Read Online Lady Flora's Fantasy by Shirley Kennedy - Free Book Online
Authors: Shirley Kennedy
Tags: Trad-Reg
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out of the corner of her eye. Lord Lynd had her full attention.
"It's a matter of spittle," Lynd said, mischief in his eyes. "I shall not go further. Far be it from me to offend your delicate sensibilities."
She glanced around to make sure none of the chaperones overheard before she firmly declared, "Blast my delicate sensibilities. Rest assured, I shan't faint over spittle."
"Akers had his teeth filed so he could expel his spittle between them, in the true fashion of our most distinguished stagecoach drivers."
She burst into laughter, her first of the night. "Much as I'd love driving four-in-hand, I'm not sure I would go to that extreme."
An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps you shouldn't. As enchanting as I find you, I might be a tad put off if I saw you spitting between your filed front teeth."
"Then, alas, I fear I must forgo the filing," she replied with a light laugh. Lord Lynd really was amusing. She'd hardly noticed him before, but now...she looked up into his craggy face with the crooked nose—well, only slightly crooked—and decided he wasn't bad looking by half, and most interesting, too, with a wicked sense of humor.
"Good evening, Lady Flora"
Lord Dashwood .
Flora’s knees went wobbly. She had to catch her breath. She snapped open her fan and inhaled a big gulp of air, anything to disguise the dizzying constriction of her heart at the sight of him. "Why, Lord Dashwood, how delightful to see you again."
He held out his arms to her. "Shall we dance?"
"I would love to." On a cloud of bliss, without a backward glance, she floated into his arms. The orchestra struck up a waltz as they started around the dance floor. As they danced, he gazed into her eyes, as if she were the only girl in the world. "I've thought of you many times," he murmured. "Would have come to London sooner, but certain matters delayed me."
"Oh, have you not been here?" she inquired, all innocence. "Pon my soul, I have been so wrapped up with the Season, I didn't notice."
"Then it appears I have my work cut out for me." He bent scandalously close. "Take notice, Lady Flora. From now on my chief goal will be to make you notice me." He squeezed her hand and looked deep into her eyes. "Surely you have not forgotten Brighton."
Flora was so stunned with delight her facade of indifference instantly fell away. For a moment she could not speak over the lump of excitement that formed in her throat. Finally, willing her voice not to shake, she managed, "Of course I haven't."
He pressed closer still. Surely by now the chaperones would be noticing this flagrant breach of propriety, but she carefully didn't look their way to find out.
"My sweet Aphrodite," he whispered in her ear, "my powerful enchantress, I remember every moment of Brighton."
In her flummoxed state, feeling his body close against her, she could only think to say, "Oh, really?"
Completely composed, he answered, "In Euripides' Medea the chorus sings, 'May you never launch at me, Lady of Cyprus, your passion-poisoned arrows, which no man can avoid.'" He pulled back and gave her a smile so oozing with warmth and charm she thought she might swoon on the spot. "You see what you've done to me?"
She started to answer, but he pressed a gentle finger to her lips. "No, not a word more tonight, my sea goddess. I cannot bear such loveliness. I must leave."
The music stopped. His face became impassive as he pulled away, led her back to Lady Rensley, bowed and departed.
She wanted to cry after him, But aren't we going to dance again? but contained herself and managed to remain silent as she watched his massively broad shoulders disappear.
There was a stir in the crowd. Flora watched curiously as a beautiful woman, dressed to the nines, more or less floated into the ballroom, escorted by two of London's leading dandies. "Who is she?" Flora asked.
"She's the Countess Marie-Elizabeth de Clairmont," Lady Constance Boles volunteered. "From France, although I hardly
"It's a matter of spittle," Lynd said, mischief in his eyes. "I shall not go further. Far be it from me to offend your delicate sensibilities."
She glanced around to make sure none of the chaperones overheard before she firmly declared, "Blast my delicate sensibilities. Rest assured, I shan't faint over spittle."
"Akers had his teeth filed so he could expel his spittle between them, in the true fashion of our most distinguished stagecoach drivers."
She burst into laughter, her first of the night. "Much as I'd love driving four-in-hand, I'm not sure I would go to that extreme."
An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps you shouldn't. As enchanting as I find you, I might be a tad put off if I saw you spitting between your filed front teeth."
"Then, alas, I fear I must forgo the filing," she replied with a light laugh. Lord Lynd really was amusing. She'd hardly noticed him before, but now...she looked up into his craggy face with the crooked nose—well, only slightly crooked—and decided he wasn't bad looking by half, and most interesting, too, with a wicked sense of humor.
"Good evening, Lady Flora"
Lord Dashwood .
Flora’s knees went wobbly. She had to catch her breath. She snapped open her fan and inhaled a big gulp of air, anything to disguise the dizzying constriction of her heart at the sight of him. "Why, Lord Dashwood, how delightful to see you again."
He held out his arms to her. "Shall we dance?"
"I would love to." On a cloud of bliss, without a backward glance, she floated into his arms. The orchestra struck up a waltz as they started around the dance floor. As they danced, he gazed into her eyes, as if she were the only girl in the world. "I've thought of you many times," he murmured. "Would have come to London sooner, but certain matters delayed me."
"Oh, have you not been here?" she inquired, all innocence. "Pon my soul, I have been so wrapped up with the Season, I didn't notice."
"Then it appears I have my work cut out for me." He bent scandalously close. "Take notice, Lady Flora. From now on my chief goal will be to make you notice me." He squeezed her hand and looked deep into her eyes. "Surely you have not forgotten Brighton."
Flora was so stunned with delight her facade of indifference instantly fell away. For a moment she could not speak over the lump of excitement that formed in her throat. Finally, willing her voice not to shake, she managed, "Of course I haven't."
He pressed closer still. Surely by now the chaperones would be noticing this flagrant breach of propriety, but she carefully didn't look their way to find out.
"My sweet Aphrodite," he whispered in her ear, "my powerful enchantress, I remember every moment of Brighton."
In her flummoxed state, feeling his body close against her, she could only think to say, "Oh, really?"
Completely composed, he answered, "In Euripides' Medea the chorus sings, 'May you never launch at me, Lady of Cyprus, your passion-poisoned arrows, which no man can avoid.'" He pulled back and gave her a smile so oozing with warmth and charm she thought she might swoon on the spot. "You see what you've done to me?"
She started to answer, but he pressed a gentle finger to her lips. "No, not a word more tonight, my sea goddess. I cannot bear such loveliness. I must leave."
The music stopped. His face became impassive as he pulled away, led her back to Lady Rensley, bowed and departed.
She wanted to cry after him, But aren't we going to dance again? but contained herself and managed to remain silent as she watched his massively broad shoulders disappear.
There was a stir in the crowd. Flora watched curiously as a beautiful woman, dressed to the nines, more or less floated into the ballroom, escorted by two of London's leading dandies. "Who is she?" Flora asked.
"She's the Countess Marie-Elizabeth de Clairmont," Lady Constance Boles volunteered. "From France, although I hardly
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