His breath was ragged as he stepped back and gave her a mocking bow. "It's time I left. My apologies for my—shall we say, inappropriate behavior." His voice hardened ruthlessly. "You have my word, it won't happen again."
She stood trying to catch her breath, barely clinging to her composure. "I...I don't know what to say."
"What is there to say except you'll see no more of me. Good day, madam. I wish you good fortune, which, I assure you, you're going to need."
"But..." she started to say more, but it was too late. The next instant, Lord Lynd was gone.
Chapter
18
A few weeks after Lord Lynd's disastrous visit, Flora suspected something was troubling Amy. Flora sensed her sister's unhappiness the moment she arrived at Pemberly Manor for a visit. She was thinner still; her cheeks had lost their usual rosy glow; her face was taut with lines of stress. Amy said nothing, though, and at lunch showed her concern for Flora.
"Are you happy?" she asked from across the table.
"You know I love your visits," Flora replied, deliberately misconstruing what Amy meant. She regarded Amy with concern. "You're not yourself. Tell me what's wrong."
"I know you love my visits, but that's not what I meant," said Amy, ignoring Flora's question. With a significant lifting of her brows she asked, "I meant, are you happy Lord Dinsmore proposed? I thought you'd be ecstatic but I don't see any signs of it."
"I truly am ecstatic," Flora protested. "But it's only been a few weeks since he proposed, and I am still in mourning, after all. You know we must wait at least a year."
"Indeed, else imagine the scandal. At least Mama's keeping quiet."
Laughing, Flora responded, "She had better this time. Really, I'm fine. Richard's been coming down from London nearly every week. He's been wonderful, simply brimming with charm and solicitude, cheerful, full of affection—everything I always wanted him to be. I am blissfully happy and I can hardly wait to show it."
"Hmm," came Amy's faintly skeptical reply. "What about Lord Lynd? He was so attentive for a while, but where has he been lately? I haven't seen him since—"
"Lord Lynd and I had a disagreement," Flora cut in sharply. "You won't be seeing him, not at Pemberly Manor anyway." Flora braced herself. If Amy pursued the subject, she would be obliged to explain. She never kept secrets from her sister but fervently hoped she wouldn't be obliged to discuss Lord Lynd. Whenever she thought of him, a kind of desolation struck her heart. She felt bereft, though she couldn't explain why. "And how are you doing?" she asked Amy, hoping to distract her. "Are you happy? I must say, you don't look it."
For a time, Amy remained silent, biting her lip in deep thought. Finally she said in a voice little above a whisper, "Something terrible has happened." She stared at Flora, gray eyes wide with fear. "I am in the family way, and the Duke is not...not..."
At first Flora's mind refused to register the significance of Amy's words. When it did, she could not conceal her consternation. "You mean to say you're in a family way and the Duke is not the father?"
"Oh, Flora
." Tears trembled on Amy's eyelids. "I've gotten myself into a terrible fix. There's not the faintest possibility Armond could be the father. When he's not spending his time hunting, he's with one of his mistresses. He doesn't have the slightest interest in me. We haven't shared a bed in months."
"Even so," Flora responded, "how could you have deceived him?"
"He made it clear he'd lead his life and I could lead my life as I chose, long as I was discreet." Amy's tears increased as she cried, "But a baby is not discreet. I cannot fool him, he'll know. At the least, he'll divorce me. I'll be disgraced forever and so will the family."
Flora leaped to her feet and hastened around the table to put her arms around her sister. "Was it that poet? The one who's a third son and poor?"
"Yes, Edward." Breaking into sobs, Amy buried her head on Flora's shoulder. "I loved him, I couldn't help myself."
"Well, I can certainly understand that," said Flora, gently patting Amy's arm. "What do you plan to do?"
"What can I do, other than throw myself into the Thames?"
"You mustn't even think it."
"What choice do I have?"
"What of your poet?"
"Edward? When I told him he was thrilled. He thinks I should leave the Duke and run off with him to America."
"America?" Flora was taken aback. "You wouldn't consider such a thing, would you?"
"Of course not. How could I leave my friends and family and everything I ever knew behind? And besides—"despite her tears Amy managed a faint smile "—Mama would definitely not approve."
Flora returned her smile. "I rather think not." But what to do? she wondered grimly
. She couldn't bear to see her beloved sister in such a state of despondency without doing something. But what? After she pondered a moment, one answer came to mind—not her own idea but a solution she'd heard more than one lady of rank had utilized. "How many months along are you?"
Amy sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Two and a half, perhaps three."
"Good. Then there's time to make our plans. We shall slip off to Italy. There you'll have the baby and no one the wiser."
"No," Amy protested. "I cannot allow it. How could you possibly get away? You have Lord Dinsmore to consider now."
"It's useless to argue." With a fine show of enthusiasm, Flora launched into her plan. "It's all so simple. I'm the grieving widow, remember? What I need is a change of scene. For the sake of my health, which has suddenly turned quite fragile, I must escape this cold and snow and set sail for a warmer clime. Like Italy. You see how it all fits together? Naturally, I must have my sister along for companionship. That would be you. And it would take...let's see, six more months at the very least before my full recovery."
The look of desperation eased in Amy's eyes. "You really think it would work?"
"The Duke will never know, nor Mama and Papa. Nobody need know except us and, of course, Richard. I shall be obliged to confide in him. I'll need his help."
"Then..." Amy's tears had ceased. Her face flooded with relief. "We could stay at some remote village in the Italian countryside. When the baby is born...oh, dear." She looked as if she was about to cry again.
"You'll have to give it up," Flora said gently. "There's no other choice."
Amy lifted her chin bravely. "I know. It'll be hard, but I'll do it. We'll find a good home for the child, then return to England, no one the wiser."
"Exactly," Flora answered, pleased she'd found the answer to Amy's dilemma. "We'll take Baker along."
Amy sighed. "Baker's dull as dishwasher."
"True, but she's trustworthy." Flora smiled wryly. "She also knows how to keep her mouth shut."
After a much-needed laugh, Amy asked, "But what about Lord Dinsmore? Won't he object to your being gone so long?"
"Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be most helpful and understanding once I explain." Flora did not doubt her words for a moment. "I'll tell him tomorrow. He's coming down from London, driving that fancy new coach he just purchased. I'm returning with him. I want to visit Mama and Papa, and Richard plans to take me to the Royal Italian Opera House. Will you come back with us? While there, I'll make arrangements for our journey to Italy."
"I'll send my coach back today," Amy replied and ruefully added, "I'm so sorry I've spoiled your plans."
"Don't be silly," Flora assured her. "I know I shall love sunny Italy. And what difference will it make? Richard and I can't be married for several months yet. It'll all work out for the best."
* * * *
Later, when Flora was alone, she reflected upon how truly she'd spoken when she told Amy she was happy. Richard had indeed been wonderful. In the weeks since he proposed, she had grown increasingly eager for the day when they could announce their wedding plans.
But Amy's mention of Lord Lynd had been most disquieting. Lately, whenever Flora imagined Richard and herself finally married, gloriously happy, at long last sharing a bed chamber, her fantasy quickly faded. Each time she was in the midst of a passionate kiss with Richard, she found herself kissing Lord Lynd. His intrusion was most dismaying. Worse, hard though she tried, she could not switch her thoughts back to Richard but instead fell into the tingling remembrance of how Lynd's mouth came down hard and masterful on hers that day in the drawing room when he'd been so angry; how she, helpless to resist, had melted into his arms after fighting him off for an embarrassingly short time—in truth, not more than a moment. She kept telling herself she should be ashamed for thinking such wanton thoughts, but instead, something wild smoldered within her whenever she thought of those breathless moments. Insane though it was, she found herself yearning to see Lynd again. She was determined to forget him, though. And well she should, she sternly reminded herself. Lynd had made no attempt to see her since that day he'd coldly stated his reasons why she wouldn't be seeing him again.
And besides, wasn't she going to marry Richard, the man of her dreams? Had they not recaptured their true bond of love? How could she not feel the same way she'd felt on that glorious night in Vauxhall Gardens?
What's wrong with me? she wondered.
* * * *
Richard arrived from London the next day. Ordinarily he drove his curricle, but on this occasion, when he planned to take Flora, Amy, and Baker back to London, he personally drove his newly purchased coach, constructed of ash and mahogany, painted a dark green and primrose with the Dinsmore crest grandly displayed on either side.
Flora heard the coach jangling up the driveway and reached the portico in time to see Richard in the box, gripping the ribbons in fine style, looking dashing atop the box in a many-caped coat and tall beaver hat.
Anxious to speak to him alone, she ushered him into the study shortly after his arrival. "I have something to discuss with you concerning Amy," she said as she firmly closed the double mahogany doors and turned to explain.
"...and so you see," she finished minutes later, "I must accompany Amy to Italy. I hate to be away from you so long, darling, but—" she spread her palms "—this is for dear Amy. In all conscience I cannot do less."
A long silence passed in which Richard, who had remained blank-faced during Flora's recitation, seemed to draw himself up. "Absolutely not," he finally said.
Flora was taken aback. "Absolutely not?" she repeated. "What are you saying?"
Richard's ordinarily friendly blue eyes now seemed full of remoteness. "Have you gone daft?"
"Well, no, I'm not—"
"How could you even consider such a ridiculous scheme?"
"I love her. She's my sister."
"She's a harlot," Richard's curt voice lashed at her. "Has she not cuckolded the Duke of Armond? And you defend her? I am astonished."
Flora felt herself grow crimson. Not in her wildest imagination had she expected a hostile response from Richard. "You don't understand how the Duke has treated her. You don't see—"
"Silence," he commanded in a strident voice she'd never heard before. "No wife, or any future wife of mine will ever go traipsing off to Italy in such a fashion. Is that understood? I forbid it."
His mention of 'forbid' hit her hard. Since she'd married Lord Dinsmore, she hadn't had to contend with the word. "Your cousin—"
"My cousin was a fool, but even he wouldn't have countenanced such a scheme. So Amy wants to hide her disgrace in Italy? Fine
. Let her go. Send Baker with her, but you, my dear, are staying home."
Flora could hardly breathe, let alone think logically under Richard's wrathful scrutiny. "And if I don't?"
"Then the marriage is off."
Flora stared dumbfounded at her future husband. Where was the merriment in his eyes? His charming smile? This couldn't be happening, but stunned and sickened, she knew it was. Her entire future revolved around this man. She couldn't give him up. But when she thought about poor, desperate Amy, she knew she could give but one answer. "Much as I love you, my obligation to my sister comes first. Under no circumstances would I desert her."
Richard's eyebrows shot up in amazement. He looked positively stunned. "You...you would give me up for that hoyden?"
"Don't you call her names
. Yes, I would."
"Well...well, damnation
." Richard ran his hand nervously through his hair. He pondered a moment before he continued in a quiet, more reasonable voice, "Can't you see this is all a misunderstanding? Perhaps I should have told you, but lately I've been thinking we should throw caution to winds—not wait all those months to be married. Tongues would wag, but what of it?" He gave her a look of heart-rendering tenderness. "Can't you see how desperately I want you? I don't want you going off to Italy, I want you here, as my wife."