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Chapter Five
July 13, 1819
Anne looked across the morning room table at Benedict as exasperation danced through her veins. They had stopped there briefly for a cup of tea before going out to meet Matthew and the balloon. “I’m not asking you to try and fly to the moon with me, Lord Worthington. It’s merely a test flight.” She waved a hand. “Not even a flight, really. We’ll remain tethered and only rise the length of a rope. I need to make certain my equipment works as expected after being hauled across Surrey plus the crash landing of the other morning.”
“At least you agree it was a crash and not a planned hard landing.” He sipped his coffee—how he could drink the bitter brew was beyond her—with his hazel eyes wide as if she had asked him to travel to the deepest part of Africa and bring back three elephants. “If God wanted humans to fly, he would have given us wings. And since we do not possess those, I shall remain right here with my feet firmly on the ground. Thank you.”
“Where is your sense of adventure, Worthington?” Anne rather thought—or hoped—he might wish to accompany her without a fight.
“I suppose I was never blessed with one.” The man glanced at his mother as a baby smile quirked one corner of his sensuous mouth. “Isn’t that right, Mother?”
The dowager snorted. “Nonsense, Benedict. You let the military beat it out of you,” the lady said as she cut into a slice of hamsteak. How the woman managed to eat a full breakfast so early boggled Anne’s mind. The scent of food nearly flipped her stomach. “And then you never let go of that fear. It’s followed you around like an unwanted dog, and here you are, three and thirty and still bullied.”
Slight red color rose above his cravat. He adjusted the set of his spectacles upon the bridge of his nose. “Enough, Mother. There is a reason for the fear.”
“Fear throws its weight around and is no friend. Find a way to let it loose. Do you think I would have lived as long as I have if I let fear have at me?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re hardly ancient.”
“That’s beside the point.” She waved a hand and the jeweled rings on her fingers sparkled in the early dawn light. “Go up in the balloon. It’s quite the novel idea, and when will you have another chance to experience flying? You might find it enjoyable.”
“Or I might die, so why take that risk?” He took another sip of his coffee.
Anne exchanged a glance with the dowager and then shrugged. “Then I shall go up alone. I’m accustomed to that.” She sipped her tea as cold disappointment filled her chest. “It’s discouraging you continue to dread that which you don’t understand. Out of all the men I’ve met, I’d hoped you were different.” When she shrugged with affected nonchalance, she hoped he was paying attention, for he’d come up to the mark thus far. “Perhaps I should take your mother up instead.”
“Oh, that sounds fun,” the older woman said as she exchanged a look with Anne. “But if I go ballooning, I’d want an ensemble like yours. Such freedom in wearing breeches.”
Heat went into Anne’s cheeks as she glanced down at herself. The leather vest and full-sleeved lawn shirt gave her confidence, but the ivory breeches sent it over the top. Wanting the viscount’s attention, she stood. “It is rather nice and makes climbing easier and more practical than wearing skirts.”
“I can just imagine.”
Anne glanced at the viscount, who stared back at her, his eyes wide and dark with emotion she couldn’t read. “What say you, Lord Worthington?” She lifted her teacup and executed an impromptu spin. “Do you prefer this outfit over a gown?”
“That largely depends on the day,” he managed to gasp out, for he’d swallowed wrong. “Yet I will say that you going about the Surrey countryside garbed in such scandalous attire holds a huge risk of landing into trouble of some sort.”
“Oh, la.” She headed toward the sideboard that was loaded with food. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve long ago become accustomed to scandal.”
The dowager chuckled. “I like Lady Anne’s daring, so yes, I’ll go up with you.”
“Absolutely not.” Lord Worthington gulped the remainder of his coffee. Moisture sprang to his eyes, no doubt because he’d burned his throat. “My mother stays on the ground.”
Anne arched an eyebrow. “Then does that mean you’ll go in her stead?” Perhaps if she showed the viscount exactly how ballooning worked, he’d be more apt to trust in her abilities and lose his fear of it. Both she and the dowager stared at him.
Finally, he sighed. “Fine. Yes, I’ll go up in your balloon.” He took another healthy gulp of his coffee. “But I’m not happy about it.”
She snorted. “No, I suppose you’re not, but you’ve agreed, so I’m happy. And you did agree to lend me your support.”
The dowager guffawed. “She has you there, Benedict.”
I rather like that woman.
After draining her teacup, Anne took a piece of toast from the sideboard. “I’m going out to the back lawn. Matthew should have finished filling the envelope by now. Oh, that reminds me, Lord Worthington.” She glanced at him. “We’ll need another delivery of scrap iron for when I take my next flight. Do see if you can manage to that.”
“Of course, Lady Anne.”
“Thank you. Liftoff is in fifteen minutes. Don’t dawdle.” With a wink at him and a hearty bite of the crispy bread, she left the room, knowing full well he’d grouse about her heavy-handedness to his mother.
By the time the viscount wandered to the balloon, Anne had already climbed into the basket. “Come closer, Lord Worthington. I won’t bite.”
