Page 2 of The Lady
“Flora,” She found her voice as she took his hand. He was warm, and she wished to lean into the touch. “Lady Flora Fitzsimmons,” she corrected, forgetting for a moment her title.
“My lady.” He bowed his head, then looked over at his brother, and grinned broadly at the earl.
A desperate need to astound the doctor, so he would never forget her, pulsed through Flora—a girlish desire to impress him, to have his attention back on her.
“You are related to the earl.” Flora said despite it being very obvious.
The doctor’s shoulders—broad and pleasing, the kind that Flora speculated would be lovely to lean against—tensed as she spoke. Ill at ease with what her query had touched on.
“That is right.” Caton angled his head back towards her. "You will have undoubtedly noticed the attention I garner—thetondoes not approve of my presence here amongst them.”
I do. Welcome you. Wish you were. Pleased that you are. Am cursing myself for not spending more time at Bolton Street when Elsie was unwell, so I might have seen more of you.
Flora wetted her lips, trying to decide what to say and how to say it. There was danger here, something illicit, but potentially difficult and delicate. “You are…” She played with the idea of saying illegitimate, but wondered if he would take offence. It was not her intention to ever cause this man any hurt.
“A bastard, that’s right.” Caton was watching her face as he spoke, and Flora could not help her eyes widening at the utterance. “My brother accepting me has ruined my mother’s name, as there’s no denying we’re related. She hoped this wedding would provide a suitable distraction, but I am not sure it will succeed.”
“I—” Again Flora searched her mind for something to say, something clever that might impress Caton, but nothing occurred to her. Flora’s mind, normally sharp, was drawing a blank. The trouble was that for the last two months she had spent her time amongst thebeau monde, surrounded by ladies, gentlemen, dandies and charmers. It had been very enjoyable. But it had not prepared her for the reality of a devastatingly handsome doctor, who just happened to be baseborn.
Music from the organ swelled, and there was an excited outbreak of voices, and Flora realised the brides had arrived. Margot and Elsie were about to walk down the aisle. All around them, the congregation rose to their feet as Flora watched the two women walk down the aisle escorted by their father, Vicar Arthur Keating.
Margot was dressed in a pastel shade of rose, her gown overlaid with silver netting, a small handmade lace trim decorating the top of her bust line and the edge of her sleeves. It was a beautiful gown that suited the taller woman well, emphasising her elegance and grace. Her dark hair was dottedthrough with pearls, and in her free hand she held a blooming bouquet of roses and lilies. An air of quiet serenity issued forth from her as she walked towards her groom.
Elsie was likewise lovely. Far smaller and elfin-like in appearance, she had embraced this image as she drifted forward. She wore a soft butter-yellow gown. Her dress glimmered in the daylight, shot through with a bright golden thread. Her hair was decorated with tiny yellow flowers and rosebuds. She held tightly a bunch of yellow tulips, sweet Williams and another tangle of purple wildflowers Flora could not name. A giggle escaped from Elsie’s mouth as she drew closer to Kit, and Flora saw that her brother had to hide his own returning grin at her excited reaction.
As the music settled, the congregation settled down in their seats as the brides’ father took his seat as well.
Unable to resist, Flora clutched her hands together, excitement at the romance, surging through her. The handsome doctor momentarily forgotten.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to witness the marriage of…”
“It was beautiful,”Mrs. Bowley declared with true pride in her voice, and Flora could not find herself disagreeing. Admittedly, she had not been to any weddings before, but it was gratifying to hear an expert like Mrs. Bowley approved.
“I quite agree.” Mrs. Keating smiled. The older woman, the mother of the brides, looked encouragingly at Flora. “Did you enjoy it, my lady?”
“It was very nice,” Flora said. She was finding it a little hard to focus.
Doctor Caton was standing next to them, his handsome face held in a pleasing smile as he looked around the group of women. Desperately, a gnawing pit of nerves in her stomach, Flora tried to think of something to say that would grab and hold Doctor Caton’s attention.
Could she faint? Fall into his arms? Surely as a doctor he would have to leap to her rescue. Wasn’t there something so heroic about a physician? It was nice she was in love with one. In the future after their own wedding, they would laugh at how they met at another one.
Throughout the ceremony, she had managed to keep an eye on Doctor Caton. He was sat next to her, so it had not been hard, and now at any moment, he would depart and leave her.
In fact, he opened his mouth and started to say, “Excuse me?—”
“It must be nice tofinallyhave a wedding in your family?” Flora asked, her emphasis falling on the wrong word as she forced herself to speak before he left the group. As her question lingered, she realised it was the very last thing she meant to say. As soon as the words were spoken, she saw that Doctor Caton would take this question as a personal affront on his own legitimacy. Of all the stupid, silly, childish…
“I believe everyone enjoys a wedding, my lady. Excuse me. I see Langley is calling me.” Caton bowed and departed, and Flora wished to crawl into the nearest cupboard and hide, but she couldn’t. Instead, she looked at the two remaining women and said in a subdued voice, “Both brides were lovely.”
“I understand you helped them choose something suitable to wear,” Mrs. Keating said.
Flora nodded, trying to brighten. “I did.” Happy memories of picking out materials rushed through her. She was about to launch into a reminiscence of the modistes, recounting all the elements that the mother of the brides might like, but then shesaw both Langley and Doctor Caton slip out of the grand parlour. Flora suddenly knew she had to follow them. There was a need to change the doctor’s opinion of her. “Please excuse me, madam.”
Darting after the departing men, Flora hurried through the earl’s house, down the long corridor, after his lordship and the doctor. She had some vague notion of apologising. She heard a door click and realised they had walked into Langley’s study. Flora crept forward, uncertain of what to do next. She could hardly go and knock on the door, and ask Langley if she might come in.
“Congratulations,” she heard Doctor Caton say as she paused by the doorway, listening intently to their conversation.
“And you swore it would never happen,” came Langley’s languid response.
