He’d attempted to visit her for several weeks but to no avail. For whatever reason, Martha had decided that Barrington was no longer worthy of her time or company. Perhaps he never really had been. Friends had mentioned seeing her out and about with the same man on several occasions afterward. Barrington wouldn’t be surprised in the least if he heard of her engagement to the other man at some point.
None of it made any sense. Perhaps he would feel somewhat better if he could find out why she preferred this Pemberley fellow to him. But then again, hearing his own deficiencies from someone whom he thought had cared about him might be even worse.
Barrington’s thoughts were dragged to the present when the carriage turned, taking him up the long drive to the Lofton Estate.
Finally, something positive to contemplate.
Barrington rubbed his hands together in anticipation of viewing prized horseflesh. Although rumor had it that Lofton never rode them himself, he was known lately for the outstanding quality of his horses.
And I intend to purchase one this very day.
Barrington climbed from the stopped carriage, giving the coachman instructions to wait for him. He glanced at the stables. Lord Lofton stood in front of the building, waving his arms animatedly to someone. As Barrington neared Lord Lofton, he noticed that an older man and a young woman stood close to him.
The man was dressed as someone of the working class. The young woman… Something about the way she tilted her head as she peered up at Lord Lofton, the way she brushed wayward strands of hair away from her face with small hands… His breath caught.
She was small of stature, but stood tall with her back straight, as if her shortness held no impediment while she stood next to the much taller men.
From the distance, Barrington couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but wisps of her light blond hair, the color of winter wheat, had pulled free from beneath her bonnet and blew about in the breeze. For a reason Barrington couldn’t fathom, he had a sudden urge to rush forward, greet the woman, and smooth that beautiful hair away from her face.
He shook his head. What nonsense has overtaken my mind? He studied the woman as best he could from afar. It couldn’t be Lady Lofton. Barrington had seen her from across a crowded room before and knew her to be much taller with auburn hair.
The blond woman was angled to the side, so Barrington saw her in profile. Even though she wore a pelisse, her handsome figure was quite obvious. She was dressed as a commoner. A maid? But the servants he’d observed, especially women, usually stood off the side, or behind their masters, and were not included in their circle of discussion.
As he neared them, the woman glanced briefly in his direction, quickly turned and rushed away toward a long hedge, disappearing through an opening. Where had she gone in such a hurry? It was as if the sight of him had frightened her off.
Why do I even care? It’s not as if I’ll ever have contact with her.
Lord Lofton smiled and nodded to him when he reached them. “Good day, Mr. Radcliff.”
“Good day.” His glance slid to the second man.
Lord Lofton reached out his hand and touched the older man’s shoulder. It seemed an odd, familiar gesture. “Mr. Radcliff, this is Mr. Fletcher. He’s my steward.”
Mr. Fletcher nodded and smiled.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Why was the other man so familiar? Large frame, blond hair, friendly demeanor.
Fletcher…
There was a man by that name who was a surgeon-dentist, wasn’t there? Barrington had taken Percy several years back for an infected tooth. But it couldn’t be him, could it? Surely not. Why would a surgeon-dentist be working for Lord Lofton?
“We were just about to take a look at the new horses. Ready to see them?” Lord Lofton pointed to the stables.
“Certainly.” Barrington so hoped acquiring a new horse would take his mind off of his troubles with Martha, at least for a short while. Anything to ease the burden of his torturous thoughts.
Dust motes danced in beams of light coming through the stable windows. Barrington squinted until his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the building. A horse stamped and whinnied to his left.
“We’ve housed the new arrivals at the end.” Lofton tilted his head in that direction. “Let’s go meet them.”
They passed stall after stall in a seemingly unending line of horses. Yet, if the rumor that Lofton never rode was true, why have so many?
“Here we are. These six are new.” Mr. Fletcher walked to the first stall and rubbed the nose of a black mare with a white flame between her eyes.
Barrington’s gaze dropped to the steward’s other hand. Poor man. It was mangled and twisted from the wrist down with angry red scars across his knuckles. Had he suffered an accident of some sort? What in the world could have happened to have caused such a terrible outcome?
Barrington tore his gaze from Mr. Fletcher and stepped forward to eye the horse from ears to tail. “Very nice.” He studied each horse’s size and reaction to his voice and touch. He couldn’t go wrong with any of them. But the one on the end, a large mare, caught his eye. Her chestnut coat gleamed, appearing to have been freshly brushed. She nuzzled his hand and then the top of his head.
He laughed. How good it feels to be joyful about something. Anything.
“Find one that catches your eye, Mr. Radcliff?”
Barrington addressed Lord Lofton, who had stepped up beside him. “Indeed. I like the appearance of this one. She’s quite friendly and accommodating, don’t you think?” He glanced at Mr. Fletcher as well, who nodded.
“Wonderful.” Lord Lofton smiled.
Barrington stroked the mare between the ears. Now if it was only so easy to find a woman who would love him. Doubtful he’d find one of those around the stables, though.
Lord Lofton nodded to Mr. Fletcher, who opened the stall and led the horse out into the main aisle.
Barrington walked all the way around the horse and indeed liked the look of it. “I’ll take this one.”
“When would you like to collect your new horse, Mr. Radcliff?” Lord Lofton stood back away from the animal, not even bothering to touch it. Did he not like animals?
“As soon as possible, if that suits you, my lord.”
Lord Lofton shifted his gaze to Mr. Fletcher, who nodded. The two men seemed to have an unusual relationship considering one worked for the other.
“That sounds fine.” Lord Lofton inclined his head to Barrington.
Suddenly, Mr. Fletcher’s eyes widened at something behind Barrington. The man shook his head, almost imperceptibly. When Barrington turned, all he saw was the hem of a long skirt and wisps of blond hair. Had it been the same woman from before?
Why would she run away? Again?
Chapter Four
Cecilia hurried along the path that led to the cottage. She had no wish to spend the day with Mama, but didn’t want to be with Conrad if that stranger was still in attendance. He had nearly caught her twice! Cecilia would hate to complicate matters for her brother by possibly having others wonder who she was and why she was there. She sighed as she rounded the corner, skirting a small grove of trees.
And stopped.
An old, weathered carriage sat in front of the cottage, a long scratch stretching from end to end on the outside of the door. Oh no. She knew that carriage. And unfortunately, she also knew its inhabitant. It was horrid Mr. Seymour.
Cecilia’s skin crawled at the thought of him. Even more so that he was here. At her house. When she was in Mr. Seymour’s company, he leered at her when her father’s back was turned. Such a creepy sort. What does he want? Maybe he hadn’t noticed her yet. She moved away, hoping to escape from—
“Miss Fletcher!”
Too late. She’d been spotted. With a smile she didn’t feel, she angled back and faced the man descending awkwardly from the carriage. If she weren’t nice to him, he’d tattle to her father.
Mr. Seymour was short, even shorter than she was. H
is pudgy frame resembled a block except where a block had sharp corners Mr. Seymour had bulges. His stubby legs were disproportionate to his upper girth, making it appear as if he might tumble over if he leaned too far to one side or the other.
His raspy laugh, which rivaled a wild dog’s growl, caused her hair to stand on end. But even with all of that, he could be somewhat tolerated if it wasn’t for his dark eyes, which were crossed. Cecilia never knew which one to focus on, so she simply let her gaze rest uncomfortably on the little man’s single eyebrow that rested like a tiny furry rodent atop his disturbing eyes.
How Mr. Seymour ever completed any task as the new surgeon-dentist with his impaired eyesight was beyond her contemplation. Surely there’d be a danger of a patient losing an eye or gaining a third nostril instead of having his tooth extracted. If she ever needed a tooth pulled, since her father could no longer perform the work, she’d find a way to yank it out on her own.
Using her bare fingers, if she had to.
With a stumble over feet that were alarmingly large for such a short man, Mr. Seymour hurried his steps until he reached her. “Good day.”
“Good day, Mr. Seymour.” Why is he here? Hadn’t he and Papa discussed all that needed to be covered about the transfer of Papa’s business? She couldn’t imagine any good reason for him to suddenly appear at their home. “I’m afraid Papa isn’t available at the moment. Perhaps if you returned—”
“It isn’t Mr. Fletcher I came to see.”
“I beg your pardon?” Surely her mother would have no input about business matters. And Cecilia was never of a mood to spend any time with this man.
“No.” He took a step closer, his fat fingers opening and closing at his sides.
Cecilia stepped back, the heel of her boot catching on the hem of her dress. Thankfully, she didn’t stumble. This was the first time she’d ever spoken to him without her father standing next to her. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Then I’m not sure how I can help you.” She grasped her hands together in front of her. Perhaps if she stood there long enough without offering him any help, he’d leave her alone and slither right back into his carriage.
“You see—” He closed the distance between them. “—I was thinking about something.”
How nice for you. Cecilia stared at the single entity above his eyes. What in the blazes was he talking about? She tapped her foot, waiting for him to say what he’d come to say so he would leave. Surely he had better things to do with his day. And she was certain that she had.
“Miss Fletcher, if I may…”
Whatever it is, you may not. She glanced at the cottage door, longing to make her escape. Why did he have to find me alone?
“Now that I’ve procured your father’s business, I realize that something is missing.”
“Missing?” She frowned. Was he accusing her father of stealing something that should have remained in the building? Some supplies or some kind of tool for tooth extraction? What possible use would Mr. Seymour think it would be to Papa’s mangled hand now? He could barely button his own coat without help from her or from Mama. But as much as Papa hated to ask for assistance, he had no other choice.
“Yes, something that I desperately need to do my work competently.”
Even with help from the heavens above, Mr. Seymour would never be termed as competent. He only had patients because they were loyal to her father and had agreed to give Mr. Seymour a try. “And just what might that be?” Not that she wanted to know, particularly, but hoped he’d speak his piece and go away. Perhaps if she listened to his babbling for a moment, he’d be content.
“I’m quite good at my vocation.”
If I bite down on my tongue, will it keep my true thoughts from forming words and escaping?
“But something is not quite right.”
There were so many comments Cecilia could add to that. None of them nice.
“Would you like to guess what that something might be?”
Not in a lifetime of chances. “No.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, suddenly chilled by the way his disturbing gaze roved over her person.
He touched his hand to his chest as if preparing to announce something of worldly importance. “I, Miss Fletcher, am in need of an assistant.”
“I’m pleased for you, truly. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
He wrapped his beefy fingers around her lower arm, tightening his grip. She gasped, but when he quickly released her, Cecilia let out a relieved sigh. Mr. Seymour had never dared to touch her before. A shiver ran through her.
“What I meant to say was that I want you to be my assistant.”
“I think not.” A vision of sharing an office with him, having to stand so near, breathing the same air… No.
“But your father always bragged about how well you performed your—” Mr. Seymour lowered his gaze to her chest and back up. “—duties.”
Repulsed by being anywhere near him, especially when he leered at parts of her he had no business looking at, she swallowed hard. Through clenched teeth she said, “While I’m grateful my father found me to be an asset to him, I’m not interested in being your assistant.” Or anything else.
“Oh come now, Miss Fletcher.” His gaze darted to the small cottage she shared with her parents. “Surely your family could use the extra income you could provide by working with me?”
Cecilia longed to tell him it wasn’t true. That because of Conrad’s generosity, her family had a place to live and food to eat and everything they would ever need. The truth was that even with all of that, she knew Papa hated taking charity from his own son. “Mr. Seymour. I have no wish to work for you.” She took a step away from him. “Now if there is nothing else…”
“Actually there is another matter which I—”
The cottage door opened with a squeak. “Cecilia? I thought you’d gone with…” Mama’s eyes opened wide and then her mouth lifted in a smile. “Why Mr. Seymour. What a pleasant surprise.”
Oh no. Her mother, for some reason unbeknownst to man, actually liked Mr. Seymour. Did she not realize that she was in a minority of one? That most others didn’t care to even spend more than a few moments in his obnoxious presence?
He nodded his head in her direction. “Good day, Mrs. Fletcher. I trust you are well?”
Mama rubbed her hand over the back of her neck and uttered a light moan. “Oh, I’m getting along the best I can, I suppose. Some days it’s difficult even rising from bed.” She shook her head back and forth, slowly, as if even that small movement caused her distress.
If Mr. Seymour had seen Cecilia’s mother the day prior, stomping behind their maid, flailing her arms about and telling her of all the places she’d missed in her dusting, he might doubt her mother’s sad plea for pity of her physical state.
“Oh, I’m so disheartened to hear of your troubles, Mrs. Fletcher.”
Mama brightened. “Aren’t you sweet?” She stepped through the doorway and out into the sunlight. “Would you like to—”
No, don’t say it Mama!
“—come inside for a visit?”
“That would be lovely.” He held his elbow out for Cecilia to take. She darted a glance at Mama, who watched her like the property’s resident hawk when it spotted some live prey. Eyes narrowed, not missing a detail.
What choice did Cecilia have? She couldn’t very well return to the stables with her father, brother, and the handsome stranger who’d arrived for a visit. And Mama’s wrath would be wicked later today if she didn’t appear polite to Mr. Seymour now.
She clenched her teeth together. “Certainly.”
As soon as they stepped into the house, Cecilia wrenched her hand from Mr. Seymour’s arm. “I’ll make tea, Mama.” Anything to get away from him.
Her mother didn’t acknowledge her, just led Mr. Seymour to a chair near the fireplace and then sat opposite him.
Good. Perhaps I can stay over here and not have to spend time with—
“Miss Fletcher? Please join
us.”
“I’m, um, making tea.”
Mama waved her hand dismissively. “Let the maid do that when she arrives in a little while.”
Perfect. Now there was no good excuse. Cecilia trudged across the room and sat down in the only remaining chair, which happened to be nearest Mr. Seymour. The chairs hadn’t been that close together this morning. The furniture was never moved. Her mother had a fit if even a pillow was left in the wrong position. Had Mr. Seymour moved them so Cecilia would have to sit nearer to him?
Surely not.
She raised her gaze slowly, hoping that he wouldn’t be looking in her direction. Blast! He was staring right at her, his single eyebrow jiggling up and down. Oh the horror. He’d done it on purpose. Cecilia jumped up from the seat as if it was a bed of vipers.
Mama frowned and tilted her head toward the seat. “Cecilia.”
With a resigned shrug, Cecilia plopped down on the chair again. Why oh why did she have to be walking back to the cottage when he showed up?
Mr. Seymour smiled. “Miss Fletcher… may I call you Cecilia?”
“No.”
The crease on her mother’s forehead deepened. “Cecilia.” She then addressed their guest. “Of course you may.”
He beamed. “Wonderful. And I insist that you both address me as Horace.”
I’d rather eat a toad and die. She glared at him, hoping he could feel the hatred flowing off of her.
But he stared at her. And winked. Winked!
Mama huffed out a breath. “Cecilia, honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Because Horace—” She smiled at him and then immediately frowned again when she turned back to Cecilia. “—is our good friend. Of course we shall address him as he has requested.”
Cecilia bit down hard on her lip and winced at the pain. Better than allowing the curse that perched on the end of her tongue to make its ugly appearance. She clenched her teeth, careful not to bite her lip a second time. “Of course.”
Love Birds: The Complete Collection Page 37
