by Kim Bowman
Pale blue eyes narrowed. “As I said, I am only here on your behalf. At your father’s suggestion.”
Oliver crossed his arms. “But how is it acceptable for you to be a chaperone for her? You are every bit as unmarried as I.”
Conrad held up a bony finger. “Ah, but there are very specific differences, Barrow.”
“Do tell.” Oliver clenched his teeth, forming a solid, muscled line along his jaw.
Reaching into his pocket for the ever-present handkerchief, Conrad wiped perspiration from his brow. “You see, Lucy and I have known each other for years. People of our, ahem, circle know this and wouldn’t bat an eye at the two of us being seen together in a public place. You, however, are a completely different story.”
“Go on.”
“Not only are you a recent acquaintance of Lucy, you are also of a completely different class.”
“Don’t say that.” Lucy widened her eyes.
Sun bounced off of Conrad’s sunburned nose. “It’s true. You can’t deny it, Lucy. He is a laborer.”
“Ah—”
“A bumpkin.”
“But—”
“A common worker of the lowest—”
“Conrad! I must insist that you cease any further words degrading Mr. Barrow.”
The man in question, having taken Conrad’s last words without a rebuttal, touched her sleeve. “Don’t bother, Miss Ashbrook. Some people will always look down their noses at others, no matter what they do or how much they possess.”
“But…”
He took a half step toward her. “No. let it be, please. Things tend to sort themselves out…” He glared at Conrad’s smirking countenance, “…in the end.”
She shrugged. “If you wish.”
“I do.”
Conrad cleared his throat. “Can we please get on with this tedious excursion? Honestly, I don’t know how you people stand to spend so much time around the horrid winged creatures and the messes they make.”
A wet blob splatted on Conrad's very expensive coat, leaving a white splotch.
He gasped.
His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. “Of all the… Look at this, just look!”
A gooey white splotch of something unmentionable now resided on the shoulder of Conrad’s very expensive coat.
Lucy covered her mouth with her hand, hoping to physically restrain her mirth. “Oh… dear.”
Oliver coughed. Lips then pressed together. But his telltale dimple appeared. “S-sorry about that, Lofton.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you just are.” The handkerchief appeared again. Lips pursed in distaste, Conrad wiped the offending substance from his coat. But some, just enough to reek havoc, smeared across the dark fabric. “My valet will be livid when he sees this.”
Lucy took a deep breath. Concentrate. Do. Not. Laugh. “Per-perhaps he will have something with which to remove the, uh, spot. And, after all, it’s only just the one—”
Another blob fell from above.
Eyes widening further, Conrad yelped. A second white blob, larger than its brother, appeared on his boot. “These boots are handmade! How dare that son of a—”
“Conrad!” Lucy stomped her boot, sorry that this time there was no mud on the ground with which to splatter his pants. Such a pity.
“I’ve some old towels in the shed that might be of some—”
“No thank you.” Conrad cut off Oliver’s offer. “I will not have anything of yours or this place touch me or anything of mine.”
Lucy glanced at his boot. “But it’s already—”
“No. I will not.”
A sigh escaped her lips. Why couldn’t the annoying man simply go away? Most people would have left when it was made clear they weren’t welcome. And even stubborn, obtuse people, like that of Conrad’s ilk, would have removed themselves from the premises when bombarded by an angry bird.
But no. Not him. Why was he still there? It had to be more than just honoring her father’s supposed request to chaperone Lucy. Something was going on. Something she was sure she didn’t like.
But what?
A third white drop, this one larger and more repulsive than the first two, landed on Conrad’s hat. He frowned. And looked up. “Why it’s that… that hideous cuckoo bird. Why does he keep—?”
Splat.
Lucy’s eyes widened. Even though she couldn’t stand Conrad, she’d never wish that on anyone.
So unfortunate that when the fourth, and largest, deposit landed on Conrad’s face, his mouth happened to be wide open.
Chapter Ten
Oliver nodded toward the retreating Conrad. “It’s unlikely he’ll return now, don’t you think?”
“Who knows?” Lucy shrugged. “He’s a tenacious sort.”
“May I ask you something, Lucy?” He held up his hand. “And please, if I’m being too forward, just let me know. You don’t have to answer, if you don’t wish to.”
What in the world will he say? Her heart thudded. Did he no longer wish to be of her acquaintance? “No. Please. You may ask me anything, Oliver.”
A smile. That dimple. He took a deep breath. “Is Lofton, that is to say, is he… are you and he…?”
It was her turn to hold up her hand. “No. Definitely not. I have been of his unfortunate acquaintance for several years. Our fathers were contemporaries. But that is all. There are times I wish he’d move north to Scotland and never return.” Her eyes widened. “Oh dear. That sounded cruel.”
Oliver laughed. “Sometimes, there are people in this world who elicit those types of feelings from us, are there not?”
Heat rose to Lucy’s cheeks. “Yes. I suppose, but…”
“Don’t feel as if you must censor your words from me. I’m glad we are… friends. I know we haven’t spent much time together, but in that short time…”
She nodded. “Yes. Yes… we…” Could her face get any warmer? She would surely combust!
“I’m truly grateful that I saw you that day.” He glanced toward the ground. “That day you were sketching the nuthatch.”
“As am I.”
He looked up and met her eyes. “It makes my work here all the sweeter for it.”
“Th-thank you, Oliver. I feel the same… about you. Not the work.” She smiled. “Still, I would feel terrible if something happened to your position because of time spent with me.”
“Worry not, Lucy. It’s of no concern.”
“But surely your livelihood depends upon it.”
Laughter. “Ah… no.”
She frowned. “It doesn’t? So… you have another…?” How was it she could have this conversation with this man? Such personal questions. “Forgive me. It’s none of my concern.”
“On the contrary. You and I are friends. And don’t friends speak of things of importance to them?”
“Well, yes. I…”
“Please. It warms my heart, your concern for my wellbeing. Thank you.”
“I do. That is, I do… care…” The words for you sat on her tongue, longing to leap out of her mouth, but she couldn’t. Not yet.
“As do I.” He swallowed. “Would it be acceptable for me to… hold your hand?”
She nodded.
“I’ve another type of bird to show you, if you’d like.”
“That would be lovely.” Her hand encased in his, everything in the world seemed brighter, fuller of cheer. Surely his request to hold her hand meant they were becoming more than friends. She darted a glance around them. No one was near. She’d not want word of her handholding to reach her father’s ears.
He tugged her a little closer as they headed for a grassy area with a few sparse trees. “This bird, a favorite of mine, is the turtle dove.”
“It seems they are all your favorites.”
A smile pushed his dimple into view. “Most of them, yes, although I’m not as fond of the goose thief at present.”
She laughed. “Oh, but you were so gallant in trying to rescue my favorite hat. I’ll be forever g
rateful.”
“Good to know I have a talent with which to share with the world. Rescuing hats in distress.”
“Everyone must be accomplished at something.”
Eyes crinkling at the corners, he turned and looked at her. “I hope that’s not the only thing at which I am accomplished.”
She lowered her lashes. Warmth filtered across her face and down to her chest. “I suppose time will tell, will it not?”
“Yes, I—”
A gentle noise, not unlike the purr of her cat, sounded from above.
Oliver turned his head and squinted into the sunlight. “Ah, there are my friends, now. Come and see.”
They walked into the shade of a large tree and looked up into branches full of lush green leaves.
Lucy tilted back her head. “I’m afraid I don’t see them.”
He let go of her hand and stood behind her, leaning forward, with his cheek touching hers. His coarser skin against her sensitive sent ripples of pleasure down her face and throat. And everywhere they touched, sparks threatened to ignite.
He pointed to the right. “See the branch there, the one with a few leaves gone? There’s a bare patch.”
“Oh, yes! I see the nest with one bird sitting in it.”
Moving her eyes to the left a foot or so, she spotted the second bird. “And there’s the other.”
The birds, brownish–grey, had black and white striped patches on the sides of their necks. The neck, head, and rump were blue-grey. Cinnamon wings were mottled with black. A black beak contrasted with red-rimmed eyes.
“They usually feed on the ground. So predators are sometimes a problem for them. But they’re pretty smart birds and mostly keep to the trees.”
Lucy sighed. “They’re lovely. I do so love their call. So soft and pleasing.”
The bird called again. A strange noise. Almost as if it rolled its tongue inside its beak, creating a low vibrating sound.
Oliver pulled away and placed his hands on her shoulders. “They make other sounds, too, but in this case, they’re talking to each other. I love to come here and listen to them converse.”
“What do you suppose they are saying?”
“I imagine they’re talking of their day. The ups and downs.”
“And of their children? The ones to hatch soon?”
“Certainly. They might be suggesting possible names for their babies.”
Lucy giggled. “Do you suppose so?”
“Children need names, do they not? The doves can’t very well call them to dinner by bird one, two, and three.”
Laughter shook her shoulders. “No. That might make number two and three jealous of the other being referred to as number one. As if he were more important that the rest.”
“Absolutely.” He settled his chin on her shoulder, again touching his face to hers. His cheek rose in a smile.
“Are the doves a… faithful type of bird?”
“You mean to each other?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, yes, quite. That’s one reason they are sometimes called love birds. Because of their affinity toward each other once paired.”
“That’s so sweet.”
They stood for several minutes watching the doves, listening to the back and forth discussion, as warmth from the dappled sun thorough the tree branches surrounded them. Heat from his chest coursed across her back, running through her core. Thoughts of turning, facing him, holding him floated through her mind. What would it be like to do that… and more? To wrap her arms around his neck, pull him close, press her lips to his? Surely it would be heaven.
His voice came soft as a summer breeze. “We seem to have an affinity for like things, do we not?”
Startled out of her daydream, she swallowed hard. Thank goodness he couldn’t read her thoughts! How wanton she would seem if he could. “I believe that we do.”
“It’s quite nice to have someone with whom to enjoy the birds. They are such a large part of my life. I do admire them so.” He pulled away and moved to stand beside her. He reached for her hand and held it tight.
A smile tugged on her lips. “Yes. The more I’m acquainted with them, the more I want to know. They are each and every one fascinating creatures.” She bit her lip. “Especially the cuckoo.”
Oliver’s loud laugh startled nearby ducks. Wings flapped and bills quacked and proop-prooped. Raising his other hand toward the birds, Oliver waved. “Sorry old chaps. I’m afraid I was overcome by mirth. You may feel free to put the blame at Lucy’s feet.”
With her hand, her hand not resting comfortably and warm in Oliver’s, she lightly slapped his shoulder. “Oliver. What must the ducks think of me now?”
“I can’t imagine the male duck who took a fancy to Lofton would have any great affinity toward you.”
Lucy sputtered out a laugh. “If that duck had such affections for me, I might find myself worried.”
“And I might find myself jealous.” Red, instant and dark, appeared from his forehead to his collar. “Oh… I…”
Pleased to no end, although embarrassed herself, Lucy squeezed his hand. “What a wonderful compliment. Thank you.”
He lowered his lashes and gazed directly at her lips. “If my discomfort leads to your enjoyment, then I would gladly say the words again.”
“You would?”
He nodded. “Anytime. Anywhere.”
He leaned closer. His breath smelled of mint and the outdoors. What would his lips taste like? Eyes dark as chocolate peered into hers. She held her breath. Not that she tried to, it just wouldn’t seem to come. All of the Sanctuary noises were gone. The ducks. The geese. The chiff-chaffs and owls. The nuthatch and even the cuckoo. Only silence remained. Silence and Oliver’s breaths coming in quick succession.
Closer.
Closer.
Only a whisper of air between their lips…
“Lucy! Oh there you are.” Anna’s strident voice carried across the expanse of the Sanctuary.
Lucy widened her eyes. She’d been about to kiss Oliver! In public! Where God and everyone could see!
Stepping apart at the same moment, as if synchronized, they both swallowed hard. Then, with chests heaving as if having run a race, took shallow breaths. Lucy glanced at Oliver, whose face was flushed. Was hers the same?
Anna reached them. Mr. Warner was right behind her. And they were smiling. Even more than usual. What could be causing this much gladness?
“Lucy.” Anna reached out to grasp her hands. “You’re flushed, dear.” Well that question is now answered. “Are you ill?”
“I’m fine. Uh…” She glanced at Oliver again, who smiled. And there was that dimple again. That single spot on the man’s person seemed to get her in more trouble. All she had to do was get a glimpse of it and suddenly she wanted to kiss—
“…our news.”
Lucy whipped her head back toward Anna. “Pardon?”
“I said… I’ve yet to tell you our news.”
“News?”
“Yes. Wonderful news.”
“Wonderful news?” Why did she sound like a parrot?
“Dear, perhaps you need to sit and rest. You look as if you’ve been running a race.” Anna frowned. “As does Mr. Barrow.” She lifted a brow. “What would have been going on to make you—?”
“Your news, Anna. You must tell me.” She led Anna to a nearby bench.
The two women were seated, while the men stood facing them.
“Richard has…” Anna giggled and fanned her face with her hand. “Asked for my…” More fanning. “…h-hand.”
Lucy widened her eyes. “Oh my. Isn’t that somewhat sudden?”
Mr. Warner stepped forward and put his hand on Anna’s shoulder. “When you find the right person, Miss Ashbrook, length of time spent together beforehand matters not.” He turned and looked Oliver full in the eyes and nodded.
I wonder what that can mean?
“Yes.” Anna tilted her cheek against his hand. “It’s true. Although, I
never dreamed it could happen…” She glanced up into Mr. Warner face. “…to me.” Her face glowed. Glowed.
Lucy shook her head. “I’m amazed. But oh so happy for you both. You have my sincere congratulations.” She hugged Anna and then held out her hand to Mr. Warner. “I’d be pleased if you addressed me as Lucy, since you’ll be like family now.”
“Thank you.” He smiled as he held her hand briefly. “And I am Richard.”
“Welcome to our family, Richard, for I think of Anna as a mother.”
Anna, wiping a tear away from her cheek, gave Lucy a wink. And Lucy was so very happy and excited for Anna and Richard.
Yet…
Something cold, something desolate swept through her soul. Why could it not be her? Her and Oliver announcing such wonderful, exciting news. Would that ever happen? Could it?
If Oliver did make his profession of love to her someday and did propose marriage, would Lucy’s father stand in their way?
A painful jab to her heart told her the answer. But maybe, just maybe, if Lucy were to explain to him how much she cared for Oliver, what a hard worker he was, Father might see that Oliver could, with the aid of Lucy’s inheritance, see to her care quite nicely.
If she told Father those things, if he could see her face as she spoke of her heart’s desire… surely he would relent.
The man did possess a heart, after all. Did he not?
Chapter Eleven
Conrad stormed from the Bird Sanctuary. Laughter from Lucy and Barrow still ringing in his ears. And that bird! That disgusting, obnoxious, vengeful bird. How dare it soil not only his pristine coat, but his boots as well? And his hat! How on earth would the valet be able to properly clean that?
He spat on the ground, not caring who witnessed it. And when the vile creature had… in his mouth! Shudders rolled through him, nearly forcing the contents of his stomach up his throat. There might not be enough tooth powder in London to rid him of the taste of that.
His carriage was waiting near the Sanctuary gate. Increasing his speed, he hurried toward it. The fewer people who witnessed his appearance at the present, the better. His groom turned toward him and reached to open the door. But his hand stopped in midair. With his mouth dropped open, he stared.
