A Heart in Flight (15 page)

“Very well. Shall we finish Mrs. Shelley’s
Frankenstein!”

“Yes.” Phoebe settled herself comfortably. But Aurelia had only just picked up the book when Phoebe jumped to her feet. “I can’t do it,” she cried. “I simply can’t do it!”

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t let you forget about The Plan.”

Aurelia frowned. “I told you. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

“But one final rescue ... That’s all you need. I’m sure we could arrange it.”

“Phoebe.” Aurelia looked her friend straight in the eye. “Listen to me carefully. His last rescue of us nearly cost me the Earl’s friendship. He’s only just getting back to his usual self.”

“But you know it’s always after the last and biggest rescue that the hero declares himself.”

Aurelia drew herself up. It didn’t make her any taller than Phoebe, but she hoped it impressed her friend. “Phoebe, I mean what I say. No more rescues.”

Phoebe sighed.  “Very well. But with two balloons ...”

“Phoebe!”

Phoebe stopped before her, her eyes pleading. “Please, just listen to me. It’s a perfect Pl—— It’s perfect. You challenge him to a race. His hot-air balloon against your gas one. You both go up. You have difficulties and come down. He comes down after you, rescues you, and asks the question.”

Aurelia shook her bead. “No, no, and no! One more rescue and the Earl will send me back to London.”

Phoebe tossed her curls. “Well, it’s an excellent Plan. I cannot for the life of me see why you want to forsake it.”

Aurelia made no reply. She had already explained herself in great detail—and more than once. There remained nothing more to be said.

Phoebe took another turn around the room. “Oh, Aurelia, it’s just so aggravating. I know Harold wants to ask me, but I can’t get him to do it.”

Aurelia opened the book. “Patience, Phoebe. However hard it is, we must have patience.” And, feeling that she would never really be patient again, she began to read.

Downstairs, the Earl shook the rain from his hair and sank into a chair. His eyes lit on the Turner painting above the mantel. What interesting effects the man could achieve working with sunlight on water. He frowned. But fond as he was of painting, at the moment he was far more interested in the effects of sunlight on a certain golden head.

Her hair gleamed like—burnished gold. His frown deepened. He disliked the avaricious element of the comparison. Aurelia Amesley and gold were far different. Aurelia was warm and giving. Gold was cold and uncaring. But, he reminded himself, gold was, at least, stable. It did not ...

“Ranny? You got a minute?”

Aurelia’s cousin paused in the doorway, his face all anxiety.

“Yes, Harold. Come in.”

Harold came in, but he seemed unable to stand still. He fidgeted first on one foot and then on the other. He pulled at his waistcoat and then on his cuffs.

“Yes?” Ranfield asked.

“I ... Ah ...”

“For heaven’s sake man, get on with it.”

“It’s ... It’s Phoebe.”

Ranfield swallowed a chuckle. So Harold had at last been brought to the question. “Yes?”

“I ... We ... That is ... Confound it, Ranny. How do I ask her?”

Ranfield pretended ignorance. “Ask her what?”

“You know. Be my wife and all that.”

Ranfield allowed himself a small smile. “You just ask her. And forget about the all that.”

“But ... But what if she says no?”

Ranfield adjusted his cuff. “You’ll never know till you’ve tried.”

Harold paled, his freckles standing out.

“ ‘Fraid I’m doing this all wrong. Ought to be asking your permission, not your directions.”

Ranfield chuckled. “It’s all right, Harold. I don’t imagine you have much practice at this sort of thing.”

Harold’s eyes widened. “Practice! Lord, no! Never thought of getting hitched before. Wouldn’t think of it now, except ...”

Ranfield sighed. “Except you can’t think-about living without her,”

Harold grinned. “By Jove. How’d you know?”

Ranfield smoothed his cravat. “The symptoms of love are common, Harold. They afflict everyone in the same way.”

Harold nodded. “Spose so. Though it don’t seem likely anyone else could feel this good.” He paused. “There’s one thing bothers me though.  Her mama ... She don’t like me one bit.”

Ranfield frowned. That was true enough. Cousin Prudence was going to fly up in the boughs about this. And calming her would be a tricky business.

Harold yanked at his waistcoat again. “She can’t stop us, can she?”

“No, Harold. I’m Phoebe’s guardian. But give her mama some time. Try to get her to come round.”

He was afraid it was going to take more time than any of them had, but Harold could at least try.

“So, when are you planning to ask Phoebe?”

“I ain’t sure. Soon as I can get my nerve up.”

Ranfield nodded. “Good.”

“But if she says no ...”

“It’s best to know the truth.”

“Spose you’re right,” Harold said, turning to leave. “Spose you’re right.”

The Earl sighed. Too bad he wasn’t intelligent enough to take his own advice. Was it really because of Aurelia’s mishaps that he had put off asking her? After all, those did seem to be over. Or was it because he was afraid to hear her answer?

It hardly seemed possible that she would turn him down. But there was that statement she’d made that day in the
Minerva
when she’d told him quite plainly that she didn’t desire his company. And she did not give him any of the signals he was accustomed to getting from women. He could cope with society misses who said one thing and meant quite another. He could easily interpret their sighs and smiles, their fluttering lashes and downcast eyes.

But Aurelia was different. There was no artifice about her. From her a friendly smile was just that—a friendly smile. And yet it could mean much. Or it could mean nothing. And he was forever trying to figure it out.

He frowned and got to his feet. Botheration! He should bring himself to the sticking point. Ask the question and have done with it.

But when they gathered in the drawing room for tea later that afternoon, he was still undecided. And, from the absence of joy on Phoebe’s face, it appeared Harold had not yet gotten to the question either.

Aurelia’s uncle came in and took a chair. He was beaming in satisfaction. “Good workmen you’ve got,” he said. “Our balloon is in tiptop shape.”

“When are you taking her up?”

“Tomorrow morning, if the weather clears. Harold will take her. Just for a short hop. It takes such a while to fill the balloon. Time-consuming, it is, making the hydrogen gas.”

“But it’s better than hot air,” Aurelia said, coming into the room.

Her uncle nodded. “Of course, my dear.”

And the two of them were off. Ranfield listened with half an ear. He was far more occupied with looking than with listening. Aurelia was wearing a creation of lavender and pink that set off her color admirably, and her hair was piled on her head, cascading in curls from a center part. He suppressed a longing to wrap one golden curl around his linger.

Phoebe approached him. “Ranfield?”

He tore his eyes away from Aurelia. “Yes?”

“Have you noticed anything different about Mama?”

He considered this. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Well, I have. She’s acting strangely.”

He gave Phoebe his attention. She really did look concerned. “Do you think she’s ill?”

“I don’t know. She’s just strange.”

Could Cousin Prudence have guessed what was coming? He didn’t want to tip Harold’s hand. “Perhaps it’s just the press of extra work. With our guests and all.”

“Perhaps,” Phoebe said, but she looked doubtful.

She moved away then, back to stand by Harold. And her mama entered with the tea things.

Ranfield considered his cousin. She did not look ill. Her cheeks were their usual healthy pink, and her eyes were clear. But Phoebe was right. Her mama was not her usual self.

For one thing, she didn’t move with the same brisk motion. And for another, she muttered not a single imprecation against the Devil’s contrivance.

He shook his head. This rain was making them all daft. They were imagining things. Cousin Prudence was probably just having an off day.

“Come,” he said, moving toward the table. “Let us have tea. Cousin Prudence, will you pour?”

Chapter Fifteen

The next Monday, they went to the meadow so that Uncle Arthur and Harold could test the hot-air balloon. Though it meant rising very early, Phoebe and Aurelia had insisted on being included in the excursion.

Standing there, in the early morning glow, Aurelia felt the beauty of the scene around her. A light dew sprinkled the grass and sparkled on the leaves. The world was pristine and new. And beside her stood the man ...

“They’re certainly up high enough,” Ranfield remarked.

Aurelia nodded. She didn’t know how Harold had persuaded Uncle Arthur to let Phoebe go up. She could understand him letting her go in the hot-air balloon. After all, it was Ranfield’s and fuel for it was cheap. But hydrogen gas was an expensive commodity. And Uncle Arthur was not a man given to waste.

She stilled a sigh. She had half-hoped to go on this flight herself. A little time up there might help her, though temporarily, to forget the problems of her earth-bound existence.

“Disappointed?” asked the Earl.

She turned to him. “Yes. A little. The world looks so beautiful this morning. But I am glad Phoebe will get to see it from up there.”

His smile was wry. “Providing she looks.”

“How could she not ...” The memory of his arms around her, his mouth on hers, rose to her mind. She flushed and went silent. Were Harold and Phoebe kissing up there? It was hard to imagine Harold engaged in such a pursuit, especially in a balloon. But she had to admit that, though unlikely, it was possible.

“So,” inquired Ranfield. “Do you still hold that gas is better than hot air?”

“Of course.” She looked at him in surprise. “Why should I change my mind about a thing like that?”

“Why indeed.” He looked at her closely. “Do you find that you often change your mind?”

He asked the question with such seriousness that she paused to consider her answer. “I ... No, I suppose I do not. And assuredly not about something this important.”

“I see.”

He sighed and his expression was almost melancholy. Whatever was he thinking now? Surely the man couldn’t be upset because she espoused hydrogen gas over hot air. She had done that all along. But then what was bothering him?

“What ...”she was just beginning. Then down from the heavens came a great shout.

Aurelia looked skyward in alarm. Whatever could be wrong? But everything seemed in order. The balloon looked fine, and Harold and Phoebe were leaning over the side of the gondola, waving handkerchiefs. They were too far up to see their faces properly. But waving handkerchiefs was not a signal of distress.

“What are they yelling about?” Aurelia mused, only half aloud.

“I believe,” said Ranfield in that dry tone he sometimes used, “that they have decided to join forces.”

“Join forces?”

He nodded. “I believe Harold has just proposed marriage. But see, they are coming down and will tell us themselves.”

Before the balloon was properly tethered, Phoebe was scrambling over the side. “Oh, Aurelia!” she cried. “It’s happened! I’m to be Mrs. Harold Amesley.”

To her complete surprise, Aurelia found her eyes filling with tears. “How very wonderful,” she said. “I’m so happy for you.”

With Phoebe’s arms around her, Aurelia blinked away the tears. Phoebe, at least, had achieved her ends. And no matter what, she and Aurelia would now be connected. This thought was not as comforting as she might have hoped, and she was forced to blink still more.

Then Harold was hugging her. “I’m so lucky,” he said, his face one big smile. “Just think. Phoebe likes it up there. She really likes it.”

Aurelia swallowed a laugh. How like Harold to think of ballooning even now. And how fortunate that Phoebe shared his interest. “I am so happy for you,” she repeated. Harold hugged her again and moved away.

And then she found herself facing Ranfield. Phoebe and Harold, engrossed in hugging each other, saw nothing around them. And when the Earl stepped forward and put his arms around her, Aurelia did not demur.

“A congratulatory hug seems to be in order,” he whispered, “now that we are to be related.”

His nearness made her quite light-headed, and her knees had taken on a distressing tendency to go limp as a deflated balloon. “Yes,” she murmured, wondering if she dared cling to him for support. But that might well be misconstrued. “Yes, it is wonderful to see them so happy.”

Was she imagining it or had she actually felt his lips brush her ear? Her heart went off into a wild dance, and she struggled to keep her expression calm. Since he was now setting her from him, she must be careful not to give away her feelings. The Earl might well mean to show only friendliness. Were not
tonnish
people always kissing and embracing?

“I must ask you to hold off setting a date,” the Earl said to the happy pair.

Phoebe’s expression of joy vanished and Harold frowned. “Why?” he asked.

“I want you to bring Phoebe’s mama round to your way of thinking. You’ll have no end of trouble if you don’t.”

Aurelia conceded the wisdom of this. But she saw no way Cousin Prudence could be persuaded. Harold would not—could not—give up air flight. And Cousin Prudence was so strongly against it.

“So, Mama,” Phoebe said some time later as they faced her mama in the kitchen. “Harold has asked me to marry him.”

The two young people clung to each other’s hands. Aurelia could understand why—Cousin Prudence was no mean adversary.

For a moment after the revelation, Phoebe’s mama stood stock still. Nothing about her moved, but her face grew redder and redder until Aurelia feared some sort of medical mishap.

And then the dam burst. Phoebe’s mama rounded on Harold. “You misbegotten son of a ...”

“Mama!”

Phoebe’s mama swung to her. “Quiet, young woman! How dare you? You know how I feel about air flight.” She shoved at the spectacles that threatened to slip off the end of her nose. “It’s the work of the Devil. And you want to marry This ... this popinjay.”