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Chapter Seventeen
September 1, 1819
London, England
Anne peered out the window of her father’s closed carriage as she clutched her gloved hands together. They’d just passed through the north gate of Hyde Park. In a few minutes she would reach the launch site where she’d go up in her balloon in a direct competition against the horrible Mr. Davies of London’s The Sun newspaper.
“Don’t fret so, dear. It’s a fine enough day,” her mother said from beside her on the squabbed bench. “You shouldn’t have problems.”
“I appreciate your support.” It had been hard won, and both her parents hadn’t thought to encourage her ballooning endeavors until the day she’d almost died in July, but she’d take their attention where she could have it. Anxiety knotted in her belly all the same. “I’m regretting the fact I haven’t been aloft since that crash at the fair.” Perhaps her skills were rusty, but it couldn’t be helped, for she didn’t have a balloon or equipment to practice with. Even Matthew had been mysteriously tight-lipped about any sort of replacement or transport.
“Such worries are beneath you, Anne,” her father said from the bench across from her. “A Lewis doesn’t let fear beat them and neither does a Lewis shy away from public opinion.” When she caught his eye, he nodded with an expression of grudging respect. “You’ll show Mr. Davies who holds the real talent. And I hope that man will find himself buggared when he’s forced to print an apology.”
She allowed herself a small smile. Both of her parents had come around after her accident, but she couldn’t help but think the viscount had something to do with that. “Thank you, Papa. I do want to do well today. For you and Mama.”
“Do well for yourself, girl. You’ve certainly worked for this chance.” In a move that left her lower jaw gaping, he leaned across the aisle and touched her knee. “Aaron would have encouraged you to keep going.”
With a tight throat, she nodded. “Yes, he would.”
“As would your Lord Worthington,” her mother added in a soft voice. “I’ve never seen a man so bursting with pride over a lady’s accomplishments as he is with you.”
A trace of heat jumped into her cheeks. “Perhaps, but I rather think he’s not mine.” She hadn’t seen the new balloon Benedict had promised to arrange for her, nor had she seen him in the intervening six weeks since her crash landing at the travelling fair. There’d been no communication between them; he’d not come ‘round to call or see to how she’d recuperated.
The absence and silence left her cold.
Have I lost him?
If she had, it was her own fault. Just as Benedict had flaws, so did she, yet he’d wanted her despite them, while she’d refused his suit because of his. I’m as horrible a person as Mr. Davies. Benedict didn’t deserve that sort of treatment. The thought tightened her chest. An acute ache radiated around her heart. Anne turned her attention to the window once more. Though it had been nice to see the change in her parents’ attitude toward her ballooning, she missed him and his constant reminders of caution and risk.
Yet, his overt devotion still frightened her. She didn’t want someone to whisk her away into the sunset on the back of his horse like a knight in the storybooks, and she didn’t wish for a man to meet her halfway to a happily ever after, though the effort would be appreciated. What she needed was for a man to join her on the path of her choosing, walk by her side to meet the adventure she craved, to hold her hand even when her strength or courage gave out by keeping her within his own.
Was there such a man? Conceivably.
Hadn’t Benedict told her he’d do nearly all of that? Absolutely.
Did her own misplaced fear hold her back from letting herself love him freely, fiercely, and without regret? Quite possibly.
Would all that change once she saw him again? She didn’t know.
Hopefully.
The last six weeks without him had left her with a gaping loneliness in her soul. As if she’d lost something important. While she’d healed from her injuries, she’d had time to do something Benedict was quite good at—analyze—and she’d discovered a life without him was incomplete.
But how to tell him that after so much time and silence?
Her mother patted her hand. “I wouldn’t worry, dear.”
“Oh, but I do,” she whispered back.
A few minutes later, the carriage rocked to a halt. They were near a wide expanse of sundrenched grass that would serve at the launch point for the balloon flights. Essentially, when she went up, she’d circle the city of London proper and then come to rest on the lawn of Carlton House where the Regent would be waiting with pomp, circumstance, and a promised fete to which many notables in society had been invited.
“Are you not accompanying me?” She frowned when the door to the carriage opened but neither of her parents moved.
“Not just yet, dear,” her mother said, and her tiny smile was most mysterious. “You need this time to clear your mind.”
“Indeed.” Her father nodded. “We’ll be watching and will make our way to Carlton House.”
“All right.” Anne hugged her mother and then crossed over to buss her father’s cheek. “Thank you, both.” Then she exited the carriage and made her way toward the area where the balloons were being filled with hydrogen.
