Lady Flora's Fantasy

by Shirley Kennedy

  After a minute or so, Lord Lynd followed her outside. He seemed to have collected himself because his voice was calm as he inquired, "So what now? Are you game for another lesson in four-in-hand, or would you rather sulk?"

  Quit now? Never. "Of course I want another lesson."

  “Wait, I’ll help you up.”

  “I shall climb up myself," Flora proclaimed, still so angry she hadn't a care whether or not she fell flat on her face. She placed her foot on the axle, catching Lynd watching from the portico out of the corner of her eye. She extended her left foot to the first tiny step above, making no effort to keep her skirt down. Let him look. She stepped higher with her right foot, totally ignoring her sliding skirt. Let him get his eyes full. By now, a most shocking amount of leg was showing, but she would die before she'd reach to cover it.

  You are a wicked, wicked girl, came her mother's voice from afar.

  Yes I am, she agreed with great satisfaction as she slid to the seat and finally, with a great show of modesty, tugged her skirt down. From beneath lowered lashes, she ventured a glance at Lord Lynd. He still stood on the steps, his face that of the perfect host, friendly but unfathomable. “Well are you coming?” she inquired. Silently he climbed up and took his place beside her.

  She took up the ribbons and drove home at a respectable pace, neither exchanging a word. At the portico of Pemberly Manor, she climbed down, in a much more decorous manner than she’d climbed up, and tilted her head back to say good-bye. Remembering her husband’s invitation, she sweetly called, “Good-bye, sir, and I almost forgot. Lord Dinsmore wants you and Lady Beasley to come to dinner next Saturday.”

  “My sister is busy, but I am happy to accept. It’s informal, I trust.”

  A look passed between them. Although his face showed no emotion, something flared in his eyes for an instant deep within. She knew what it was.

  Desire.

  Lynd wanted her. She was positive he did because women simply knew those things. She could always tell when a man was attracted to her, an easy task when they fawned and gave her fancy compliments, but in Lord Lynd's case...

  Despite his harsh words in the entryway, despite his hardly ever paying her a compliment, she knew, from the look in his eyes alone, he had a special feeling for her.

  Suddenly she was ashamed. Even if Lord Lynd did lust after her, honor alone would keep him from ever expressing his feelings. So what had she just done? Acted like a jade, that’s what. Taunting, teasing him with a flash of bare flesh, with no other reason than spite and wanting to hurt him for the rotten things he'd said.

  She regretted, too, the look she'd given him, a look that had proclaimed, Feast your eyes. I know you desire me, but I don't want you, and I'm angry enough to give you a peek at what you, sir, will never have.

  No matter that she had taken her revenge in one of the few ways a woman could. Her parading herself in front of him was a mean, childish thing to do. Immoral, too, considering she was now a married woman.

  But guilty though she felt, she could not help remembering what fun she'd had this afternoon. Driving four-in-hand was every bit as exciting as she thought it would be. She could hardly wait for her next lesson with Lord Lynd, wrong-headed as he was, as her instructor.

  But despite her euphoria over four-in-hand, Lynd's words kept coming back to her.

  He should be dragged through the horse pond for jilting you. Oh, never! Lynd simply did not understand.

  How are you going to resist some night after your old, crippled husband retires...

  How dare Lord Lynd say such a thing. So totally untrue, so totally, totally...

  She is about to ascend the staircase when she feels the warm touch of Richard's hand on her arm. "Lord Dinsmore has gone up to bed."

  "I'm going, too."

  "Stay." His fingers stroke her arm, causing little tingles. "God, I've missed you."

  "Richard, you must not."

  "But I must. Oh, Flora, I love you. I shall never forgive myself for losing you. One kiss, that's all I ask, then I shall go away."

  Before she can stop him, his arms are around her and he crushes her to his strong, lean body. His mouth hungrily covers hers and suddenly she's aflame, the pit of her stomach in a wild swirl. She returns his kiss, eagerly, passionately. Finally he breaks away and looks down at her with his big, blue pleading eyes. "Come to my room, my darling. Father need never know. How could it be wrong when we love each other so much?"

  "I..."

  She caught herself. Good grief, what was she thinking? Was there no end to her wickedness? She thought again of how shabbily she'd treated Lord Lynd. When she found the opportunity, she would apologize for her less-than-ladylike behavior. She would even show a modicum of regret for her heated words, despite the fact that she was right, and he, not seeing Richard for the truly wonderful man he was, was completely wrong.

  * * * *

  When Sidney arrived home, he turned the coach over to his coachman, headed inside, straight to his study, which he entered and slammed the door, servants be damned.

  God's blood, what a scene. He fell into his desk chair and dropped his head in his hands. Bad enough, he'd lost his temper. He, who always prided himself on his never-failing, temperate demeanor. He never allowed anything to upset him—remained calm and reasonable at all times. Except today. The very thought of that hare-brained girl still carrying the torch for Richard had so shocked him, he'd become...no other way to put it, temporarily deranged.

  Such shocking disloyalty. She didn't deserve such a fine man as Lord Dinsmore. She wasn't fit to kiss his feet.

  No, not true. Smothering a groan, Sidney threw himself back in his chair and regarded the ceiling. With whom should he be honest, if not himself? So he had to admit the truth: that it was not her disloyalty to Dinsmore that upset him, it was the shocking, irrefutable fact that despite his hitherto unquestioned loyalty to the great Hero of Seedapore, he, the honorable Lord Lynd, had fallen hopelessly in love with Lord Dinsmore's wife.

  He had known before today that he liked her—very much, in fact. But it wasn't until this afternoon, when she come flying up the driveway atop the coach, bonnet bouncing on her back, its ribbons streaming, shining hair flying in the breeze, cheeks glowing with excitement, dainty hands firmly gripping the reins, that he realized how much he wanted her.

  Sidney groaned and covered his eyes. No. He must not even think it. His father raised him to be a gentleman, and so he would be, always remaining true to his code of honor. He might not like it, of course, but he must not even dream of lusting after his neighbor's wife, especially when that neighbor was one of the finest, most courageous men he had ever known.

  So he must live with his love for Lady Flora tightly bound up within himself, never to be spoken of, or hinted at in any way. What rotten fortune she was his neighbor. Time and again, their paths would cross. Each time, seeing her would be a powerful temptation he must resist.

  Perhaps in time...surely his passion would fade.

  Not now, though. He didn't even want to think about the counterfeit performance he'd be obliged to give when he dined at Pemberly Manor. He would play his part as the old family friend, but it would be difficult. He knew because even after all his stern admonitions to himself, deep inside there was a part of him that looked forward to seeing the tantalizing Lady Flora once again, and for all the wrong reasons.

  Chapter 12

  The following Saturday, when Flora greeted Lord Lynd in the drawing room, she could not help but note how handsome he looked in his dark wool cutaway coat, fairly tight breeches and perfectly tied cravat—much fancier than what he usually wore.

  Since Lord Dinsmore had not yet come down to dinner, Flora knew this was the perfect opportunity for her to apologize; yet, given Lynd's friendly but faintly remote demeanor, she hesitated. Only for a moment, though. Obviously, he was thinking of their last, less than cordial, meeting. Part of it had been her fault and she really must set things straight. Now might be the only chan
ce she'd have all evening.

  She cleared her throat. Her heart beat a little faster as she regarded Lynd, sitting casually across, and began, "About our last discussion."

  “Discussion?” Lord Lynd dryly repeated, "I believe you mean argument."

  "All right, argument." He was not being very nice. "I wanted to say—"

  "Don't. The whole unfortunate incident is best forgotten."

  "No it's not." She decided to forge ahead, despite his unpleasantness. "I was rude. I said things I shouldn't have."

  "So you're apologizing?"

  "Well, yes." Couldn't he at least smile? She hated the detached expression in his eyes.

  "You're forgiven," he said, the soul of politeness. "I accept your apology." He paused, as if reluctant to continue and finally managed, "I, too, was rude."

  "You're forgiven," she replied. "I am not finished yet."

  "You're not?"

  There went that cynical raise of his eyebrow which she absolutely despised. "There were some things I did that were not, uh, ladylike."

  He burst into laughter. "You mean the little show you put on when you climbed atop the coach?"

  "I would hardly consider it a show."

  "This may come as a surprise to you, but I've been aware for quite some time that ladies have legs underneath their skirts and petticoats." He cocked his head and blithely added, "Yours are especially slim and shapely. I enjoyed the view."

  "Oh!" She could feel her face flush crimson. "Here I am, trying to humbly apologize while you—"

  "I what?" he demanded, still with that abominable smile on his face.

  "You're laughing at me."

  "Of course I'm laughing. It's difficult not to laugh when a supposedly bright young lady commits blunder after blunder."

  "What blunders?" Her humbleness was fading fast. Just who did he think he was?

  "You know what I mean."

  "I do not. Pray, sir, enlighten me."

  Lynd cast a quick glance at the door. He lowered his voice. "I have already told you what I thought of that exalted, sacred love of yours for Dashwood. What more is there to say except I might suggest you devote some of your time to improving your marriage."

  She raised her chin and awarded him an indignant glare. "My marriage is fine, thank you."

  Softly he asked, "Are you still 'just good friends'?"

  "Of course. Lord Dinsmore is happy with me just the way I am."

  He smiled and sat back in his chair, maddeningly relaxed. "If you think that, you don't know men. You're a beautiful woman, Lady Dinsmore. Not only that, you're bright and you possess a great curiosity and courage to try the unknown. Some might interpret your behavior as rash and impetuous, but I admire you for it. Doubtless Dinsmore does, too. I don't know what sort of pact he has made with you, but I'd wager sooner or later he expects more than friendship." Although Lord Lynd's tone was smooth and controlled, she noted a sharp, sarcastic edge had crept into his voice when he said "friendship." He paused, as if aware his composure was beginning to slip. More quietly he added, "You would be well advised to remove your head from the clouds. You'll never find a finer husband than Lord Dinsmore. Can't you look beyond that poor, scarred face? Give him a chance?"

  She thrust out her palms in an innocent gesture. "If he wants something more, why doesn't he say so?"

  "For God's sake, woman, did you ever hear of pride?"

  Before Flora could answer, she heard footsteps and the tap of a cane and the subject was abruptly closed as Lord Dinsmore entered the drawing room.

  “Ah, Sidney,” Lord Dinsmore exclaimed. “Lady Dinsmore has told me how delighted she was with the four-in-hand lesson you gave her.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “No one could teach four-in-hand better than you, my boy. He’s an expert, Flora. If he hadn’t been born to the nobility. I would wager he’d be king of the road by now—a coachman on the Comet or the Silver Streak.”

  “That is most kind of you, sir.”

  “And I trust you’ll be around to give my bride many more lessons, won’t you Sidney?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Flora wondered if it was only she who caught the slight hesitation before Lord Lynd gave his last response.

  * * * *

  A few weeks later, Flora, dressed in her riding gown, was about to leave her bed chamber and go for a ride on Primrose when Baker swiped a finger across a side table, held it up and remarked, "No dust. Your little chat with Mrs. Wendt has brought results."

  "Apparently so," agreed Flora. Baker needn't know how short was the chat. "Now I hope you're satisfied."

  "Heavens, no. There is still much at Pemberly Manor that begs for your attention."

  Uh-oh, she might have known. "And what might that be, Baker?" She didn’t have to ask, knowing full well what her finicky lady's maid would spout in her upcoming tirade.

  "It is simply not enough." Baker's nose always twitched when she was miffed. It was twitching now. "Much remains in disarray. The servants still are not properly attired. Some of the furniture is quite shabby—have you not noticed? The situation is easily rectifiable since there are some beautiful pieces of furniture in the attic that should be brought down, as well as portraits. And the china. Why hasn't the French Haviland been put to use, as well as—"

  "There simply hasn't been time," Flora interrupted, none too kindly. Her husband, feeling better now, awaited her, along with Lord Lynd and Lady Beasley. She was much more interested in taking Primrose for another glorious morning ride than standing there arguing with her maid. Still, she felt uncomfortable knowing the main cause of her crossness was her own guilt over her indifference to her duty. Since arriving at Pemberly Manor, she had expended very little time toward becoming England's greatest hostess. Instead, she had been riding nearly every day, enjoying herself immensely with Lynd, Lucinda, and her husband on the few occasions he'd been able to get out of bed

  The problem was, she'd been so engrossed in riding and four-in-hand she hadn't quite gotten around to restoring Pemberly Manor to its former state of grandeur

  Poor Mama will be so disappointed, she thought, her guilt deepening. She could hear her mother now, bragging about her daughter, the esteemed wife of the Hero of Seedapore, who had used the many skills her mother taught her in order to once more turn Pemberly Manor into one of the most beautiful estates in all England.

  And she hadn't even started, Flora thought glumly, except for getting rid of the dust. She'd been having far too good a time for herself, but still, it wasn't too late. "Baker, since his lordship is feeling better, I do believe we shall have a dinner party—make it a week from tonight. Only a few guests, ten at the most, including Lord Lynd and Lady Beasley, but we shall make it a formal dinner this time."

  "Oh, perfect, madam, there's our starting point." The usually staid Baker actually clapped her hands together in delight. "We shall get out the Haviland, the silver epergne, the—"

  "Yes, fine," Flora answered, happy she had pleased her lady's maid. "Do what you think best."

  "Of course, your ladyship," Baker answered with such an avid gleam in her eye Flora knew she'd head for the attic post haste, as soon as their conversation was done. "But you had best speak to Mrs. Wendt." With a sweep of her arm, she indicated the entire mansion. "Everything must be turned out. Rugs beaten, windows scrubbed, chimneys swept, and all that." Her perennial frown deepened. "She's not going to like it."

  Flora inwardly cringed. She didn't want to confront the dour housekeeper again, even though Baker was right, the house was still shabby, dust or no dust, and needed a complete renovation. But she was Lady Dinsmore now. She must assert herself, play the part for which she was intended. Her spirits sank at the thought. What was wrong with her? she wondered, unwilling to admit she was having too good a time doing what she pleased. What a heady experience to no longer feel constrained. In part, she had her husband to thank. But he'd been sick much of the time and it was really Lord Lynd who had filled her days with
happiness. How she had changed her opinion of him! When they met, she thought him nothing more than a cynical, difficult man. How wrong she'd been. Lynd's conversation was so engaging she would much prefer accompanying him and Louisa on a ride through the woods than entertaining a gaggle of ladies at tea. There was nothing she enjoyed more than going on a picnic where they sat by a stream, laughed a lot, discussed matters ladies weren't supposed to know about, such as military history and who was running for parliament.

  But most of all, she enjoyed driving four-in-hand down a country road, hands firm on the reins, Lynd beside her, enjoying the ride as much as she.

  Those terrible dark days she'd suffered through after Richard jilted her were gone. She would never be truly happy and would always mourn his loss, but still, she was fairly content with her life, and knew now she could carry on.

  "Well, madam?" Baker asked impatiently.

  "Er...yes, I suppose I must speak to Mrs. Wendt again." She brightened. Life wasn't so bad after all. Swinging her arm high, she proclaimed, "Mark my words. Pemberly Manor will rise from the ashes, Baker. We'll see to it, won't we?"

  Baker left in a state of delight. And although Flora tried to focus on her upcoming elegant dinner party, and her talk with Mrs. Wendt, she found her thoughts lingered on Lord Lynd. She liked the unpretentiousness of the man. He truly wouldn't care about the elegance of her china. He was kind, too, and thoughtful, and witty when he wasn't glowering at her. How fond she was of their nearly daily rides. Along with Louisa, of course.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a small commotion in the front entry hall. Moments later, Flora's younger sister burst into Flora's bedchamber, smiling brightly, cheeks a rosy glow.

  "Amy! I thought you were in London."

  "I was," Amy declared as she hugged her sister. "But I had to come in person and give you the news."

  Armond. Only one thing could bring such a glow to Amy's cheeks, such a bright gleam to her eyes. Flora knew Amy had been seeing him the past few weeks. Her heart sank as she asked, "The Duke?"

  "He has asked for my hand." Stepping lightly, Amy twirled in a little dance of delight. "Isn't that wonderful news? You must attend me at the wedding."