Love Birds of Regent's Park

by Ruth J. Hartman

  As if pre-arranged — and truth be told perhaps it was — Mr. Warner took Anna’s arm and they headed off to the pond. Mr. Barrow tilted his head toward the bench. Their bench, or so she considered it now.

  How was that possible? Their bench? A few weeks ago, she hadn’t even made his acquaintance. Was she mad? What had taken possession of her mind?

  Whatever it was, she desired more. And more. And never wanted it to end. The whole situation between her and Mr. Barrow, and Anna and Mr. Warner seemed strange. Yet… right.

  “Would you care to sit down, Miss Ashbrook?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I thought perhaps we might see a few different types of birds today.”

  “Oh? That would be lovely.”

  “Did you happen to bring your drawing materials with you?”

  She patted her reticule. “I did indeed.”

  “Wonderful. There is a nest of baby long-eared owls I think you might find interesting.”

  Shading her face from the sun with her hand, she smiled. “Why do they have long ears?”

  “‘The better to hear you with, my darling’.”

  “You mean it was an owl in that children’s tale and not a wolf?”

  “Perhaps it was an owl dressed as a wolf.”

  “Who just happened to be dressed as a grandmother, I suppose.”

  “One never knows.” He raised and lowered his eyebrows, darting his eyes left and right.

  Laughing, Lucy covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m certain that’s not the real reason for the owls’ appearance.”

  “Well, if you must spoil the fun. Actually, they have long ears because it makes them appear bigger to larger birds.”

  “Now I can’t wait to view this wolf-grandmother-owl. Is it nearby?”

  “Come with me and I’ll show you. It will be sleeping, so we must be very quiet.”

  Taking her hand, he assisted her from the bench. Even through the glove, his touch warmed her skin, sending tingles from her fingers up her arms and into her neck. When she stood, he released her. Why couldn’t he have held onto her hand for a few moments? She craved any contact with him. Anything at all.

  Anna and Mr. Warner were farther down the path. He pointed up into one of the trees at something. Had he spotted a particular bird he wished to show her? How sweet they looked together, how eager he seemed to be in Anna’s company.

  “So, Mr. Barrow, you and Mr. Warner work together here at the Sanctuary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m worried Anna and I are keeping you from your labor.”

  He waved a hand. “No. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

  “But surely you have an employer who watches to make sure you are completing your tasks?”

  He swallowed and glanced away. “Say, look over there. Some pintail ducks are playing in the pond.”

  Lucy turned her head. The colorful ducks splashed and quacked, stirring up the water. “They do seem to be enjoying themselves.”

  She frowned. Why had he not answered her question? Was there something about his employment that he wanted kept secret? But what could it be?

  The next few minutes they walked in silence. Lucy was still puzzled. Why wouldn’t he be concerned for his employment? And why was he reticent to discuss it and Mr. Warner? Or their work? As much as he seemed to love the birds, one would think he would be desirous of discussing every aspect.

  Mr. Barrow stopped and touched her sleeve. Then he put his finger to his lips and whispered, “If you will look straight above you, you’ll see the male sitting on the branch. Asleep.”

  Lucy tilted her head back and widened her eyes. She kept her voice to a whisper as well. “Oh my. Look at that.”

  The owl sat upright, though not awake. His long grey talons, encased in fluffy white feathers that resembled fur, clung to the branch. A face shaped like a dinner plate was topped with ears that stood straight up. And across his chest and wings, tiny lines of black feathers coursed through patches of white and tan.

  “I thought you would like this one. He’s one of my favorites.”

  “Is it because of the ears?”

  “I will admit, the ears are impressive, are they not?”

  “Yes, they are. But…”

  “What?”

  “I’m afraid when I look at them, I think of a donkey.”

  Mr. Barrow bit his lip, but his eyes danced with suppressed laughter. “You know, Miss Ashbrook, I do believe you are right. And the owl’s eyes are closed, of course, but if you were to see them open, his irises are orange.”

  “Extraordinary. But frightening, too, I imagine.”

  “Quite. Between those orange eyes and huge ears, it is a very scary sight. Small animals quake in his presence.”

  “How small? Perhaps I’ll make sure never to bring my cat to visit.”

  “Wise decision. Your cat might end up being someone’s dinner or at the very least, make dinner out of some of the smaller residents.”

  She shivered. “Neither scenario is pleasant. That’s settled, then. He shall never come here.” She raised one eyebrow, trying not to smile.

  Mr. Barrow’s dimple appeared, unsuccessful as he was at hiding his. “There’s a bench right over here if you’d like to sit and sketch him.”

  When his hand settled at the small of her back as before, Lucy took a quick breath. Honestly, how did the man have the ability to nearly cause her to swoon when his hand wasn’t even actually touching her skin? As they approached the bench, Lucy’s boot caught on a protruding root in the ground.

  “Oh!” Arms flailing, she teetered forward and back, trying not to fall. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close.

  “Miss Ashbrook, are you hurt?”

  If she said yes, would he keep holding her? Tempting. But not truthful. “No. I’m fine. Simply clumsy. Thank you for rescuing me, though.” She waited. Any moment now he would release her, and the warmth of their bodies pressed together would be gone.

  But he didn’t.

  “You’re welcome.” His face brushed against the back of her neck. The sensation so soft, so light, she nearly thought she’d imagined it. But when he breathed warm air on her skin, stirring small wisps of hair that had pulled loose from the pins beneath her hat, she knew. Knew that he had touched her. Nuzzled her. Breathed in her scent.

  Loosening his grasp, he turned her around. Now face to face, his dark eyes and deep dimple were in view. And quite, quite close. Heart thudding, mouth dry, Lucy swallowed hard. “I…”

  He stepped away and dropped his arms to his side. “Please forgive me. I’m not sure what… that is, after I caught you, I just…”

  “It’s fine, Mr. Barrow. No harm done. Truly.” If you only knew!

  “Since we are becoming, if I might be as bold as to say, friends, do you suppose we could address each other by our Christian names?”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “I would like that. Very much.”

  “In that case. I’m Oliver.”

  “Nice to make your acquaintance, Oliver. I’m Lucy.”

  “Lucy. What a charming, lovely name.”

  “Why, thank you. I—” Why was Oliver frowning? “Is something amiss?”

  He pointed behind her. “Some deranged person is flapping his arms and making his way straight for us.”

  “Oh, dear, I do hope it’s not an escapee of Bedlam.”

  Chapter Six

  “Lucy!”

  A man ran toward them, waving his arms back and forth. What in the world? Who would…? She frowned. It was Conrad Croome. What was he doing there?

  Panting by the time he neared them, though he hadn’t come terribly far from the gate, Conrad slowed to a walk a few yards away.

  Oliver leaned close and whispered, “Do you know him?”

  She blew out a frustrated breath. “Unfortunately.”

  “Would you like him to be escorted out of the Sanctuary? I’d be more than glad to see to it. Personally.”r />
  Lucy looked at Oliver. “Thank you, that’s very sweet of you.” She turned back to the now very near Conrad. “But no. I cannot. I’ll explain to you the reason later.”

  “As you wish.” He gritted his teeth, causing his jaw muscle to flex, but it came and went so quickly, Lucy wondered if she’d imagined it.

  Conrad finally reached them as he fished in his pocket and produced a lily-white handkerchief. Everything about the man was always in order. Did he never have a strand of hair askew? A speck of dirt beneath his nails? Of course not. He never bothered to do anything that would cause him a moment’s trouble or effort.

  Oliver glanced away. Was he comparing his own appearance to Conrad’s? If he only knew how that didn’t matter to her. That she found Conrad detestable and always had.

  But Oliver… Everything about him seemed wonderful to her.

  Right.

  Perfect.

  Conrad folded his handkerchief, put it carefully in his pocket, smoothed his hair, and adjusted his jacket. “Lucy, how lovely to see you here again.”

  She frowned. Why did he make it sound as if his being at the Sanctuary was a common occurrence? She’d never seen him there. Not once. She rarely saw the man out of doors unless it was to leave his house to climb into his carriage. And if one could believe the gossip spread from his servants to her father’s, Conrad even insisted that the driver pull the carriage up as close to the front door as possible so he didn’t soil the bottoms of his expensive boots.

  The man was absurd.

  “Hello, Conrad.” She said no more. Perhaps if she remained silent, he would leave.

  Oliver didn’t say anything either, but from the corner of Lucy’s eye, she noticed his hands were flexing in and out. Did Conrad’s presence put him on alert? Cause him to want to protect her for some reason?

  If that were true, she had yet another reason to swoon around him. The now-familiar warmth whenever he was near heated her core, teasing her body and mind with thoughts she probably ought not to be having.

  At least not with the other man standing right there.

  Conrad glanced from one to the other. A scowl marred his pasty face. What did he have to frown about? He always seemed to want to be with Lucy, and he’d never even met Oliver. Had he eaten something spoiled recently? Blood pudding gone bad?

  With a sigh, Oliver stepped forward. Did he feel sorry for Conrad? Or was he just weary of waiting for the other man to speak? To do what was expected? Lucy’s face heated. Poor Oliver. He must have been so humiliated. Please, Conrad, be a gentleman from here on.

  “Good day. I’m Mr. Barrow.”

  Conrad wrinkled his nose, as if the very fact that Oliver dare address him brought the stench of dead mackerel. From between clenched teeth, he muttered, “Good day.”

  Lucy waited for Conrad to say his name as well. She waited an uncomfortable half a minute. Why must the man be so contrary? Oh, very well! “Mr. Barrow, this is Mr. Conrad Croome, the Earl of Lofton.”

  Oliver held out his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Again, Lucy waited for Conrad to do the expected thing. The decent thing. The human thing. Finally, he grudgingly touched his palm to Oliver’s, then just as quickly snapped it back to his side. Without apology or the grace to look ashamed, he reached again into his pocket.

  Lucy’s mouth dropped open in an unladylike pose. He didn’t! The man retrieved his handkerchief and wiped his hand. Of all the unmitigated nerve. He was even more repugnant than she’d thought. And that was saying something, for she could hardly stomach the man, even from a distance.

  Oliver rubbed his hand along the thigh of his pants. Was he mocking Conrad’s insult? Bravo! Conrad needed taken down a peg. Or ten. The man was obnoxious. Perhaps Oliver was the man for the task.

  Lucy touched Oliver’s sleeve. A mutter from Conrad’s direction brought an inner smile she dared not show on her lips. “Mr. Barrow, perhaps you would be as good as to show Conrad and me around the Bird Sanctuary. And please, don’t leave anything out. We’d like to observe it all.”

  With raised eyebrows, Oliver looked at her. She let the ghost of a smile touch her lips, just enough to show him what she was about.

  Nodding, he grinned. “Why certainly. I’d be glad to.”

  Conrad coughed. “I… wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble, Mr. Barrow.”

  “Please, think nothing of it, Lofton. It would give pleasure to do so. Great pleasure.”

  Lucy bit her lip. She would not laugh. But oh, how she desired to! Oliver wasn’t giving an inch to Conrad. Wouldn’t even call him by his title.

  As the three started back across the grass, the path Conrad had just taken, Lucy smirked. It seemed Oliver was going to cover every inch of the Sanctuary. Conrad was in for a surprise. Sweaty attire. Muddy boots, sunburn, and more than a little attention from ravenous, biting insects.

  Lucy couldn’t say she hated the idea. Although she should. It wasn’t nice. But neither is Conrad. She let out a sigh. No, I must at least be outwardly polite, for my father’s sake, even though I don’t like Conrad. Not a lick.

  She marched behind Oliver, easily keeping up with his pace. Conrad, however, panted so loud from behind her, he sounded like a hound after a hunt. Maybe if he got a taste of what the Bird Sanctuary had to offer, he’d not return.

  I can hope!

  Several minutes of brisk walking later, Oliver stopped and turned toward them. Conrad barely suppressed a “thank goodness” and reached for his ever-present handkerchief, which wasn’t at all white any longer.

  Such a pity.

  They stood in front of a smaller pond than the one where the goose had taken Lucy’s hat. Ducks waddled about them. Their brown coloring with white stripes on the neck contrasted sharply with their blue bills.

  That resembles an ensemble Anna might choose to wear.

  One duck made a straight course for Conrad. He jumped away, trying to escape contact with the bird. “Wh-what is that horrid creature doing?”

  Lucy frowned. “Conrad, don’t be rude.” If she was trying to be outwardly polite, then so should he.

  “Miss Ashbrook is right, Lofton, the duck is only curious about you.”

  “Well I’m not curious about him!”

  The duck waddled closer.

  Proop-proop!

  Lucy giggled. “What an odd sound they make.”

  Oliver nodded. “Yes, very odd. These are northern pintail ducks. The males have that odd whistle you just heard, while the females only quack.”

  Taking a step closer to the duck, Lucy raised her eyebrows. “This duck is a male?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he seems to have taken an interest in Conrad.”

  Face turning an appalling shade of red, Conrad screeched, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  She waved her hand at him. “Oh… nothing.” When she dared glance at Oliver, she caught him biting his lip, trying not to smile. One side of her mouth quivered in response. Given a good reason, or any reason at all, a laugh might be forthcoming, and very soon.

  “Look.” She pointed at a large group of ducks. “They’re going in for a swim.”

  A dozen or so ducks, both male and female quacked and proop-prooped their way into the water. Lucy followed Oliver to the edge of the pond to see them better. She turned. “Conrad, come and see this, they’re so amusing!”

  “I have no doubt you will find them amusing, Lucy, as you seem to be smiling, giggling, or laughing at every little thing today. Although why, I haven’t a clue.”

  Oliver leaned toward Lucy and whispered, “I know of a way to entice him forward. Are you game?”

  “Of course.”

  Reaching his arm out and around Lucy’s shoulders, Oliver pulled her tightly to his side. He whispered again. “Feel free to play along.”

  She nodded. Let’s give this a try, shall we? “Oh… my… Mr. Barrow…”

  He sputtered a laugh but covered his mouth with his free hand. “Y
es, my dear?”

  “You are so very strong.”

  Muttering came from behind. A stomp of a boot. Had Conrad just cursed?

  “Miss Ashbrook, I must tell you what’s in my heart.” Oliver tilted his head near hers.

  She turned her face toward him and fluttered her eyelashes. “Please. Do tell.”

  “Well, I know we’ve only just met, but…”

  “Yes?”

  “I… feel as if I’ve known you my entire life.”

  “Go on, darling.”

  “It may seem sudden, but will you do me the honor of…”

  “Now just a minute!” Conrad stormed up to them, standing beside Lucy. “What is all this?”

  Lucy stepped away from Oliver and burst out laughing.

  Oliver did the same. “Just having sport with you, old man.”

  “Well, I don’t find it funny. Not in the least. How inappropriate of you, Lucy. You should be ashamed of yourself. Acting in such a manner. Flaunting your… your physical self to a man. You should leave such barbaric displays to the awful creatures that live here.”

  Lucy smiled and indicated the ducks behind Conrad. “You mean… such as that?”

  Conrad spun around toward the water. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open. “Well… I… well!”

  Oliver laughed. “That’s just how they feed.”

  Ducks swam about in the water, splashing and paddling.

  But two… two in the middle of the pond weren’t swimming. They were fishing for something beneath the water.

  Tail feathers and bottoms stuck high in the air.

  A red splash of color appeared on Conrad’s face. “That’s disgusting. I cannot bear to stand here and watch them do that.”

  Oliver sighed. “Very well. We’ll head on to another type of bird. This one doesn’t feed in water. So at least you won’t have to see that anymore.”

  “Saints be praised!” Conrad shivered, as if trying to dislodge the hideous scene he’d witnessed.

  They tromped through more tall grass, climbed a hill or two, carefully picked their way through a marshy glen, and stopped by a large grove of trees.