“I doubt my breath was the reason. Although I’m certain it didn’t improve my chances any.”
“If only you could have convinced her to marry you.”
“I didn’t love her. You know that.”
“What does that have to do with anything? You need to think about you.”
“And you.”
His mother mumbled something incoherent. “You need to do something and quick. We’re almost out of money.”
The truth was they were way past out. They were in the hole. Deep. “I’m trying. I’ll… think of something.”
She poked him in the chest. “See that you do. You lost your chance with Lucy, even though I told you exactly what to do and say. Now we need a new plan. I’ll not see my son living in poverty.”
Conrad clenched his teeth, a mistake, as a fresh wave of pain coursed through his jaw. “But since I’m not actually the son of an earl…”
A rustle came from behind them near the overgrown hedge.
His mother frowned. “Did you hear something? Is someone there?”
At that point, Conrad barely cared. All he wanted was to get the tooth out so he could hopefully regain his health. It was no wonder he’d had such foul breath and had lost so much weight lately. “I highly doubt someone is hiding in the hedge.”
“I suppose. Still…” She stepped closer, but covered her nose with her hand.
Conrad’s urge to roll his eyes again was strong, but not enough to risk another shot of agony through his eye. “I’ve known for years that you were—” His gaze flicked down to the ground and back. “—with child when you wed Father, but don’t you think I deserve to know who my real father is?”
Red patches flourished on his mother’s full cheeks. “How can you speak so indelicately of such a thing?”
He stared at her. “There is only one way to conceive a child, is there not?”
The redness faded from her face. She glanced away. “Believe it or not, I was young once. And young people often make stupid mistakes.”
“So you’re saying I was a—”
She paused only for a second, but long enough to put doubt in Conrad’s mind. “Of course not. But I wasn’t about to have my baby live in squalor if I could help it. Finding Lord Lofton was a stroke of luck. When I discovered his penchant for young women and strong drink, the rest was easy.”
“You make it all sound so romantic.”
She flipped her hand. “Sometimes in life, sacrifices must be made.”
“I’m sure your life would have been much happier, then, had I not been so inconveniently conceived.”
“Well…” Her gaze trailed to anywhere but his eyes. At the moment she seemed to be intent on his left ear.
The door opened and two women stepped out. The younger of the two wept loudly.
“I believe it’s your turn now.” Mother grabbed Conrad’s hand as if she thought he would make his escape. Which was exactly what he wished to do. He tried to pull away from her but her grip was like iron. “Come along, son. Let’s get this taken care of.”
Conrad swallowed hard. Cold chills ran up his back. He would have sworn his heart beat so fast that he might just expire on the spot. Each step closer to the door intensified his fear. They entered the dank, dreary enclosure and were told by a young woman near Conrad’s age to step through another doorway to see him.
Him.
Three little letters that terrified the very breath from his lungs. How much would it hurt? How much would it bleed? What if the surgeon-dentist was one of those quacks, who didn’t know what he was doing?
His mother pushed him. She would make sure he went through with the deed. He knew he had to do it, but wished she hadn’t come along. Wasn’t it embarrassing enough to have to come in the first place? How much worse for a grown man to have his mother literally shove him through the door? He could just hear the gossip now…
“The Earl of Lofton made a visit to the surgeon-dentist today… with aid from his pushy parent. Isn’t he man enough to go alone?”
While he might not be the true earl, he still deserved the respect of others because… well, because they didn’t know he was an imposter. There. Shouldn’t that be reason enough? At least, that’s what he’d always been told. He glanced over his shoulder.
A final push came from behind. Conrad half-skidded into the room of torture.
Him. The man, the one who would in the very near future surely inflict more pain than Conrad had ever experienced, stood next to a straight-backed wooden chair. His apron was covered in splatters of dark red blood and who knew what else. Queasiness assaulted Conrad’s stomach until he thought the contents of his meager breakfast would make an unwanted appearance.
Please, no. Not that. Not now.
He swallowed down the bile that threatened and tried to breathe deeply. A big mistake. The smells inside the room caused him to wish he could scurry toward the door for a quick gasp of fresh air. And that was saying something, considering he hated the outdoors.
“I’m Mr. Fletcher. Got a toothache, have you?” His hands were the size of bear paws. How, by all that was holy, was he going to fit them in Conrad’s mouth? And they did not look clean in the least.
Conrad nodded. I just want this over with.
“Have a seat, then.”
Mother stepped forward just as Conrad nearly wilted onto the chair. “My son, the Earl of Lofton, deserves the very best treatment. See that he gets it.”
Mr. Fletcher blinked at her and then lowered his bushy eyebrows. “Don’t I know you from—?”
“Just see to it!” She turned on her heel and scurried from the room.
Conrad flinched against another wave of pain. Searing agony exploded across his face, and he had no recourse but to endure it in order to gain relief.
The young woman who had told them that the surgeon-dentist was ready for them stepped into the room. She smiled at Conrad and patted his shoulder. The sensation was comforting and worlds apart from the slap he’d received from his mother.
“Just relax, now. This won’t take long. Mr. Fletcher is very good.”
All coherent thought fled from Conrad’s mind. “Wh-what’s your name?”
“I’m Cecilia.”
He stared at the pretty woman, suddenly afraid that if she didn’t hold him up in the uncomfortable chair he might just slide right onto the disgusting, grungy floor. It made him want to pick his feet up so he wouldn’t be touching it, but they were the only thing keeping him in the chair.
Mr. Fletcher stepped closer and smiled. The large metal instrument, bent and rounded at one end and pointed at the other, looked quite barbaric. “Open wide, please. This will only hurt for a minute.”
Only for a minute? That seemed an eternity. Conrad opened his mouth, just as he caught a whiff of blood from the man’s apron.
No… oh no…
Everything went dark.
Chapter One
Amelia Talbot climbed into her father’s carriage with the help of the groom. Once seated, she glanced out the window, wondering if anyone had seen her hurry away from the surgeon-dentist’s building. What would she tell her mother when she got back home without the medicine for her gums? It should have been a job for one of the footmen, but Mother insisted she trusted only Amelia. Did she think that the servants might try to poison her? The woman did have a frightful habit of yelling at them for no reason.
She’d fully intended on making quick work of entering the building as she had done in the past to procure her mother’s medicine, but when Amelia had overheard what Lord Lofton and his mother were discussing, she had ducked behind the hedge. Childish behavior, yes, but if she’d rushed away like a scared rabbit, they would have heard her. And there wouldn’t have been a polite way to interrupt them by passing them on the way to the door.
Pardon me while I step between you as you discuss your personal family scandal. Excuse me? What’s that I heard? You’re not an earl?
Amelia shook her head. Lord Lo
fton wasn’t Lord Lofton at all. And didn’t even know who his real father was. How terrible for him. He wasn’t someone she knew well, never had, but they were in the same social circles, so were often at the same places. And, he’d once been engaged to Lucy Shipley.
I’ve always been curious about that. Why hadn’t they married? What had happened to prevent it? Amelia frowned as the familiar jealousy seeped in. It always did when she thought of Lucy. The woman had everything. She was beautiful, sweet, and talented artistically and everyone seemed to like her. Lucy had also been courted by two different men. Two very wealthy men.
Why could it not have been me? Amelia toyed with the yellow lace at the hem of her pelisse. Her father had hinted for several months that if she didn’t find someone soon, someone who was wealthy, he was going to marry her off to Lord Griffith. Lord Griffith! The man was eighty. At least. A shiver ran through her and she pulled her pelisse tighter.
Thoughts of being married and doing that, with him… Kissing. Touching. And… Nausea rolled across her stomach. No. There must be some other way. Some other man…
Any other man.
It had to be someone of imminent wealth or her father wouldn’t be satisfied. Why couldn’t she find someone? She’d been told by many that she was beautiful. Her green eyes and red hair weren’t all that common. And more than once, she’d caught men admiring her considerable… assets. So her looks weren’t the problem.
Of course, some people considered her temper a bit of a sticky proposition. Ah yes. She’d been reminded on many occasions about that. Amelia slapped her hand once against her knee as a flash of irritation overtook her. As soon as a suitable man seemed ripe for the picking, she would discover something about him that was irritating. Annoying. Vexing. One had a nose that whistled when he exhaled. Another had a chin dimple so deep it looked as if he’d been kicked by a mule. Others were too old or too fat. Too loud or too smelly. Was it her fault that all the eligible men were lacking? Once she discovered the faults in any given suitor, she’d loudly point it out to the man. Wasn’t it her duty to make him aware?
Somehow, though, that had seemed to scare them off. So there she was, still unmarried.
Her father’s estate came into view as the horses’ hooves clip-clopped on the long drive. Amelia cringed at the thought of lying to her mother about the gum treatment, but she couldn’t very well tell her she’d been hiding in the bushes and spying on the Loftons, now could she?
The carriage rolled to a stop. A strong wind whipped around her skirt as she stepped to the ground with the groom’s assistance. She hurried to the front door, relieved when it opened just as she reached it.
“Good day, Miss Talbot.” Gordon, the butler, gave a slight bow.
Amelia removed her pelisse and hat. “Good day, Gordon.” She glanced at the stairs. “Is Mother in her room?”
“Yes, miss.” He cleared his throat. “But Mr. Talbot…”
Amelia frowned and tapped her foot. She hated it when the servants made her wait. For anything. Mother had never tolerated it. Had Amelia learned that habit from her? “Well, what is it? What about Father?”
Gordon’s sallow cheeks reddened. “I’m to inform you at your return to see him in his study post haste.”
Post haste? That sounded not in the least appealing. When Father was in a rush to speak to her, it was never a positive experience. “Very well.”
Amelia dragged her feet in a very unladylike manner as she trudged down the hall. She hated being summoned to Father’s study. Hated it. A loud sigh escaped her lips. May as well get it over with. Then she could get on to more pleasant activities afterward. She needed to see what Sunny, her cat, was up to. Probably lounging on Amelia’s bed again.
With a light knock, she pushed the heavy wooden door open. “Father? Gordon said—”
“Come in, Amelia.”
Amelia. Oh no. He only called her that when irritated. Usually it was Kitten or Buttercup. Whatever he had to say to her would surely be unpleasant. She entered the room and closed the door. Family protocol called for her to stand in front of her father’s desk with her hands folded in front of her until spoken to. And with today’s manner of his address to her, it would be advantageous not to try to bend the rules.
How long must I wait? Her foot itched to tap her boot with impatience. But no, she mustn’t try Father. Not today. No telling what he had on his mind.
He placed the papers he’d been reading aside and looked up. “Amelia.”
There it was again. Why could he not change it to Kitten? Even an infrequently used Darling would suffice. But she held her tongue.
“You may sit.”
She hurried to the chair nearest his desk and sat, smoothing out wrinkles from her skirt. Amelia lifted an expectant gaze and waited. Again. Father insisted on being the first to speak in any conversation held in his house. Interrupting, heaven forbid, before the approved moment might cause repercussions of a Biblical nature.
“I have something to discuss with you.”
She nodded. Wasn’t that obvious? Since she’d been summoned and all. Perhaps she was overreacting. Maybe he had something positive to say, such as that her mare had arrived, or he’d reconsidered her request to have her room redecorated even though it had been less than six months since the last time.
Father drummed his large fingers on his desktop. The sound, light and quick, was like raindrops on the windowpane. “I know I’ve mentioned in the past that I expect you to marry. Soon.”
No such luck, apparently. Amelia grasped her hands together in her lap. So that was to be the topic. Hadn’t they already had several discussions along those same lines?
Crevices marred his brow as he held out his hand toward Amelia, giving permission for her to enter into the now one-sided conversation. Sometimes she nearly exploded while she sat and waited for the royal tip of his hand. The man needed a scepter. It would make his ridiculous imperial greatness stand out all the more.
“Yes, Father. As we’ve discussed on many an occasion.”
“This time, however, is different.”
Did he wish to marry her off to some foreign prince this time? At least that might add an element of excitement to the otherwise dreary discussion.
“Things have taken a different turn, so to speak.”
That didn’t sound good. Not good at all. Amelia sat up straight. “How so?”
“I’ve mentioned having you marry Lord Griffith.”
She grimaced. It couldn’t be helped. As if by their own power, her lips had curled down in distaste. Whose wouldn’t under those circumstances? Surely any girl would feel the same? “Yes but I—”
“I’ve heard just today that his health is failing. And he has no heir. So…”
“No!” She sprang up from the chair. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
“I beg your pardon?” He crossed his arms over his chest. She’d done it now. He only did that when he was truly vexed.
Her mouth gone dry, Amelia retook her seat. Without quite meeting his eye, she glanced quickly in his direction. “Forgive me for the outburst Father, but I… Perhaps there is another way?” Please let there be something… anything.
“I’m afraid we’re running out of time. I need the money that would come from a… merger of the two families. And you can’t seem to settle on any of the young men who’ve shown you interest.”
Merger? She shivered. “I… But he’s so… And I don’t think I could possibly…”
“Amelia, this is nothing personal. Marriage matches are made every day for reasons of business and convenience. Surely you didn’t think you would marry for love?”
She smoothed down the lace of her cuff. “Well I…”
He laughed. Laughed!
Irritation bristled just beneath her skin. How dare he laugh at her simply because she had the notion to marry for love? To have a man think her the sun and the moon and wish to do anything to make her happy. Others had unions such as that. Why not her?
>
A sudden vision of Lucy and Oliver Shipley so happy, so in love, crossed her mind. There it was again. The jealous fire that burned across her heart every time she thought of Lucy. Who had everything.
And Amelia would have old Mr. Griffith. It wasn’t fair.
Father stood. “I can see this is difficult for you, Amelia. But I can only wait a few weeks longer. If you truly think you can procure someone to ask for your hand in that time period, then by all means…” He swept his hand in front of him as if the room were filled with suitable marriage prospects.
She stood as well. “You’re saying that if I find someone suitable in that time, then I won’t be saddled with…”
Father raised his eyebrows.
“Uh… married to Lord Griffith?”
“That is correct. But the man in question, if there is such a man, must be well off. Very well off. Preferably titled.”
He gave a pointed look at the door, her, and then back to the door.
Ah… the meeting was at an end. So be it. She headed that direction and let herself out into the hall. It was for the best anyway. She needed time to formulate her plan to find someone.
Amelia walked to the staircase. With each rising step, she fretted more and more. Where was she going to find someone to agree to marry her on such short notice? And it had to be someone rich. And titled.
Rich and titled. Barons. Marquis. Earls.
Earls?
Lord Lofton was an earl. And still unmarried. And she knew something about him she was sure he wouldn’t wish others to find out.
Would it be possible to persuade him to marry her as a means to keep her quiet? She wouldn’t go around telling people his secret, but he didn’t need to know that. She reached the top of the stairs, continued down the hall and entered her room.
Maybe spending some time with her cat would soothe her nerves. Where was Sunny? Amelia could never seem to find him when she wanted to. Just like a cat, though, so independent. But wasn’t that what some people said about her? Never wanting to follow the crowd. Liked to do things her own way. Some people took that as standoffishness, but really Amelia was often insecure, especially around women whom she envied.
Love Birds: The Complete Collection Page 15
