"Indeed, Mama," Flora answered exuberantly. She had attended the gardens several times, thoroughly enjoying the fairyland spectacle of walkways lined with tall trees, incredible numbers of globe lamps casting a myriad of lights, glorious music, the Chinese Pavilion, fountains, dancing, entertainment, fireworks, and patrons beautifully dressed. But tonight held a special magic. Never had she felt more thrilled as she strolled past the statue of Handel, toward the amphitheater in the middle of the garden, her hand lightly resting on Lord Dashwood's arm. Never had she felt so happy, so gloriously alive.
"You look beautiful," Lord Dashwood whispered in her ear, bending intimately close.
"And you look marvelously handsome, sir," she lightly replied, giving a silent thanks to Baker who had spent diligent hours dressing her in a pale green crepe gown, worn over white satin. It had white crape long sleeves, and was ornamented around the bottom with an applique of white satin decorated with crescents of flowers. Baker had arranged her hair in a simple but elegant style, curled in ringlets around her face and in back, very full curls confined with a pearl comb. Pearl earrings, white kid gloves, white satin shoes with gold rosettes completed her outfit. Flora knew she looked her best.
Lord Dashwood spoke again. "I've a feeling this will be a special night." He took her gloved hand and lightly ran his finger across the back, causing a wild current of desire to run through her veins. "Very special. I warn you, my beautiful Lady Flora, I plan to get you alone."
She felt such joy she could hardly contain herself, but managed to whisper back, "But you know such conduct is not appropriate."
He squeezed her hand. "Who cares what's appropriate when one is in love?"
He loved her. He had said so. Throughout the early evening, as Flora, her parents, sister, and Lord Dashwood dined in one of the small booths in the middle of the garden, Flora was so excited she lost her usually healthy appetite.
"Are you not feeling well?" inquired Lady Rensley, pointing to Flora's untouched plate of thinly sliced ham, assorted biscuits, fruits, sweetmeats and cheese cake.
"Perhaps it's the excitement, Mama."
"And no wonder," helpful Amy exclaimed. "Just think, an orchestra with over a hundred musicians
. All that music, dancing, fireworks—" she slanted a knowing glance at her sister "—almost too much to bear, isn't it, Flora?"
"Oh, indeed, I..." There was a stir in the crowd. Flora saw that everyone was looking toward the entrance.
Lady Rensley remarked, "Someone important must be coming. Prinny, do you suppose? Or...oh, look!"
"It's my cousin and Lord Lynd," said Lord Dashwood. He arose from the table as they all did. "High time you met the old gentleman. Be prepared for...well, you'll see."
Chapter 6
Looking toward the entryway, Flora recognized Lord Lynd, who was following an older man resplendently attired in a uniform consisting of white breeches, red jacket abundantly decorated with gold braid, plumed hat, and a sword at his side. A swelling murmur arose from the crowd, then swelling applause and warmly shouted greetings as the Hero of Seedaseer acknowledged the crowd with a modest wave and small nod. He paused, and with the utmost equanimity took his time to gaze about the amphitheater. Not until he spotted Dashwood and started toward their booth did Flora perceive he walked with a decided limp and leaned heavily on a cane. Despite his affliction, he had a regal bearing about him, a spring of confidence in his step. Lord Dashwood was wrong. His appellation of "old gentleman" simply did not fit. Unlike her father, this man was not bald-headed, nor all soft and out of shape. Rather, he was lean and sinewy. Not only that, even though he was sixty at least, there was an alertness about him, and a toughness she could sense from clear across the room.
Her mother nudged her. "Don't flinch when you meet the man. He's not a pretty sight."
As Lord Dinsmore drew closer, Flora saw that a black eyepatch covered his left eye. There was something about his face...
how awful
. Flora fought to hide her revulsion, but it was hard not to react to the first startling sight of the hideous scar that cut a jagged, puckered path from the corner of Dinsmore's good eye, down his cheek, to the bottom of his chin. It was the ugliest scar she had ever seen. To make matters worse, his deeply tanned face was a weather-worn map of deep wrinkles, no doubt a permanent reminder of his arduous life in the military.
So grotesque
. She was truly taken aback, but because of all the warnings, she managed to keep her own face a mask. When Lord Dashwood greeted his illustrious cousin and began the introductions, she put on her most pleasant smile.
"I am so delighted to meet you, sir," she recited with great aplomb. She bobbed her best curtsey, proud she hadn't flinched at the sight of the man's disfigurement or shown her horrified reaction in the slightest way. "I have heard so many wonderful things about you."
"Have you now?" Lord Dinsmore asked in a deep, resonant voice that was polite enough, yet contained an acerbic edge. He did not smile in return. The piercing gaze from his one good eye drilled into her, sending a message that clearly read,
Beware, I do not tolerate pity
.
She suddenly felt gauche, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Indeed I have, sir," she answered, not quite as confident as before. She plunged ahead. "Who has not heard of your heroic feats in India at the battles of Seedaseer and...uh, Argaum."
"I did not fight at Argaum," Lord Dinsmore stated, regarding her with a granite-eyed stare. "That was Wellington."
"Oh, of course not, it was..." Her mind went blank. Panic swept through her. Frantically she searched her memory for the correct name of the battle. "Uh..." Damnation
. What was it?
"Assaye," supplied Lord Dinsmore, his one eye examining her as if she were utterly witless and had just crawled out from under a rock.
"Oh, yes, Assaye," she answered, feeling the complete fool. She had wanted Lord Dashwood's cousin to like her, but, alas, she'd gotten off to a terrible start.
As introductions were made all around, Flora caught Lord Lynd's eyes upon her. Such kind eyes
. She was glad he was there. She dropped a curtsey and murmured, "Lord Lynd, how delightful to see you again."
An expression of surprise, mixed with amusement, crossed his face. She had no idea why. He bowed, and said with a wry smile, "And I
, you, Lady Flora. How delightful you remembered my name."
For an instant the smile intrigued her, but her attention quickly returned to her gaffe with Lord Dinsmore. "I hope I didn't offend him," she whispered to Lord Lynd.
"The man has been through the horrors of war countless times," Lynd whispered back. "It's not likely he would fly into a pet over a young lady's momentary lapse of memory."
"Er, Hrrumph
," began her father as he addressed Lord Dinsmore. "We are honored, sir, to be in the presence of one of England's greatest heroes. Such gallantry as yours—"
"My days of glory are long gone, Rensley." Dinsmore had broken in so brusquely
that Lord Rensley was visibly taken aback. With a cynical laugh, Dinsmore continued, "Take a good look. Do you see a bloody hero standing before you or do you see a crippled, half-blind old man?"
"'Pon my word, I see a hero," exclaimed Lord Rensley in a reverent, ringing tone that made Flora proud. Her father wasn't perfect, but he never allowed himself to be intimidated and always stood up for what he thought was right. "All England owes you its gratitude," her father went on. "Once a hero, always a hero, sir. Nothing will change that."
Dinsmore appeared to concede, or at least not argue, and awarded her father a mocking bow. "Then I accept your accolade, sir, and offer my apologies. My public appearances are few these days, and my social skills rusty."
"Lord Dinsmore was never one for public gatherings," contributed Lord Dashwood, who had not lost his composure in the slightest, despite his cousin's brusque behavior.
Lady Rensley, looking definitely uncomfortable, said to her husband, "Shall we take a stroll?"
"Of course, my dear, we shall go directly
."
"We'll come with you," Lord Dashwood said.
Good
, thought Flora. She would love to take a stroll with Lord Dashwood and in the process get away from his abrasive father. War hero or no, Lord Dinsmore was making her feel horribly uncomfortable.
To her astonishment, Lord Dashwood turned to Amy.
"May I escort you, Lady Amy?" He flicked a glance at Flora. "We shall give Lord Dinsmore and Lady Flora a chance to become better acquainted."
Flora was assailed by a rush of mixed feelings as her sister nodded a yes. How wonderful that Lord Dashwood wanted her to become better acquainted with the man who had practically raised him
. That could mean only one thing. Still, she watched, dismayed, as everyone left. Even Lord Lynd moved away, leaving her alone with this singular man, one of England's greatest heroes, to whom, at the moment she could think of nothing to say.
She stood nonplused before she remembered her manners. "Won't you sit down, Lord Dinsmore? We have finished eating, but I'm sure the warder can bring—"
"Not necessary. I wanted to have a word with you. It shouldn't take long." Dinsmore slid his cane under the table, sat down, and motioned for her to sit.
As she did so, she decided that first she would further apologize. "I regret I forgot the name of the battle. Call it a momentary slip. I know that battle very well."
"Do you now." Lord Dinsmore raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I would have thought well-brought-up young ladies confined themselves to the study of watercolors, music and the like, not bloody battlefields."
"I am the despair of my mother," she replied with a smile, making light of it, and proceeded to describe the Battle of Assaye in some detail, ending with, "You led your battalion through the thick black jungles of the Coorga Country, into the jaws of battle. Eighteen thousand of the Tippoo Sultan's best troops opposed you, led by the Sultan himself. But did you retreat? No
. You bravely stayed the course and won the battle, and then..."
By the time she finished, Dinsmore's face had lost its skepticism. He looked impressed. "Is that the only battle you are familiar with?"
She had not meant to show off her considerable knowledge of England's greatest battles, but being a student of history would surely not hurt her at this point. When she mentioned Waterloo, they engaged in a lively discussion concerning the tactics of Napoleon. Minutes went by in which she enjoyed herself thoroughly, almost forgetting the importance of making a good impression on the esteemed cousin of the man she adored. She even grew accustomed to the awful scar. Somehow, after she'd been looking directly at it for a while, she forgot how horrible it was.
He said finally, "I admire your knowledge of military history, Lady Flora. It is indeed a pleasant surprise to meet a London belle who has something on her mind besides herself."
"I grow tired of being considered a flighty London belle, sir," she said, none too kindly. "I do have a mind."
"It is obvious you do, and a keen one
. Now, since time is short, we must get down to business, but I trust that some day soon we shall talk history again." His one good eye assessed her boldly. "As you may know, I have acted as guardian and mentor to Lord Dashwood since his parents died. I feel more like a father to him than a cousin and thus am always concerned for his welfare. He has expressed an interest in you. Tell me frankly, what do you think of him?"
Where were his manners? His directness was making her distinctly uncomfortable. Still, he was Lord Dashwood's distinguished cousin, obviously concerned, and she would grow to love him and always be exceedingly polite. "I love Lord Dashwood, sir, with all my heart."
He looked skeptical. "No man is perfect, including Richard. So tell me, what do you love about him?" Dinsmore signaled a waiter. "Bring me a brandy. Something for you, my dear?" She shook her head. "I'm waiting." He sat back expectantly.
Certain she was on sure ground, she plunged ahead with great enthusiasm. "I love him for his sunny disposition, his noble demeanor, his impeccable manners, the way he dresses—always so well tailored, his cravat perfectly tied, and...and..." As she talked, she'd noticed Dinsmore's mouth slowly curve into a faint, disbelieving smile. "You don't believe me?"
"You seem to be an intelligent young woman," Dinsmore replied, "and yet...well tailored? Impeccable manners? Are those your measurements of a man? I find it strange that those frivolous traits are the ones you appear to deem most important."
She immediately saw where she had erred most grievously. "Oh, but there are other things, too
. Lord Dashwood is honorable, trustworthy, dependable, truthful..." As she searched for more metaphors he regarded her oddly. She glanced down. Oh, dear. In her zeal, she had clutched his arm and still gripped it tightly, her white-gloved fingers resting in stark contrast to the scarlet of his sleeve. What was she thinking of? she wondered, quite horrified that she had possessed the temerity to touch the aloof, untouchable Hero of Seedaseer. Yet another
faux pas
. She withdrew her hand, as fast as if she'd been touching a hot coal. "My apologies. I didn't mean—"
"Don't apologize." After a silence, he said in an odd but gentle tone, "It's not often a beautiful young woman touches me without flinching."
For a moment his poignant words left her speechless. What was she supposed to say?
"You needn't say anything," he replied as if he'd read her mind. "I am more aware of my disfigurement than you. I know how horrified you must be, sitting there, having to act polite when all the time you wish you could avert your eyes."
"But..." She paused to get her words right, knowing she must be scrupulously honest. This man was much too perceptive for any kind of flattery, fancy words, or half truths. "I cannot deny you have a disfigurement, but as I sat here talking to you, it faded in importance. I truly mean that."
Lord Dinsmore was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his mocking tone had vanished. "I can see you are sincere."
"Of course I am sincere." How could he think she was not? But before she could ask, her family returned, along with Lord Dashwood. The music began and he asked her to dance.
No sooner was she in his arms, away from the booth, when he inquired, "So what do you think of Lord Dinsmore?"
"He's rather strange, but I like him."
Lord Dashwood smiled. "That's good, considering..." He glanced around. They were on the opposite side of the dance floor, out of sight of her family. He stopped dancing but kept hold of her hand. "Quick, come, we are going for a stroll."