Lady Flora's Fantasy (22 page)

"I so admire Lord Dinsmore," ventured Amy. "Always before, he appeared so unapproachable, but riding today, I could see how companionable he is, how...well, I never thought I'd say this, but he is charming."

"Indeed he is," Flora responded.

Amy hesitated before she asked, "Have you grown fond of him, Flora? Oh, I hope so. And I hope by now you've forgotten all about that awful man who jilted you."

Flora looked around to make sure they were alone. "Lord Dashwood is as much on my mind as ever. If you must know, I love him still and I always shall."

Startled, Amy asked, "but what of your husband?"

"We are friends and nothing more. We don't...you know."

"You don't?" Amy looked amazed.

Flora proceeded to explain how Richard was "not awful" and she would always love him; how she had truly grown fond of Lord Dinsmore; how she could not work up any enthusiasm for being the grand mistress of Pemberly Manor, but she was trying.

"Lord Lynd is coming for dinner Saturday—my first formal dinner party, by the way—but I'm not the least excited. Baker's the one who's eager to drag out the good china and silver. I could not care less."

Amy said, "It's our mother who's at fault. You know how she has always doted upon such affairs, but she drives herself to distraction every time she entertains, she's so worried over every little detail."

"Is the soup a tad too cold?" Flora asked in a fair imitation of her mother. "Are the sterling nut cups not properly shined? Poor Mama can never relax."

"And by the time the evening is over and the last guest gone, she's ready to collapse."

"I should hate being that way."

"Still, though, I, personally, shall be ecstatic when I become the Duchess of Armond. What balls I shall give
! What soirees!" Amy eyed her sister accusingly. "Just like you should be doing."

"But I hate it. I don't want to entertain. I'd rather be riding through the woods, like we were today, or practicing my four-in-hand with Lord Lynd."

"To what end?" Amy inquired. "Do you plan to be a coachman? Oops, a thousand pardons, a coachwoman? What are your chances of that?" Amy grew intently serious. "Really, Flora, I don't wish to sound like our mother, but when you come down to it, a woman has but one role in life. That's to support her husband, and that means running his household, be it large or small, in a suitable fashion, and also having children, which you, so far, have shown no inclination to do." With a tiny grin she added, "Well, how could you, if you're not...you know."

"But how can I when I love another man?"
Flora spread her palms in frustration.

"You are being most unrealistic and you'd best reconsider." Amy squeezed a slice of lemon in her tea and stirred vigorously. "I love you dearly, Flora, but I give you this piece of advice for your own good. Don't be a rebel. Be good to your husband and stop all this daydreaming about another man. It will get you nowhere. Eventually, your husband is bound to discover how you feel and show his displeasure."

"You don't understand," Flora replied feeling quite deflated. "Lord Dinsmore has indicated he's quite happy with our arrangement."

"Ha! I grant you're older than I, and smarter, but sometimes you can be so dense."

"But it's true. Lord Dinsmore highly values my companionship. Our picnics—our walks through the woods—"

Amy threw her a look of scorn. "Oh, please, he's a man, isn't he? Even I, young and inexperienced though I am, know what men want, and it's not a companion." Amy took a sip of tea and plunged on. "You might yearn to be different, Flora, but you'd best remember you're a woman, just like the rest of us, and it's best you do what's expected of you. I warrant, Lord Dinsmore wants you in his bed and he wants sons."

Flora listened in amazement. She would never have guessed her younger sister could come up with such a mature view of life.

"And Baker's right," Amy continued, "at the very least, you should refurbish Pemberly Manor—become England's greatest hostess and all of that. You'd be pleasing your husband, Mama too."

Could Amy possibly be right? Flora didn't even want to think about it. Perhaps tomorrow. She picked up the teapot. "I shall give some thought to what you say. Now, let's change the subject, shall we? Would you like more tea?"

Amy left for London the next day, but her words stubbornly lingered in Flora's mind. She had thought she was being a good wife, but was she? Oh, why must her world be full of difficulties when right now all she wanted was to ride her horse and practice her four-in-hand with Lord Lynd?

A week later, Flora's dinner party was a smashing success. Guests from the local gentry indulged in lively conversation, ate a superb dinner cooked by Lord Dinsmore's newly hired French chef. The food was presented on the French Haviland plates Mrs. Wendt had finally retrieved from the attic. Even Lord Lynd tactfully commented upon how "especially elegant" Pemberly Manor looked that evening, a comment to which all guest heartily agreed. Flora reminded herself to give her compliments to Baker, who the past week had worked herself to a frazzle, cleaning, hanging pictures, overseeing the placement of new furniture.

Flora should have been delighted, but by now she hardly cared how the evening went. Although she had spent the evening acting the engaging hostess, her smooth facade hid inner turmoil. Lord Lynd had totally unnerved her. She kept wondering if anything he'd said could possibly be true. What troubled her the most was, in the past week, both Amy and Lord Lynd had scoffed at her relationship with Dinsmore, bluntly informing her she didn't understand men.

They could not possibly be right, or could they? She was not sure of anything anymore, although lately one thing she'd noticed about herself: the sight of her disfigured husband no longer distressed her. Although she wouldn't have thought it possible, she had become accustomed to both the eye patch and the scar.

During the course of the evening, she observed her husband in a way she never had before. As always, he was the soul of politeness and consideration. So far as she could see, no simmering feelings of passion for her lurked beneath his courteous but reserved demeanor. If they did, they were most certainly well concealed. The more she thought, though, the more she began to realize Lynd's words had merit. Perhaps she hadn't been that good a wife. These past weeks, Dinsmore had been more than kind—making sure she had everything she needed, catering to her every wish, demanding nothing. She asked herself what she had done in return and could come up with nothing, except she'd had a good time for herself, and in so doing had been stubborn, selfish, and unfair.

Her thoughts filtered back to what Dinsmore told her on their wedding day.

"I shall never come to you, Flora, you can count on it. If this marriage of ours is ever to be consummated, it will be because you came to me."

In her vast relief that she would not be assaulted on her wedding night, she had dismissed his words, hardly giving them a serious thought. She assumed he wanted nothing to do with her
, that way
. Now, after reconsidering, she realized he had not said that at all. He did want her, only she must come to him.

He was so patient, so kind. The Hero of Seedapore deserved better.

I shall do it
, she decided with a jerky little nod of her head that brought a quizzical glance from Lord Lynd.

She would consummate the marriage this very night. It was the right thing to do, and high time. Mama would be so relieved. Dinsmore would be delighted. He deserved a nice surprise. She would not, however, say she loved him because that would be a lie. But surely he would not expect such a declaration. Instead, he would be grateful she had finally seen her duty and come to his bed.

As for Lord Lynd...

There he sat across the dinner table, half smiling, lazily regarding her from beneath half-lidded eyes. She wished he knew what she was thinking. The irony was, she wanted him to know what she was thinking. And that was because...?

The esteemed Lord Lynd could talk all he pleased about how she would never find a finer husband than Lord Dinsmore; how she should look beyond that pitiful, scarred face and give her poor husband a chance. Drivel. Here was further proof Lynd himself lusted after her. She knew he did, despite his efforts to push her into her husband's bed. She knew he wanted her just from the way he talked to her, probing, constantly challenging. She knew from those penetrating looks he gave her, revealing that tiny gleam of desire so deep in his eyes it was almost buried. Not quite, though. He could not totally conceal his hunger, though she'd wager he wished he could.

What she couldn't understand was why she would even care what he was thinking. In the past, when men lusted after her, she simply let them know she wasn't interested and sent them on their way. There was something about Lord Lynd, though, that intrigued her no end. It was almost as if she wanted to hurt him—twist the knife, so to speak, by letting him know she planned to consummate her marriage.

Surely she wasn't even faintly attracted to Lord Lynd.

Or was she?

She would think about that later. She turned her thoughts to the matter at hand, wondering how she would let Lord Dinsmore know of her decision. Perhaps she could throw out cautious feelers when they went on their ride tomorrow. Better, tonight. She could simply knock on the door of his bed chamber, and when he opened it...

"I have changed my mind, Lord Dinsmore."

Startled, his gaze sweeps over her, admiring the red satin robe she's wearing and her long, full hair falling loosely down her back. His face lights. "Oh, my darling, do you mean—?"

"Yes
. I am your wife, am I not? I have finally realized where my duty lies."

"You mean it? You don't find my face repulsive?"

"I hardly notice anymore."

"Come in, my dear. You have just made me the happiest man in the world..."

Yes, tonight. She had nothing to fear. Her husband would welcome her with open arms.

* * * *
                                                                                                                                

The servants had gone to bed. In the flickering light from the candle she held, Flora saw the look of surprise that crossed Dinsmore's face as he, dressed in a blue quilted satin robe, opened his door and saw her standing in his doorway. She was not wearing the red satin after all, having lost her courage at the last minute. Instead, she wore a cream satin dressing gown embroidered with blue flowers all around and a lace fichu.

"Please come in." He swung the door wide. Looking mildly surprised, he inquired, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit at this late hour?"

She entered, and when he swung the door shut, set down her candle and turned to him. "I am here because...I decided that..." Why wasn't he helping? Oh, where to begin? "These past weeks, have I made you happy?"

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew how silly she sounded, but he didn't laugh. Instead, he took her hand, all stiffness and formality gone. "Of course you've made me happy. And you?"

"Very happy." She thought of Richard and knew she was lying. Still, no one had forced her to marry Dinsmore. She had no right to complain. "Lord Dinsmore..."

"For heavens sake, we're married now. Call me Charles."

"Charles. I've been thinking..." Oh, how to say it? Why couldn't she just blurt out she had decided she wanted to come to his bed?
Because you really don't
, cried a little voice within her, a voice she must ignore. "So far, we have occupied separate bed chambers, but I thought..."

"Thought what?"

"I thought..." Her heart raced. Could he not make this easier for her? She felt herself getting red in the face. A big lump of words caught in her throat and she struggled to get them out. She lowered her eyelids and managed, "I thought that perhaps..." In a gush she finished, "you might wish me to come to your bed."

For a long time he was silent. She raised her eyelids. He seemed to be examining her, his gaze burning into hers, as if he were trying to look into her very soul. "Are you saying you wish to make love with me?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Why, Flora?"

"Because—" She had to think. Finding a solid reason was difficult when she hardly knew herself. Back at dinner when she decided, everything seemed crystal clear and she was so certain, and proud of herself for deciding to be the dutiful wife. But now...

"I am your wife. I have been thinking, and...I have become aware of my duties."

He smiled gently. "I am flattered beyond belief. However, we had a pact, remember? I was to provide you my wealth and title. In exchange, you were to provide your charming companionship to a lonely old man, which you've succeeded in doing quite admirably."

"Thank you, but..." This was not going as she thought it would. He didn't seem overjoyed at all. Confusion was setting in. She was beginning to feel unsure of herself. "Don't you want me?" she blurted.

Unperturbed by her bluntness, he said, "Tell me exactly why you came to me."

"I came because..." She struggled for an answer. "We've have been getting along famously, or so I thought, what with the riding, the picnics and all. And I am your wife, so I thought, surely you wanted me to—you know, and it was my duty to...to..."