"I don't believe it."
"But it's true." A brilliant smile lit Amy's face. "At last I've found the man I shall love forever. Edward's a poet, a third son and poor, but I love him and he loves me, an undying love, he claims, and I believe him."
For a moment Flora was too stunned to reply. "I can hardly find the words to ask it, but what if—?"
"I should find myself with child?" Amy adamantly shook her head. "That won't happen. I wouldn't dream of breaking my marital vows. Ours is a spiritual love. When we're together, Edward reads me poetry. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."
Did she? Flora doubted her sister. The words 'reckless and dangerous' poised on the tip of her tongue, but she decided not to say them. From her own experience with Richard, she knew the futility of giving advice to a woman who was caught in the all-consuming throes of unconsummated passion.
Chapter 17
Seated in the drawing room at Pemberly Manor, Lord Lynd and his sister regarded Flora with sympathy in their eyes. "Are you sure you're all right?" asked Louisa.
Seated across from them, Flora was pleased that her two dear friends had not subscribed to the old theory that widows wished to be alone with their grief. Since Lord Dinsmore died, they had visited often.
An ember crackled in the fireplace. Flora idly watched the small shower of sparks cascade into the ashes beneath. From outside, she heard the wind whistling. Through the large bay window, she saw the steady fall of snow. But here by the fire with her dear friends, she felt snug and content, despite her ongoing grief at losing Charles. "I so appreciate your being here. Don't think I haven't noticed how you visit nearly every day, despite how busy you must be."
Lord Lynd regarded her quizzically. "I trust we have not worn out our welcome."
"Oh, no," she protested sincerely, smoothing the skirt of her plain black mourning gown. "What would I have done without you? Rattling around in this big house—" she made a sweeping gesture "—memories of Charles everywhere I look. Your visits keep me sane.”
"Visiting is our pleasure," said Louisa, casting a knowing glance at her brother.
After they left, Flora sat by the fire, reflecting upon how delightful she found the visits and how much she looked forward to seeing him each day—well, both of them, of course. His interest in her welfare knew no bounds. He was helpful, too, in other ways and had given her all sorts of good advice in handling the matters of Dinsmore's estate.
There seemed only one prickly area between them. It occurred whenever the new Lord Dinsmore's name was mentioned. "Have you seen him?" Lord Lynd would ask occasionally.
She always answered she had not and didn't expect to.
Recently he asked, "And what would you do if he suddenly appeared at your doorstep?"
She shrugged. "Be polite, I suppose. He has written several times—polite little notes asking if he could call. I haven't answered, but I suppose if he appears uninvited on my doorstep, I surely wouldn't turn him away. After all, he's just lost his cousin. That, plus the shock of finding all his land entailed, then losing Pemberly Manor, must have been considerable. I most certainly wouldn't add to his misery."
She sensed Lynd's relief at her answer. He was certainly an expert at concealing it, though. Actually, her answer left her uneasy. Despite her protestations, thoughts of the perfidious Lord Dashwood—oops! now Lord Dinsmore—managed to steal into her consciousness more than she would have wished. Each time they did, she chastised herself. Her days of daydreaming were over. Even if they weren't, she was a fool to waste a second of her time on a man who cared for her so little he would have cast her out of his house had not Charles changed his will.
Later, Lady Rensley arrived from London and came bustling in. "Hello, Flora, dear. Are you still mooning about? Weeks have gone by, my dear, and I know you must still wear your mourning, but perhaps you might at least consider coming to London, where I could arrange discreet dinners that would at least put you again in the social swim. Lady Boles says—"
"We've been over this before, Mama. I shall stay right here. Don't expect me to change my mind because I won't." Flora refrained from adding that, thanks to Charles, as well as Lord Lynd, she was through with letting other people run her life and telling her what to do. Consequently she had no concern for lady Bole's opinion, or her mother's either, for that matter. "I have something to tell you," said Lady Rensley, seating herself, her eyes bright with excitement.
"What?" Whatever her mother was going to say, Flora had the feeling it wouldn't be good.
"Yesterday the new Lord Dinsmore came to call," Lady Rensley grandly announced.
"Do tell." Flora managed her remark with great casualness, but inside she felt a jolt. "What did he want?"
"My dear girl
." Lady Rensley clasped her hands in front of her and bent forward, eager to impart her news. "The man loves you dearly. He's devastated that you refuse to see him. Have you really ignored his letters?"
"Indeed I have." Flora was doing her best to appear indifferent, even though her heart was racing. Could it be true that Richard loved her? But what if he did? She bade herself keep in mind all the awful things he'd done. "How could he love me after the way he's acted? Excuse me, Mama, but I don't believe anything he told you."
"But Lord Dinsmore claims it was all a misunderstanding. He came to me because you've ignored his letters and positively
begged
me to intercede on his behalf. Can't you allow him a visit? He desperately wants to talk to you."
"What is the point?"
"So he might explain. Really, Flora. Why must you be so hard on the man?"
"Why do you care?"
"You know I've always had a soft spot in my heart for him, from the day we saw him standing on the beach. Not only that, he's still the best catch around, despite his little peccadillos."
"Peccadillos
? He's one of the most notorious rakes in London, Mama. He drinks, gambles—"
"Don't they all? I sense the man's ready for marriage. Who knows how many girls are after him? Mark you, he won't be single long, so you'd best grab him while you can."
"They can have him," Flora replied with disdain. "How can you possibly think he's such a great catch?"
Lady Rensley cocked an eyebrow. "If you married him, he would gain control of Pemberly Manor. Then he'd be out of debt and all would be well."
"Damnation, Mama."
Lady Rensley gasped. "Daughter, your language
."
"Well, you made me say it." Flora arose and spun to face her mother, fists clenched at her sides. "In the first place, I have no intention of marrying again, not any time soon and perhaps never. Second, if I did marry again, it would not be to that conniving liar. In fact, if I were to marry anyone, it would be..." a name came quickly to her mind. "I would marry Lord Lynd, who is twice, three times the man Dinsmore is."
"Humph," came her mother's skeptical reply. "Lynd has shown no interest in marrying again, whereas our new Lord Dinsmore–"
"Oh, stop it," commanded Flora. "Really, Mama, I won't hear another word about how wonderful he is because he's not."
Lady Rensley's face fell. "Then you won't see him?"
Despite her determined resolution, Flora hated to disappoint her mother. "Can't you see how I feel?" She waited. Her mother stared blankly. "No? I guess you don't. Well, I'll tell you a secret. I used to daydream a lot. Foolish dreams. The most foolish was my fantasy that Lord Dashwood was my golden prince–" she laughed ironically "—my impossible hero. Thanks to Charles, I know better now. He made me realize I'd lived my whole life doing what I was supposed to do, not doing what I really wanted to do. I was miserable. My only escape was through fantasies." She paused and tossed back her head. "A pox on society's rules. From now on, I shall do as I please, not what you, or Papa, or anyone else tells me. I need nothing more, and that includes fantasies."
"I've never seen you like this before," said Lady Rensley, frowning in bewilderment.
"I'm a different person now."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. All I know is, Lord Dinsmore says he's changed. Surely you could condescend to see him and give him the chance to explain."
Flora sighed in frustration. Nothing she'd said made the slightest impression on her mother. "All right, I'll see him, but don't expect anything to come of it because nothing will."
Lady Rensley's face lit again. "Splendid. I shall get word to him immediately."
"There's no rush," Flora said, knowing her mother would return to London poste haste to deliver her message.
She was right. Lady Rensley left shortly after, leaving her daughter in a turmoil of mixed feelings. Flora's good sense told her no matter how much Richard begged and cajoled, she would remain firm and reject him. But what about her heart
? No, you cannot even consider forgiving him
, cried the little voice of reason that dwelled within her. And she wouldn't, Flora firmly concluded. Absolutely not.
* * * *
Days later, in the drawing room of Pemberly Manor, in front of a roaring fire, Flora received her visitor, the new Lord Dinsmore. The two made a somber picture as Flora, attired in black, sat stiffly in the middle of a striped green silk settee. Dinsmore, also in black, sat across. She was shocked by his appearance. Not only was he noticeably thinner, but his hair, usually so meticulously arranged, was slightly disheveled, as if he'd run a careless comb through it and nothing more. The twinkle in his eye had disappeared. Lines of strain etched his pale, drawn face making him look downright haggard.
Poor Lord Dinsmore, how he must be grieving for his cousin Charles!
She rang for tea. They chatted of inconsequential matters. Finally, Richard surprised her by saying in a voice most humble,
"Thank you for seeing me. You are most kind."
"My pleasure." She was amazed at his unassuming new attitude, so much so she decided to speak her mind. "I must admit, I am surprised."
"In what way?" he asked quietly.
"Aren't you angry?"
He frowned in puzzlement. "Why should I be angry?"
"This." She made a sweeping gesture. "Don't you feel cheated of your childhood home? Aren't you furious with your cousin for not leaving Pemberly Manor to you?" She touched her palm to her chest. "Aren't you furious with me?"
The old Richard would have laughed. This new Richard carefully set down his cup of tea and regarded her with eyes full of pain. "Which brings me to why I came here today. I've come to beg your forgiveness. I want nothing more than to make amends, if I possibly can, although I fear there's no way in the world you could possibly forgive me."
She met his directness with her own. "Certainly not. The day of the funeral your behavior was appalling."
He ignored her critical comment and went on, "I know I hurt you. God knows, I didn't mean to. I shall not make excuses, but I want you to know part of what happened was truly a misunderstanding."
"Really?" Sick anger swept through her as she thought of his actions that day. "Do you deny you wanted me to leave Pemberly Manor?"
"I do deny it." His troubled eyes gazed directly into hers. "Of course I didn't want you to leave. But can't you see? I was sick with grief that day—hardly knew what I was doing. I wrongly assumed you would want to return to your parents. My words came out wrong." He shook his head in a self-deprecating manner. "I made a mess of it. The last thing on earth I wanted was for you to leave. That's because I..."
He bit his lip, hung his head. "I cannot say it. I have no right to say it."
"Say what?" she asked, knowing full well she shouldn't ask, but how could she not?
"You're in mourning. I shouldn't even be here."
"Say it."
"I love you, Flora." Hi face twisted with suffering. "I've loved you since that day we met on the beach. Since then, my love has grown until now I can't eat, can't sleep. My life is well-nigh unbearable, knowing what I've done to you, knowing I can never have you."
Shocked, she set her own cup on the side table. What to say? Words spun in her head. One thing she had to know. "What about the countess? If you love me as you claim, then why—?"
"It was a lie, Flora, can't you see that?"
"You mean you didn't entertain the countess in your bedchamber three days running?"
"That's exactly what I mean. If you obtained your information from Mrs. Wendt, you must remember she's no friend of yours, or mine. I don't wish to sound ungallant, but the countess came uninvited to me that night. I was quite surprised and, I assure you, made haste to get rid of the woman. No doubt Mrs. Wendt saw enough to get the idea in her head she could cause all sorts of mischief. But I swear to you, Flora, I am innocent. If you could find it in your heart to understand."
She was so overwhelmed she couldn't speak, just stared at him amazed. "I...I didn't know," she whispered.