Lady Flora's Fantasy (17 page)

"Oh, yes, very tired," she eagerly replied, knowing she was grasping at straws. But if she could just put off the inevitable for one night—just one night—she would offer up a prayer of thanks.

Lord Dinsmore stood and regarded her thoughtfully. Even in the dimness of the candlelight, she could see his one eye gazing at her with piercing understanding. "My dear Flora, have you forgotten what I told you?" he asked softly.

She gulped and answered, "And what was that?"

"Beauty and the beast, remember? Only be assured, this beast will never force himself upon you. I gave my word we would occupy separate bedrooms and so we shall."

A vast relief swept through her. "Do you mean it, sir?"

"I gave you my word, did I not?" Despite his continued politeness, she detected an edge of harshness in his voice. "I shall never come to you, Flora, you can count on it."

"I understand," she answered, trying to conceal the wonderful sense of relief that had just swept through her.

"So be it, then." A long moment passed before Dinsmore's normal, pleasant demeanor returned and he continued in a brisk but friendly manner, "I, too, am tired, and shall retire to my own bed chamber directly." He smiled down at her. "Sleep well. I trust you'll have a pleasant night. I shall see you at breakfast."

"And what time is breakfast?"

"Whenever you like."

No breakfast time? Before she could express her surprise, he limped from the dining room and was gone.

* * * *

Flora slept fitfully that night. Not that she was afraid Dinsmore would invade her bedchamber to claim his marital rights, she believed his assurances he would not. Still, the pain in her heart would not go away. In the darkest dark of the night, she saw the truth: Richard did not love her and most certainly was not coming to rescue her. Such a foolish fantasy to ever think he would. So here she was, stuck in a strange, hostile place, trapped in a loveless marriage that would last for years and years—forever, as far as she was concerned, and it was all because of her own stupidity and rash actions.

I shall never be happy again, she thought. In black despair she lay tossing and turning. Occasionally she thought of Lord Lynd and how glad she was she might see him tomorrow. Such a perceptive man
. And how kind, actually offering to marry her to save her from scandal. Only he, other than her sister, could begin to understand the predicament in which she had willingly thrust herself against all good advice. She wished she could talk to him. He would listen and not make fun when she expressed her anguish over her foolish actions. Not that he could do anything, not that anyone could. Just the same, she pictured his warm, sympathetic smile and thought what a comfort it would be to see him again.

* * * *

Things were always supposed to look better in the morning, Flora reflected as, dressed in a blue chintz morning gown, she entered the breakfast room. Her mother used to say it was always darkest before the dawn. Well, it was not. Her mood was as bleak as it had been the night before and she yearned with all her heart for home.

Lord Dinsmore, seated at the table, looked up from his newspaper and smiled pleasantly. "Good morning, Lady Dinsmore, I trust you slept well." He nodded toward a terra cotta marble side table. "We are informal here. Just help yourself to whatever you like."

Serve herself? How strange. What were the servants for? She had never served herself, but then, what did she care? She was still not the least bit hungry. Rather than protest, she took up a plate and took a tiny helping of eggs and sausage. As she seated herself, wondering how she could ever eat what was on her plate, Lord Dinsmore spoke up.

"Gillis tells me you are dissatisfied with the housekeeping arrangements."

Baker
. How Flora wished her lady's maid had kept her silence. "Not dissatisfied, sir, that's too strong a word. It's just...well, perhaps the furniture could be dusted a bit more frequently, and a few things such as that."

"Tell Mrs. Wendt." Dinsmore halted a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. "You are mistress of Pemberly Manor now. Mrs. Wendt is to follow your instructions, or out she goes."

Easier said than done. Flora remembered the icy cold look the housekeeper had bestowed upon her when they met. She had no intention of causing the poor woman to lose her position, though, and wondered how best to approach a delicate situation.

Young though she was, she knew perfectly well how to run a well-ordered household. In fact, thanks to her mother's thorough training, she was confident she could turn Pemberly Manor into the consummate country estate, rivaling the very best in all England.
If she wished, she could have a perfectly run household, complete with flawless servants, all required to strictly obey rigid rules. The only problem was, to accomplish such an end, she would need to be as imperious as the Queen of England—in other words, just like her mother.

Wonderful
, came her cynical thought. She didn't want to be like her mother. Not only that, she was acutely aware that her demands for change would cause great resentment among the servants. They would look upon her in the same way the servants at home treated her mother—polite on the surface, but underneath boiling with resentment.

Is this what I want to do with my life?

Do I have a choice?

No, she did not have a choice. She had made her bed and now she must lie in it, and be grateful, she thought wryly, that her worst fears concerning her wedding night had not materialized.

She took a nibble of sausage but could hardly swallow it down as she decided now was the time to tell Lord Dinsmore what he wanted to hear. "With all due respect, sir, certain improvements most definitely need to be made, and I shall endeavor to make them, starting with...with the servants, I suppose, and then..." Oh, dear. The more she talked, the more hopeless seemed her situation until her eyes suddenly bordered with tears. She would not cry. Not in front of the Hero of Seedaseer, it would be too humiliating. She gulped and tried to speak again, but her new husband, who had been listening with avid attention, raised his hand.

"Enough," he said simply, "we shall go on a picnic."

Flora was so surprised her tears stopped. What on earth was the man thinking of? The last thing she wanted to do right now was go on a picnic. "Sir, I hardly think—"

"A picnic," he softly reiterated. "We were going riding today, remember? We shall combine it with a picnic. You're wound tight as a top. What you need is a meal by a quiet stream surrounded by nature's beauty, not this house and not the servants. Lord Lynd is coming, by the way, and his sister. I shall dispatch a footman to inform them of our new plan."

She was astounded, wondering how her husband could plan a picnic on such short notice. In her experience, picnics meant Cook packing all sorts of fancy dishes to carry in not one, but several elaborate hampers. Picnics meant footmen scampering here and there, setting up tables under the trees and spreading fine linen tablecloths. Picnics meant half the serving staff coming along, all in attendance as her family pretended to enjoy themselves while brushing away horrid little bugs and insects. "I really don't think...it's so much trouble—"

"No trouble at all." Lord Dinsmore arose from the breakfast table and gazed down at her with a look that proclaimed his decision was final. "You've brought a riding habit?" She nodded, thinking of the wool serge gown she wore on her rare rides atop Buttercup. "Then go put it on. We leave in an hour."

Dinsmore started to cough. It was then Flora noticed a feverish flush upon his forehead and cheeks.

"Sir, I fear you're not well."

"Fit as a fiddle," Dinsmore protested, still hacking. "One more moment and I shall be fine."

When the cough finally subsided, Flora asked, "Are you all right?"

"Of course. Just a touch of ‘flu.’ Nothing to it."

Flora said no more, knowing the Hero of Seedapore had his pride.

Chapter 10

The day was full of surprises.

Flora's first surprise came when, neatly attired in her one-and-only riding gown, she stepped onto the front portico. "Where is my mount?" she inquired. On the rare occasions when she'd ridden, old Grisby, the groom, stood waiting at the bottom of the steps, ready to hand her the reins belonging to ancient Buttercup, who was already saddled, ready to go. Hardly ever did she set foot in the stable, which her mother considered most unsavory with its "uncouth stable boys and unpleasant smells."

Unpleasant? Flora loved her rare visits to the stables where she could breathe deep of the pungent aroma of the horses, mixed with oats and new-mown hay.

"We shall proceed to the stables and saddle our own horses," said Lord Dinsmore who was dressed in breeches, dark brown riding coat, and simple stock. He still looked feverish, but at least he wasn't coughing. "Ready?" he asked.

Followed by Gillis, they started for the stables. Their stroll was a pleasant one, along a narrow, winding path bordered with tall oaks and pink and white rhododendrons. In the distance she could see tangled gardens blooming with marigolds, carnations, pansies—it seemed every flower imaginable, their vibrant colors striking against the deep green background of the bordering woods. They reached the stable where beyond, in an open field of lush green, she could see several horses grazing peacefully. In the dimness of the stable, she peered down a long row of stalls, some empty, some with the head of a curious horse peering out. "I didn't know you owned so many."

"Only a few," Lord Dinsmore answered in an offhand manner, yet she could see he was proud of his stables. "These are my coach horses." He pointed to four chestnuts groomed to a high gloss. "Prime cattle, by the way. These two matched greys pull my curricle. You'll be using it a lot when you make your visiting rounds." He led her along the straw-covered walkway that divided the two rows of stalls to a stall containing a young, chestnut colored filly. "Meet Primrose. What do you think of her?" He opened the stall door and slipped a bit in her mouth. "Here, I'll lead her outside."

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.