"Further words are not necessary," he replied in a frosty voice. "Rest assured, I was not motivated by love but rather a fondness for you, as well as a desire to mitigate some of the heartache my friend has caused."
"I can handle my heartache quite nicely."
"Fine." He opened the door. "My offer stands, in case you change your mind."
"I won't!" she flung at him in a burst of pride.
She waited for Lynd's answer, but after casting a long, compassionate look in her direction, he said nothing more and left abruptly.
* * * *
Flora had barely reached her room when her mother entered, wringing her hands. "Oh, dear, oh, dear," she said, screwing up her face.
"Mama, what is wrong?"
"I fear I told one other person besides Lady Boles. I just remembered."
"Who?" Flora asked, bracing herself for the worst.
"Mrs. Millicent Edwards."
Flora groaned. Mrs. Millicent Edwards was notorious for her love of
on-dit
and her poisonous tongue.
"I'm so sorry, dear. If only I had known. Now Lord Dinsmore has arrived. He's in the library awaiting your answer, which of course must be no."
Flora nodded. "Of course."
"The nerve of the man
," Lady Rensley continued. "And why should you be bothered? I do believe I shall go downstairs and tell him myself."
"No, I shall come down." Flora glanced in the mirror and smoothed the skirt of her rose colored gown. "I must talk to Lord Dinsmore."
Her mother's eyes widened with horror. "You're not thinking...? You wouldn't marry that horrid old wreck of man, would you?"
Flora managed a feeble smile. "He may be an old wreck of a man, as you say, but isn't the rich and titled Hero of Seedaseer the ultimate 'catch'? Wouldn't you want me to marry him, especially now we know the whole story of Lord Dashwood's proposal is out?" She laughed harshly. "The perfect way to quiet people's tongues."
"Absolutely not." Lady Rensley took her daughter's hand. "More than anything, I want you to be happy. I know there have been times when I've pushed you too hard, hoping for a good match, not caring what was in your heart. I was trying to be a good mother and marry you off, but underneath all my silly maneuvering, a tiny, secret part of me has always wanted you never to marry." Lady Rensley put her arms around her daughter and hugged her tight. "I so enjoy your companionship—your wit, your bright smile. I should not complain if you never left home."
"Well, it's nice to know my mother loves me." Flora had tried to sound flippant, but her mother's unexpected kindness suddenly brought a huge lump in her throat and she choked and couldn't talk. She clung to her mother and cried, "My heart is broken, Mama. I thought he loved me. I thought..." She could not hold back the sobs.
For a time her mother silently held her while Amy helplessly patted her arm until her sobs subsided and she dried her eyes. "I am not going to cry anymore," she stated firmly, knowing full well she would.
"I'm glad. He's not worth a broken heart
," her mother replied.
"Trust me, my heart is not broken." But it was. For her mother's sake, she would have to pretend, but she felt hollow inside and doubted she could ever care about anything in her life again.
Her mother remarked, "As I said, you don't have to see Lord Dinsmore. I can go down and talk to him, or your father can. After all, how long does it take to tell him no?"
Flora lifted her chin and drew back her shoulders. "Thank you, but I shall do it myself. After all, he is a hero. I owe him the courtesy of seeing him in person before I give him my refusal."
* * * *
Darkness had fallen. The weak rays from one small lamp provided the only light in the study. In the semi-darkness, she perceived Lord Dinsmore standing by the desk, hands behind his back, waiting to greet her. She dipped a quick curtsey. "Good evening, Lord Dinsmore. Excuse me while I summon a servant to bring us more light."
Dressed in somber black, Lord Dinsmore returned a courtly bow. "Good evening, Lady Flora, shall we leave the light as it is?" He added dryly, "Darkness is my friend these days, for obvious reasons."
She could think of no appropriate answer, so she gestured toward two Roman giltwood chairs placed on either side of the fireplace. "Please, sit down, sir." She was grateful for the semi-darkness. Despite warning herself to be tolerant, she hated the thought of once again having to look upon his grotesque face.
When they were seated, he wasted no time in saying, "You know I have asked for your hand?"
She had to bite her lip to stop the rush of anguished words. What happened to Richard? Why did he jilt me? Why are you trying to take his place? But she must refrain from honestly expressing herself. It was one of her mother's lectures:
one must maintain one's decorum at all costs
. She took a deep, careful breath and replied, "I am aware you spoke to my father." Although holding herself in tight reign, she allowed herself to fling out her hands and inquire, "Why on earth do you wish to marry me?"
"Many reasons."
How dare he smugly ask for her hand when her heart was broken and her whole world had just fallen apart? "If you're trying to save me from the embarrassment of being jilted by your heir, you're too late, the word is out. There will be a storm of humiliating gossip, I've no doubt. Rest assured, though, I am strong." She managed a wry smile at the pun she was about to make. "I shall weather the storm." Thus far, she'd managed to keep the bitterness from her voice, but she finally succumbed. "At least the banns weren't posted. Think what a lucky girl I am. What a—"
Entirely beyond her volition, she choked and her voice broke into a sob. Oh, and she hadn't wanted to cry in front of the Hero of Seedaseer
. At least she'd brought a handkerchief along. She dabbed her eyes and said in a tear-smothered voice, "My apologies. Give me a moment and I shall be fine."
He bent forward earnestly, his one good eye intense upon her. "My dear young lady, I am mortified at what my young cousin has done. You must believe me, he was not raised to behave in such a dishonorable fashion. It is beyond me to fathom..." At a loss, he slowly shook his head, seeming genuinely concerned. "Richard spent much of his childhood at Pemberly Manor. He was almost like a son to me. Despite his shortcomings, I held every hope that when he grew to manhood..." His expression held a note of mockery. "How could he have become such a selfish, vainglorious fop?"
"No," she cried, her heart swelling with resentment, "you must not say those terrible things about him."
"What's this?" Lord Dinsmore looked at her askance. "You still defend him? After what he's done to you?"
She, herself, was astonished at her outburst. "I...I hardly know, but I surely don't hate Lord Dashwood or wish him ill. I cannot fathom why he reneged on his proposal. Perhaps he had good reason."
"If you call the Countess de Clairmont and her newly found fortune a good reason
." Dinsmore leaned forward. "It pains me deeply to say this, but my cousin is a money-grubbing scoundrel. You must forget about him."
"And marry you?" she asked, unable to keep an edge of scorn and disbelief from her voice.
"Yes."
"And why should I do that?" She raised her chin proudly. "I am hardly an object of pity, so if you think you must make up for Lord Dashwood's disgraceful behavior by marrying me, I assure you, your sacrifice is not necessary. I shall do very nicely, thank you."
He ignored her scornful reply. "There are several reasons why I think marriage would be good for both of us. Will you do me the courtesy of hearing me out?"
She shrugged. How futile this all was. "Why not? Do go on. I have all the time in the world."
He thoughtfully began, "When I met you last night at Vauxhall Gardens I was most impressed. Not only did I find you charming, your knowledge of military history amazed me."
"Oh, I'm sure of it," she cuttingly replied, "coming from a mere woman."
"Frankly, yes. And our short meeting made me realize how lonely I have been these past few years."
"Have you been a widower long?"
"Ten years now. My wife died young, only forty-nine.
"How tragic."
"She was a good woman. I loved her dearly."
"But weren't you away in the army, fighting battles most of the time?"
"You must understand, I've been a military man all my life, unaccustomed to drawing room manners. Matter of fact, I cannot abide the idle chatter our society values so highly."
"Neither can I," she said, smiling ruefully.
"You said last night you were tired of being considered a—I believe the words were used were 'flighty London belle.'"
"That's true."
"Then don't be. You like horses, don't you?"
"They are my passion, although..." she hated to confess it "...I am not allowed to ride except old nags. Too dangerous, my mother says."
"Then I suspect you would blossom at Pemberly Manor. I've been raising thoroughbreds these past few years since my retirement. You could ride any time you liked—have your own horse, naturally. If you wished to entertain, we are equipped to do so with the finest china, silver, crystal—that sort of thing. You could be the most celebrated hostess in all England, if you so desired. Or, if you prefer a simple, quiet life, you could have that, too. Just think, you could ride when you pleased—stay in the saddle all day if you liked. Did you know a good-sized river winds through my estate? Bordered by many acres of deep woods, by the way, full of riding trails. Peace . . quiet . . no gossiping tongues, none of the endless back-biting and social climbing one finds in London."
Gossiping tongues
. She hated the thought of how they were going to wag with the delicious news of the high-and-mighty Lady Flora's downfall. How wonderful it would be to get away from all those members of the
ton
who would soon be ripping her to shreds, crying false tears of pity for her plight.
"Doesn't being your own mistress appeal to you?" A little smile played on
Dinsmore’s lips, as if to say,
I know I'm tempting you
. "Or would you prefer to live under your parents' thumb the rest of your life? Or at least until you marry." He shrugged. "But then, who knows? You might succumb to one of those perfumed London dandies after all."
"Highly unlikely
. If I married anybody
—" it would be Lord Lynd
, she'd almost said. Thank heaven, she'd stopped herself in time. Lynd had made it perfectly clear he didn't love her and had proposed only out of pity. Pride alone would prevent her from ever admitting to Lynd she'd made a mistake.
"Well, then... ?" Lord Dinsmore sat comfortably at ease, awaiting her answer.
She remembered the countless whispered stories she had heard about cruel, wife-beating husbands. "I don't know you well, sir. How do I know you're not some sort of tyrant?"
He appeared to smother a smile. "In the heat of battle, I have killed or maimed more men than I care to think about, but I have never raised my hand to a woman and never shall."
Why am I asking all these questions?
she wondered. It was almost as if she were considering the man's proposal. It dawned on her that perhaps she was. Lord Dinsmore had made his proposal most tempting, all the more so because she was beginning to see how vital was her need to escape London's wagging tongues. How wonderful it would be to find peace and the solitude she yearned for on a remote estate where she could spend her days riding her very own horse through the woods, by a river. But on the other hand...
A horrible thought struck her. Despite her abysmal ignorance concerning certain facets of married life, she knew enough to realize she'd be sharing the same bed with this disfigured man and doing what married people did. No, she couldn't
. The very thought was repulsive.
Dinsmore said offhandedly, "By the way, to be perfectly fair, I must warn you we would not be having children."
"What do you mean?" she asked warily.
"I mean exactly what I said. We won't be having any."
Had he read her mind? She felt the start of a blush. There was only one way she knew of that she could not have children and that was—
"I am aware what I look like," he said with a patient smile. "We shall be beauty and the beast, only be assured, this beast will never force himself upon you. We shall occupy separate bed chambers."
There was only one thing he could mean. She felt herself turn crimson. She knew very little of what she and Amy furtively referred to as "that part of a marriage." Their parents maintained a stony silence on the subject. What paltry information they had gleaned came mostly from whispered hints from their married friends. Also, though she would never admit it, she had put two and two together from watching animals, like horses, in the fields. Although how human beings could possibly...oh! She had an urge to avert her eyes and duck her head, but vowed she would not. To cover her embarrassment, she said, "You do understand, I do not love you and never shall."
He laughed. "I never for a moment thought you would."