven-haired woman of forty or so. "Good morning, Lord and lady Dinsmore," Lynd called as he brought his mount to a spectacular, dust-rising halt. He cast a fond gaze at the woman beside him. "Lady Dinsmore, may I present my sister, Lady Beasley?"

  "Widow of the late, lamented, William, Lord Beasley," Lynd's sister added in a throaty voice, in a tone so lively Flora wondered if the late Lord Beasley was much lamented at all. "I'm delighted to meet my new neighbor," Lady Beasley went on. "You must call me Louisa and I shall call you Flora, if you don't mind."

  Lord Lynd laughed indulgently. "I trust you're not offended, Lady Flora. My sister is hard-put to tolerate what she refers to as all that foolish formality of the ton."

  Flora dipped a curtsy, concealing what was indeed her surprise at such informality. In the Polite World, first names were hardly ever used except for family and the closest of friends. But why not? In the mood she was in, she was ready for anything. "Delighted to meet you, Louisa. I would be most pleased if you would call me Flora."

  "Marvelous," declared the vivacious woman, her gloved hands in masterful control of the reins as her magnificent bay danced about. What a handsome woman, Flora thought admiringly, noting her rosy cheeks, confident style, and smart, periwinkle blue riding gown. Her face was tanned, as if she spent a great deal of time out-of-doors, something most certainly no self-respecting lady of the ton would do.

  Flora noticed she was riding astride. "Do you ride a lot?" she asked politely.

  "You'll find my sister is glued to her horse," Lynd said playfully. "That explains why you'll never see them apart."

  "Nonsense." Louisa awarded her brother a playful swat on the arm with her riding crop. "Well, not quite nonsense," she admitted. "I do love my horses." She tipped her head inquisitively. "And what about you, Flora?"

  Drawn to the friendly woman, Flora responded, "I haven't done much riding, but I'd love to learn."

  "Then we shall get along famously." Lady Beasley leveled a stern gaze at Lord Dinsmore. "Well, Charles? Are we going to dither about in your courtyard or are we going riding and on this picnic you invited us to?"

  Dinsmore opened his mouth to answer, but instead fell into a fit of coughing. When at last the hacking subsided, he look wan and spent. "I fear you'd best go without me," he managed to whisper.

  "But I can't leave you," Flora protested.

  "We can easily postpone the picnic," added Lord Lynd.

  Dinsmore stilled them all by raising a firm hand. "I insist. It's most important my new bride sees the woods today and has her picnic. Also, Louisa, I'd be most grateful if you could talk her out of her silly notion about side saddles." Dinsmore looked toward his butler. "Give Lynd the saddlebags, Gillis, then help me back to my bed."

  Flora watched in concern as her new husband retreated toward the house. "I trust he'll be all right."

  Lord Lynd frowned. "He's not been well lately—"

  "But he doesn't want our picnic spoiled, now does he?" interrupted Louisa. "So, Flora, you don't wish to ride astride?"

  "I'm concerned lest someone see me." She realized how immature she sounded the moment she spoke.

  The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of Lord Lynd's mouth. "You're Lady Dinsmore now. I assure you, as the wife of one of England's greatest heroes, you could ride backward standing on your head if you so desired. Forget the sidesaddle. What a ludicrous notion that a lady must ride with her knees tight together. It's a ridiculous device, uncommonly awkward and uncomfortable."

  "Amen to that," chimed Louisa in hearty agreement. "Do you really care if someone sees you?"

  "Well...yes, I suppose I do. Aren't I supposed to care?"

  Louisa leveled a wise gaze. "You might give some thought to why you should care what others think of you. I personally, would not care to live a life based on the opinions of others." She glanced at her brother. "Do you not agree, Sidney?"

  "Most heartily." Smiling, he continued, "Very well, Lady Dinsmore, I grant you, if we were going someplace where we might be seen by one of those stiff-rumps in the ton, then for propriety's sake, you might feel obliged to use a sidesaddle, although it's still your choice. Not today, though. We're riding deep into the woods where we won't be on display, so you needn't feel the least uneasy. Come, give it a try."

  All at once, Flora's inhibitions fell away. Lord Lynd and his sister not only were bright and intelligent, they brimmed with life and good humor. What a prig she was being. How silly she must sound, worrying about the opinion of others. And really, what harm would it do? "Very well, you've convinced me."

  "Excellent," Lord Lynd proclaimed, "wait here." He retreated to the stable and quickly returned with harness, bridle, blanket and saddle. Flora stood watching as he easily and expertly saddled her mare. She could not help noting too, the excellent shape of his lean, strong body.

  Soon they were riding through the woods on a narrow trail where, through tangled hedgerows and thick growths of alder, birch, and elm trees, she caught occasional glimpses of a swiftly flowing stream. The deeper they went, the more her spirits lifted. She was thrilled with Primrose. The filly responded to her lightest touch. She was thrilled with the saddle, too. Up to now, she was resigned to riding sidesaddle. Was it not a lady's lot in life? But now she realized how awkward it was to sit sideways and twist her head around to look forward. Such an unnatural position. Her neck and back ached each time she rode. Now, with the back of the horse hugged securely between her knees, she felt comfortable and relaxed, and in much better control of her steed.

  The trail widened. As Louisa rode ahead, Lord Lynd slowed his mount so that she caught up and rode beside him.

  "Like the saddle?" he asked, and looked pleased when she gave him an enthusiastic yes. As they rode along, she glanced occasionally at his profile and realized for the first time he wasn't half bad looking. True, his nose wasn't exactly straight, yet it had a noble air about it—a most admirable nose. She liked his jaw line, too. It was firm and his jowls didn't sag, not like many of the dandies she'd met in London who early-on lost their looks because of drink and who-knew-what-other dissipations.

  Not that Richard has either, she idly thought, then remembered, Richard. Her heart gave a little lurc
h. How could she have gone for minutes—perhaps the better part of an hour—enjoying herself and not thinking of him? She felt strangely disloyal and her heartache returned as she remembered her sad situation, and her spirits sank as she looked to the many dreary years ahead when, even on a lovely day like this, she would feel sick with regret at the loss of the only man she would ever love.

  They were riding along at a brisk pace, ever deeper into the thick woods, when Lord Lynd turned to her. "Getting hungry?"

  "I could eat," she said, bewildered, "but where are the hampers? I assumed Lord Dinsmore had forgotten."

  Lynd patted his saddle bag. "It's all in here. Ahead, there's a nice spot by the stream. We'll eat when we get there."

  Flora discovered the place where the three stopped was more than a "nice spot." It was more like a fairyland glade with interlaced branches of tall oak trees forming a canopy above. Underneath, the ground was carpeted with a tangle of rich green grass, blue forget-me-nots, yellow primroses, and purple violets nestling against mossy stones that bordered the stream.

  They dismounted and tied their horses' reins to low branches. Dinsmore uncinched the saddles and untied the saddle bags. When he saw her watching, a wry smile touched his lips. "I doubt this is the sort of a picnic you're accustomed to."

  "You could say that."

  "Follow us." Each carrying a saddle bag, Lord Lynd and Louisa led her to a grassy spot directly beside the flowing creek, bade her sit on the grass, and reached into one of the bags. "We've done this so often, I can almost guess...ah, yes, bread, cheese and apples," he announced, pulling packages wrapped in linen in rapid succession from the bag. "A bit of cake for dessert and here's my contribution to the picnic..." He reach into the other bag and triumphantly pulled out a small flask and held it up "...brandy."

  "But—" she began, bit her lip, and stopped herself.

  Louisa grinned. "I know exactly what you were going to say." She struck her hand to her heart and in a perfect imitation of a snobby arbitrator of the ton, recited, "A well-brought-up young lady does not indulge in brandy at ten o'clock in the morning. I am shocked and scandalized."

  "I am horrified," added Lord Lynd.

  "Appalled," Louisa continued, "it simply is not done."

  Flora broke into laughter. "That's exactly what Mama would say."

  "No disrespect, mind you," said Lord Lynd. "It's only a nip or two, not enough to get you foxed."

  Flora contained a giggle. "I have never been foxed."

  "Do tell," they both replied, each feigning great astonishment.

  As they all laughed, she realized that for the very first time today, some of her awkwardness and trepidation had faded. She remembered that last conversation with Lord Lynd at the wedding, wherein at one point his expression had clouded with anger and he'd informed her she had just thrown your life away with both hands. Today, though, he seemed perfectly pleasant and surely must have forgotten the unpleasant scene.

  She ate some bread and cheese. Feeling deliciously decadent, she took a sip of brandy from the small cup Lynd handed her. It slid down her throat with ease, spreading a warm glow all the way. She leaned back against a rock and settled comfortably, listening to the soothing gurgle of the little stream, sniffing the sweet smell of tall grasses. For the first time in ages she felt completely at ease.

  As they ate, they talked. She told them tales of her childhood—quite uneventful, really, but they seemed keenly interested, nonetheless. In turn, Lynd regaled her with fascinating stories of his days in the military, in particular the Battle of Waterloo. She listened in awe, although she suspected he was glossing over the more horrific parts of the battle.

  Lady Beasely had much to say, mostly about her obvious passion, horses. In between her fervent descriptions of the bits of blood she owned, and the thrill of riding down Rotten Row on a bang-up piece of flesh, she filled Flora in on her personal life. At forty, she was widowed and had no children–obviously not a great loss since her horses were her children. Although she spoke of her late husband with respect, she did not much miss Lord Beasley, who lamentably had broken his neck during a fox hunt and died instantly. "He was a dear, but terribly boring, I'm afraid. Now I lead the perfect life." She idly plucked a violet and brushed it under her nose. "My horses—my brother—" she threw Sidney a quick glance "—who is the best brother in the world, by the way, make my life complete." Louisa cast a questioning glace at Flora. "And what of you Flora? Do you think you can be happy here?"

  "I'm not sure," Flora answered honestly. "There's the matter of running that huge household. My mother expects me to become the greatest hostess in all England. From what I hear, the first Lady Dinsmore did a marvelous job. As for me, I'm not so sure it's what I want to do. Already matters have arisin concerning the running of the household—"

  "Do whatever you feel like doing," Lord Lynd interrupted.

  "But I feel an obligation. Isn't that what women are supposed to do?"

  Lynd asked, "Has Lord Dinsmore expressed his opinion on the subject?"

  "Not really."

  "Well, then." Lynd, propped on one elbow, stretch comfortably on the grass, continued. "That's the trouble with you women. You think you have no power, but you do. You must be bold enough to take it, though, and not stay a milksop all your life." He smiled ruefully. "Oops, there I go again, giving a lecture. If you want to be the greatest hostess in all England, then do so. I'm sure Lord Dinsmore won't object, but if you don't, I'd wager he won't care a fig. It's up to you. For a change, think about what you want, instead of what everyone expects of you." He cast her a wry smile. "And the devil take you if you continue to worry about what people think. That's what got you here in the first place, isn't it?"

  "I suppose," she admitted, suddenly very much wanting to change the subject. "So how do you fill your life?" she asked.

  He thought a moment. "These past few years I've led a quiet life. My books, of course—it should be no surprise I am a devotee of military history. Matter of fact, I'm in the midst of writing a history tome myself. After my wife died, I felt no need to entertain. Instead, I hunt, fish, and then there's my horses. I ride every day, as well as indulge myself in the four-in-hand whenever possible. There's nothing like it."

  "How I envy you men," she said. "All my life I've thought the most exciting thing in the world would be to drive a coach and four all by myself. How I would love to try it."

  Lynd glanced at his sister. "What do you think?" Louisa nodded enthusiastically. "Then try it you shall."

  "You mean it?" Flora asked.

  "Of course I mean it. Given your husband's permission, of course, although I can't imagine he'd deny it, and perhaps if he's feeling better he'll come along."

  "Tomorrow," Louisa exclaimed.

  Lynd continued, "We shall hitch up my coach-and-four and go visiting, and of course we'll take you by Vernon Hill." He thoughtfully added, "You'll be climbing to the box so you'd best wear a wide skirt. Whatever you do, don't be like most women and cripple yourself with a tight-skirted gown encumbered with all those ribbons and furbelows."

  She agreed she would dress appropriately and when the picnic was over, they again mounted their horses and headed for home. "I enjoyed it," she called to Lynd as he rode ahead.

  He flung an amused glance back at her. "Lord Dinsmore was indeed correct when he said you needed a picnic."

  And so I did, she mused. As their horses jogged along the trail, she realized she felt much better. Her last vestige of resentment against Lord Lynd had faded away. He did not seem nearly so distant and remote anymore, and not nearly as cynical. She'd seen an entirely different side of him during the time they'd spent by the stream. He had proved himself to be kind, considerate, and exceedingly funny as well.

  As for shaping up the household and becoming the greatest hostess in all England, she didn't even want to think of that right now. But she must speak to Mrs. Wendt about the dust. Perhaps dust-free furniture would be enough to appease Baker, and the rest she
would consider later. All she could think about, really, was that tomorrow she would drive four-in-hand.

  Arriving back at the stable, Flora was fully aware that she was under the scrutiny of both Lord Lynd and his sister as she swung, mercifully without incident, off her horse. Despite the offer of help from the groom, she removed the saddle herself. As she started to rub down Primrose, Lord Lynd appeared alongside. "Do you know, I've never done this before?" she remarked. "It's fun. I love rubbing Primrose down."

  "Then there's no reason you shouldn't from now on," Lord Lynd replied.

  Flora's spirits were high as she bid goodbye to Lord Lynd and her new friend, Louisa. What a lovely time she'd had today. How nice to know there were many more in store. Her high spirits lasted until, returning to the house, she thought of her husband, sick and awaiting her. She hastened to his bedside where she found him much better, and about to arise from bed. "Did you enjoy yourself today, my dear?" he asked, taking her hand.

  "The ride and the picnic were splendid," she replied. "I had a marvelous time." Then a jolting thought struck her. Richard. How terrible she hadn't thought of him for hours. The thought sent her hurtling back to bleak reality. She'd enjoyed a lovely time today, but even though everyone had been exceedingly kind, nothing had changed. Richard, she silently called. I still love you, Richard. In a way she felt guilty, disloyal to her love for Richard, because she'd actually managed to have a good time with another man.

  Dinsmore abruptly dropped her hand. How could he know? Had she, without realizing, tried to pull away? Trying to make conversation, she remarked, "I should imagine Lord Dashwood must have enjoyed these woods. Did he go riding often?"

  Lord Dinsmore stiffened. "I cannot recall," he replied coolly.