Love Birds of Regent's Park

by Ruth J. Hartman

  “Mr. Barrow, how kind of you to take time from your busy work to join me.”

  With raised eyebrows, he smiled. “It’s no hardship, Miss Ashbrook, I assure you.”

  “I-I don’t wish for you to be in trouble for… uh, loitering.”

  “Don’t worry on my account. I’m quite certain no harm will come to me for relaxing on a park bench for a little while.”

  Still uncertain, Lucy shrugged but didn’t reply. She desperately hoped that were true. What if the poor man lost his position because of her?

  He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. “So I assume you have an interest in birds? Since you’re here at the Sanctuary?”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “I find them fascinating. Though I will admit to not knowing a great deal about the different ones. It’s enchanting the way they perch on their tiny legs and feet and actually fly through the air. How wonderful to sit and watch them and dream of doing the same.”

  “Indeed. Birds are fascinating. They’re the joy of my life.”

  “Have you worked here long, Mr. Barrow?”

  “Not long.” He chuckled. “It’s just something I… decided to do.”

  What an odd choice of words. Decided to do. What Lucy knew of their workers, they hadn’t a choice but to work. And to work at whatever they could find. That made her even more conscious of her standing and wealth. What must it be like to have to toil day after day, earning one’s keep? While she had the luxury of coming to a place like the Bird Sanctuary to sit the whole of a morning, sketching birds and daydreaming?

  “Oh, well. It seems to suit you.” That didn’t sound the way she’d meant it. How rude he must think her, to suggest that he should work hard and get soiled for a living. “I mean… that you seem to take pleasure in your work.”

  “Indeed. Quite a bit.” He glanced around and then pointed to a branch above them. “There’s your nuthatch again. He must like you.”

  Lucy looked up as well. “He’s such a handsome fellow. Thank you for telling me what kind of bird he is. I had no idea. Only that his loud, quick call amused me. And I admire his blue and white markings. Almost as if he wears a cutaway coat.”

  Mr. Barrow laughed. “A cutaway coat? I’d never thought of it that way, but you’re right.” He leaned toward her, just a little, just enough for the scent of pine trees and grass to reach Lucy’s nose. “Would you mind if I looked at your drawing once more?”

  “It’s really not that impressive.” She lowered her head.

  “From what I observed, it was quite the opposite. May I?”

  She bit her lip and nodded. The edge of her hat caught on the back of the bench as she leaned over to reach for her paper. “Oh dear!” She tried to pull away from the old wood, but her hat did not follow. She grabbed it and gave a tug, but it still held fast. Some of her dark curls came loose from their pins and fell around her face. Was the ribbon caught on a rough edge of the wood?

  “Here, allow me to help, Miss Ashbrook.”

  Strong hands, one on her shoulder, the other on her hat, gave a pull.

  A small chunk of wood gave way, splintering from the bench. “Oh no!” Her white hat, so delicate with lace, flowers, and ribbons, flipped off of her head and sailed over the grass like a wayward kite.

  Mr. Barrow’s eye widened. “I’ll get it!” Jumping up from the bench, he ran toward the hat. As he leaned down, his hand inches from the brim, it skipped away on a strong breeze, hopping and rolling through the grass as if playing hide and seek.

  In his boots, which were well suited for present circumstances, he tromped through the tall grass until he came upon the hat again, which had stopped near a pond, as if taking a rest from its play. Mr. Barrow turned toward her, a triumphant smile on his face. “There. Now we’ll recover it, Miss Ashbrook.” Turning back toward the hat, he reached down.

  And grabbed air.

  “But where’s the—?”

  A large grey goose now had possession of Lucy’s pretty, white apparel. The bird honked through the side of its huge beak, forming the sound around the fluffy pink bow at the hat’s side.

  Lucy gasped. “No!” She stood and hurried toward the pond. What would become of her hat now? It was covered in goose drivel! The hat might never recover.

  She watched in horror as the goose approached the water. With webbed feet, it stepped through the mud. Closer. Closer. Until its toes, making sucking noises in the slimy ooze, edged into the pond. Hunching down and sliding into the water as a ship might leave a harbor, the goose effortlessly glided into the murky, green depths, carrying the hat with it.

  Mr. Barrow stepped toward the water’s edge as well. He crouched down, very nearly sitting in the mud, and reached out his hand, teetering back and forth in an effort not to slide into the water. His fingers stretched toward the goose.

  “I think… if I can just grab the… brim of the hat, I can still retrieve it for you, Miss—”

  As his boots slipped through the mud, he yelped. His arms flailed as he fought to regain his balance.

  But to no avail.

  Water shot toward the sky as he splashed in headfirst. He submerged beneath the wetness. Head. Chest. Legs. And finally boots. Geese honked and flapped their wings, rising into the air, feathers and feet dripping, as they escaped the loud intrusion into their home. The hat thief dropped his white, lacy prey back into the pond. It settled on the surface, floating as lazily as a cloud in a windless sky.

  Seconds ticked by as nothing about the water stirred.

  Lucy’s hands flew to her face. “No! Oh no! Mr. Barrow! Where are you?” Had he hit his head and drowned? Her heart raced in her chest. What would she do if he didn’t come back up? Should she jump into the pond to try to save him? She took a step forward. Then another.

  The water bubbled. She let out a whoosh of air when his hand appeared above the surface. His glove was missing. It must have come off when he hit the water. His other hand, also unclothed, joined the first, waving back and forth. His head, with hair dripping, finally peeked above the water. He gulped in air, gasping for breath.

  “Mr. Barrow! Here, let me assist you.”

  He stood up, shoulder-high in the water, and waved her away. “We don’t need both of us falling in the pond.” Water streaming from his clothes, he carefully took one step, then a second, until he climbed over the lip surrounding the pond.

  “Well, that was quite the adventure, I must say.” He collapsed on the grass and huffed out a loud breath. “Not every day I take an unplanned swim. I’m only sorry I couldn’t find your hat.”

  “But that’s where you’re mistaken.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She pointed up.

  For her hat, her very expensive, lacy white hat now rested in a soggy clump.

  On Mr. Barrow’s head.

  With raised eyebrows, he lifted his gaze.

  Up.

  And up.

  Until he peered at the brim peeking out over his forehead. “Ah. I see. Not quite my style, now is it?” A grin formed, raising both corners of his mouth.

  Covering her mouth with her hand, she sputtered a giggle. Tears, unbidden, streamed from her eyes. It was unseemly to laugh at the man, especially under the circumstances since he was only doing it to assist her.

  But…

  As if joining in, nearby ducks let loose with raucous quacking sounding quite like laughter. Lucy chuckled with them and wiped her eyes. “It seems they agree with you, Mr. Barrow.”

  “Yes. Indeed.” He pointed to his head. “Perhaps they think a darker shade more appropriate?”

  Lucy widened her eyes and stared behind him. “Uh… oh… no.”

  He frowned. “What’s the matter, Miss—?”

  The huge grey goose, otherwise known as the hat thief of the Bird Sanctuary pond, flapped its huge wings and landed just behind Mr. Barrow, who shivered. Was it from the cold of being wet, or did he sense that they were no longer alone?

  Honk! Honk!

 
Gasping, Mr. Barrow turned his head to the side in time to see the goose lunge.

  At his head.

  And Lucy’s hat.

  “Ahhh!” Mr. Barrow closed his eyes just as the hat was snatched from his head.

  Lucy reached forward, nearly losing her fingers as the goose snapped at her. “Oh!” She drew back her hand as if burned. “What a wicked goose. Mr. Barrow, are you hurt?”

  He took a deep breath and turned slowly, looking behind him. The goose slid into the water with the hat in his bill. Mr. Barrow shook his head. “I’m fine. But what is it about that hat that fascinates that goose so?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. Perhaps it knows it’s my favorite?”

  “It is a lovely hat, I’ll grant you that.” He smirked.

  Lucy smiled. “Why thank you, kind sir.”

  They stood and watched as the goose swam farther into the water. It let go of the hat and dove beneath the surface.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Mr. Barrow sighed. “I’m truly sorry I was unable to retrieve your favorite hat from the atrocious goose, Miss Ashbrook.”

  “Thank you. I do appreciate your valiant effort. But at this point, I don’t think I would even desire to have it returned.” She pointed to the pond.

  The goose had surfaced from the water.

  Wearing the hat.

  Mr. Barrow chuckled. “Understood.”

  Chapter Three

  “What in the world happened to you, Oliver?”

  He stepped into the dim light of the work shed where the Sanctuary housed the tools necessary for the upkeep of the grounds. The steady drip-drip-drip from his hair, chin, and elbows reminded him of sitting inside his father’s house on rainy days as a child. “Had a run-in with a hat.”

  “Pardon?”

  He laughed and waved the other man away with his hand. “Tried to rescue a fair damsel’s hat from a goose, but I ended up taking a swim instead.” What had he been thinking, speaking to her as he had? How improper. How gauche. And yet… when he had seen her sitting there, all reason had deserted him.

  Richard, the chief groundsman, leaned forward on the handle of his dusty shovel. “A damsel, you say?”

  Oliver shrugged. “Someone who came to sketch the birds. I only became acquainted with her this morning.”

  “I see.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “What do you see?” Oliver wrung water from the hem of his tweed coat, creating a puddle on the floor. Hmm. Probably should have done that outside.

  “You’ve taken a fancy to her.”

  Oliver eyed Richard. “I said I’ve only just met her.” And yes, I have taken a fancy. How would Richard know that?

  “What does that matter?”

  “Quite a bit, I should think.” Oliver tapped his boot in impatience. He glanced down when he heard a tiny splat. Oh, right. The puddle.

  “It was that way for me and the wife, God bless her soul. Saw each other one day. Married at Gretna Green the next week.”

  Oliver dropped his jaw. “The next week? You certainly didn’t waste any time, man.”

  Richard shrugged. “What’s there to waste time about? When you find the right one, you may as well marry her, because love is love.”

  “Now you’re getting melancholy on me, Richard.” He raised a finger to emphasize his point and winced as water, turned cold, trickled beneath his sleeve.

  “You can scoff all you want, Oliver, but I know what I’m about. Mark my words. You’ll be tied to this bird-sketcher before you know it. She may not know you are of similar stations, but you do. I’ll keep your confidence about your identity, but if she is someone of importance to you, you might want to tell her. And trust me. It doesn’t pay to waste time. My sweet wife has been gone five years now, but I don’t regret a single minute we were married.” He grasped the shovel at the middle of its handle and whistled an off-key tune as he left the shed.

  Oliver reached for an old towel on the workbench, drying off his face and hair. He’d have to return home to change into dry clothes. He hoped he had another pair of work clothes clean, as it wouldn’t do to wear his usual hat, topcoat, and expensive boots to muck about the Sanctuary.

  He shook his head as he stared at the empty doorway. Married. After a week! Certainly, Miss Ashbrook was comely and seemed intelligent and interesting, but he’d only just met her.

  There was something about her, though. Those dark eyes. And brown curly hair. And that hat. Oliver sputtered a laugh. Hilarious! And to find at the end that she did indeed have a sense of humor. Most women he’d met would have thrown a fit, crying and sobbing over the hat’s demise. Wailing that they’d never have another like it and the world would surely end. Perhaps that was part of the reason he avoided any and all social interactions with his peers. He cared not for their company.

  Miss Ashbrook. She’d seemed to take it in stride. Not getting upset about a piece of clothing. Oh, how refreshing it had been to spend time with her.

  But, she also appeared to be someone of means. So would she, if not already spoken for, be in the hopes of finding someone of equal or greater wealth? Oliver had trudged down that particular road before. Women only wanted him for his riches and standing. He longed to find someone he could share his life with who valued him, loved him for him. Not for what he could provide or supply.

  Was there any such woman about? Did she even exist? So far, he’d yet to make her acquaintance. Women he’d met seemed to desire material things more than taking the time to get to know Oliver as a man. His interests. What delighted him. How he loved to spend his time.

  If there was a woman out there with those qualities, he’d like to meet her. Would love to meet her. A smile spread across his mouth.

  Perhaps he’d even marry her in a week.

  Miss Ashbrook’s face floated across his mind. There was something about her he found intriguing. Was it her interest in the birds? Her wide-eyed wonder at their beauty and splendor?

  Or was it her apparent stubborn streak as he’d insisted he could not join her on the bench, but she just as vehemently insisted he must.

  Adorable.

  He could envision spending more time getting to know her. Would she be at the Sanctuary again soon? Since Oliver was there most days, he’d know soon enough. Now that he’d met her, and knew where she enjoyed sitting to watch the birds, he’d keep a careful watch for her visits.

  But her attire and speech indicated she was well off. Would she be like all the others? Only putting value on material possessions and money?

  Time would tell.

  But perhaps… perhaps he could put it to a test, so to speak. She’d only seen him in his work clothes, as opposed to what he wore when not at the Sanctuary. So she had no idea that he wasn’t a regular worker there. Would it be possible for them to get further acquainted without her knowing how well off he and his father were?

  That would be the only way to know for sure if Miss Ashbrook was as genuine as she seemed. And it was the only way for Oliver to know if she was different from all the rest.

  ~~~~

  Lucy climbed from the carriage with the groom’s assistance. She hurried toward the house, reaching the door as the butler opened it.

  “Good day, Miss Ashbrook.”

  “Good day, Alfred. Is Father about?”

  “He’s in his study, miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lucy peeled off her gloves as she stepped toward her father’s private sanctuary. Knocking lightly on the door, she couldn’t wait to show him her latest drawing. She could see an improvement in her work. Would he notice? Would he even care?

  “Come in.”

  Father always sounded gruff… until he discovered it was Lucy. Then his whole demeanor softened. At least, as much as he could ever soften. He said it was because she reminded him so much of Mother, gone these last several years.

  The door pushed open with a squeak. Lucy inhaled, loving the aromas of wood, leather, and her father’s pipe. She laid her glove
s, drawing, and reticule on the settee and waited for her father to notice her.

  He sat at his giant desk, a frown marring his ruddy face, pouring over something or other on papers beneath his hand. She tapped one boot lightly on the floor. That should do it. For some strange reason, her father could ignore a clap of thunder or a loud bark of a dog, but a sound as quiet as a whisper grasped his attention.

  He sat up straight, eyebrows raised. “Ah, Lucy. How’s my little girl?”

  “I’m well. I’ve been to the Bird Sanctuary, again, Father. It’s such a lovely place.” She sighed. Memories of not only the scenery of the Sanctuary, but one worker in particular made her smile. His dark eyes and hair, broad shoulders. And chivalry, as he’d dived into the pond to save her hat.

  Her father eyed her discarded gloves and reticule and then narrowed his eyes at her. “Surely, child, you weren’t without a hat? Didn’t I see you with your new white one on earlier today?”

  Heat crept up Lucy’s cheeks. “Yes, Father. I did have it, but—”

  “But what? Did you come upon a wanton hat thief at the Sanctuary?” He chuckled, his voice loud and deep.

  “In a manner of speaking.” She stepped closer to the desk.

  “What’s that you say? A thief?”

  “I’m afraid so. A very large, loud thief.”

  Her father’s eyes widened. “You were accosted? Where was Anna? Wasn’t she with you? ”

  Lucy bit her lip against the giggle threatening to emerge. “I’m afraid Anna wouldn’t have been able to protect me from this particular thief, Father.”

  “And why should that be? She can be quite ferocious when it concerns you, you know. As a mother lion to her cub.”

  “True, that. But this… perpetrator was vicious. With a frightening holler and a mean look to the eye.”

  “We must call the magistrate at once! Where’s Alfred? Get me Alfred!”

  “No. I’m afraid this thief is out of the magistrate’s realm. You see, this particular thief was wearing all grey.”