Love Birds: The Complete Collection

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Martha grabbed hold of Mr. Pemberley’s arm. “I think it’s time for us to take our leave.” She glared at Miss Fleming.

  Mr. Pemberley then glared at Barrington. “I couldn’t agree more, my dear.” With a sniff, he led her out of the grove of trees and away.

  Barrington addressed Miss Fleming. “I’m appalled you were caught in the middle of that, Miss Fleming. I have no doubt you’re unaccustomed to people acting in such an uncouth manner.”

  She waved a hand. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

  “Indeed?”

  Her face reddened and she looked away. “It’s… fine, I assure you.”

  “In any case, I’d hate for that to have ruined our pleasant outing.”

  A smile touched her lips. “Never fear, Mr. Radcliff. Nothing has been ruined. At least not for me.”

  “Nor for me.” Relief spread through him. Miss Fleming appeared to be the forgiving sort. Always a plus.

  She glanced back at him and then laid her hand on his arm. “Back to the reason we came to the grove. You were going to show me a bird that you like. What was it again?”

  “A willow warbler.”

  “Ah, that’s right. I can’t wait to view it.”

  He pointed to the bird above them, with its brown and yellow body, greenish wings, and pink feet. “I believe you’ve already been introduced.”

  The warbler opened its beak and released the clump of hair, which caught on a light breeze and slowly floated down from the tree branch.

  Miss Fleming squinted. “What’s he doing now?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  The bird jumped from the branch and dove straight down toward them. Miss Fleming squealed. “Oh my goodness! I think it means us harm!”

  Mr. Radcliff stepped close and pulled her to his side. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  They ducked, trying to avoid the same fate that had befallen Mr. Pemberley, Barrington keeping his hat firmly on his head and Miss Fleming tugging on her hat.

  Right before it appeared that the bird would swoop on their heads, it spun left and then right, swooping in a circle beneath the falling strands of hair.

  Barrington glanced up. “I think it’s safe now.”

  Miss Fleming still had her hand over her hat. “Are you certain?”

  “Here, stand up and I’ll show you.”

  Miss Fleming rose with Barrington and glanced upward to where he pointed.

  The willow warbler was once again perched on the branch, preening at something on its head.

  “Mr. Radcliff, is that bird wearing what I think he is?”

  He chuckled. “If you mean that he’s wearing Mr. Pemberley's hair on his head, then yes.”

  “Perhaps the bird’s head was cold.”

  “Or he wanted a wig so he could be more attractive.”

  Miss Fleming shook her head. “And I thought debutantes were vain…”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The carriage halted in front of the Temple of the Muses, which housed a bookstore on the ground floor. “Wait just down the street, if you would.” Amelia smiled at the coachman and then accepted the groom’s offered help to step to the ground.

  Cecilia glanced up at the front of the shop, eager to find out what books might be available to read. A shuffling of feet snapped her attention back to the waiting groom, his hand still and waiting for her to take it and step down. “Pardon.”

  The groom’s face flushed, but he gave a slight nod as he assisted her.

  “Shall we?” Amelia tilted her head toward the shop and grabbed Cecilia’s hand.

  With a shake of her head, Cecilia nearly laughed. Her brother’s wife still hadn’t given up her habit of tugging others around by a hand or arm.

  Cecilia stumbled into the dim light of the shop, the only thing stopping her from crashing into a large display of mysteries was Amelia’s shoulder.

  “Good heavens.” Amelia twisted around to look at Cecilia. “I keep reminding myself not to do that… please forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive. I aspire to be just like you, Amelia.”

  “Even with my penchant for nearly causing bodily harm?”

  “Perhaps all but that.”

  They laughed and stepped farther into the musty store. The aroma of leather and something just old seemed to flow out of every crevice of every book. Cecilia didn’t mind. Anything to do with books, adventure, and romance was enticing enough to deal with odd smells and a spirited sister-in-law.

  “Oh, I think that’s Mrs. Hopkins. Will you be fine on your own for a few moments, Cecilia?”

  “Of course.” Actually, it would be quite enjoyable to peruse titles at her leisure, running her fingers down the spines, flipping through the pages searching for a story to whisk her away from her sedate life with her mother in the tiny cottage.

  A shadow passed over her hand as it reached for a romance. “Miss Fleming?”

  She jumped and turned. Mr. Radcliff. “Good day.”

  “To you as well. It’s pleasant to see you here.”

  Cecilia tapped the spine of the book nearest her on the shelf. “I love to read.”

  “As do I. Although, I must admit romances are not my first choice.”

  “Aren’t they? What a pity. You don’t wish to know the most inner thoughts of a heroine trapped in a cave by the sea?”

  “Not especially.”

  “Or perhaps a silly debutante who pines for nothing more than frippery and a new hat?”

  His laughter startled two older women who had just entered the store. “I can honestly say I’ve never longed to know anything about frippery.”

  “What a shame. I think you’re missing out on the more important subjects, Mr. Radcliff.”

  “You think so?”

  “Certainly. What could be more enticing than learning a certain woman’s favorite hat must be decorated with blue feathers in order to please?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Hmm. Blue feathers? I would think something along the lines of world affairs would take precedence.”

  Cecilia glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “But a hat, Mr. Radcliff. Think about what you’re saying.”

  “One’s head wear might be considered an important item, I suppose.”

  “Yes, one must keep one’s priorities in order.”

  “Of course. Or how about—”

  Steps approached from Cecilia’s right. “Miss Fletcher?”

  Fletcher? Oh no… Her heart pounded wildly, fluttering about and feeling as if given the chance, might just lodge in her throat.

  A short man, his girth barely kept hidden beneath his tight coat, moved closer. “It is you, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not—”

  Mr. Radcliff frowned. “Say, old chap, I’m afraid the lady isn’t who you’d assumed.”

  “Of course she is.”

  “No, I’m quite sure you’re mistaken.”

  Cecilia swallowed hard. Why am I surprised that someone recognized me? It was bound to happen, was it not?

  The man tilted his head and studied Cecilia. “I’m Mr. Frankfort. Surely you haven’t forgotten me, Miss Fletcher.”

  Oh, she remembered him all right. Screamed like a girl before he’d sat in the chair. Clung to her hand so tightly she’d feared that her fingers wouldn’t ever regain feeling. Spewed vulgar language at her father until his bad tooth had been removed. And then, standing and smoothing his coat afterward, he’d acted the perfect gentleman, as if his bad behavior had never occurred. “No, I’m afraid Mr. Radcliff is correct. You have me confused with—”

  “But Miss Fletcher, you were good enough to hold my hand.”

  Mr. Radcliff stiffened, his mouth dropping slightly open. “The gall!”

  Ignoring Mr. Radcliff, Mr. Frankfort shook his head. “No, I’m not confused. The only thing that got me through the ordeal was gazing into your beautiful blue eyes.”

  From the corner of her eye, Cecilia spotted Mr. Radcliff’s hand
clench at his side.

  Mr. Frankfort dared to step even closer to Cecilia. “And here.” He hooked his finger into the side of his lip, looking every bit the fish caught on a leisurely Sunday picnic. “I have another bad tooth!”

  Cecilia blanched. What in the world was the man doing? Even though she was whom he’d guessed, why was he showing her his rotting, fetid tooth in the middle of a bookstore?

  “This has gone on long enough.” Mr. Radcliff’s voice came out as a gruff whisper. “You’ll cease to bother Miss Fleming. Do I make myself clear?”

  Mr. Frankfort closed his mouth before remembering to remove his finger. His yelp confirmed the fact that he had indeed chomped down on his appendage. Although to Cecilia’s recollection, the man didn’t have many teeth left with which to bite. Must have found the only two that opposed each other top to bottom.

  “C-certainly. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Miss Fletcher, er, Miss Fleming. Please pardon the intrusion.” With haste, Mr. Frankfort left them and rushed through the shop, nearly stumbling on the same display that had almost been Cecilia’s undoing upon arrival.

  “Miss Fleming, are you all right?”

  “Yes. Fine.”

  “I can’t believe the audacity of the man. What on earth was he doing? Showing a woman his mouth? Speaking of holding your hand? Gazing at you?” His eyes sparked anger and he huffed out a breath of irritation.

  Cecilia placed her hand on his sleeve. “It’s nothing. Truly.”

  “But it wasn’t nothing.”

  “Best just to forget it, Mr. Radcliff.”

  “I can’t—”

  “What’s all the commotion?” Amelia rounded the end of the aisle.

  Mr. Radcliff’s lips pressed into a firm line. He still appeared furious, but his silence gave Cecilia a chance to answer.

  She pointed vaguely in the direction in which the man had scurried. “Some man… a stranger, insisted I was someone else.”

  Her sister-in-law quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?” She glanced at Mr. Radcliff and waited.

  A muscle worked in his jaw before he spoke. “Not only was the man rude, but he actually… the man had the audacity to…”

  “What? What did the man do?”

  Mr. Radcliff lowered his voice, peering over the stack of books nearest them before speaking. “He actually opened his mouth and wanted to show his teeth. To Miss Fleming.”

  Amelia pressed her fingers to her lips, her gaze darting between him and Cecilia. “I see.”

  “You do?” Mr. Radcliff tilted his head. “I’m afraid I don’t. Not at all.”

  “Listen.” Cecilia briefly touched Mr. Radcliff’s hand. “It was just a silly misunderstanding. I’m left unscathed. Truly.” She smiled, hoping to coax a similar expression from him.

  Slowly, one corner of his mouth rose a tiny bit. “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  Amelia shook her head. “And all we expected to encounter today was a pile of dusty reading material.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  A woman’s laughter floated from the lawn behind Conrad’s house. Surely anything would be better than staying in the cottage, pretending to listen to Mama’s rants.

  Cecilia hurried toward the door. “Sorry, Mama. I must go. Papa has need of me.”

  “But—”

  Cecilia shut the door on her mother’s protest and hurried toward the loud laughter. Amelia. With a grin, she made her way to the lawn. Her brother and sister-in-law appeared to be in some sort of clench.

  Hmmm. Perhaps not the best time to intrude.

  “Oh, Cecilia!” Conrad waved an arm at her. “Come quick!”

  What on earth? She rushed to his side.

  More laughter came from Amelia. “Your brother just doesn’t want to admit that he has no talent for the game.”

  “Game?”

  “Bilboquet. Surely you’ve played.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Conrad scowled. “If you value your life, don’t play.” Something was dangling from his ear.

  His gaze caught hers. “I never dreamed that playing a simple game would have me wearing an unwanted earbob.”

  Amelia playfully slapped his shoulder. “You never cease to entertain me.”

  “I believe we’ve had this discussion before. I hadn’t any intention of entertaining you, yet you find amusement at my expense.” He turned. “Cecilia, would you be so kind to assist me as my wife can’t seem to stop her merriment.”

  “Of course.”

  Amelia’s renewed peals of laughter circled around them.

  What kind of game involved having a string wrapped around one’s ear? She wasn’t certain she wanted to play. It didn’t sound fun or make any kind of sense. Cecilia reached up to unwind the string, but it gave resistance. “There seems to be something holding it down.”

  “Yes, that would be the ball.”

  “Ball?”

  Conrad tilted his head slightly toward his side. A wooden ball the size of an apple hung suspended beneath his arm, just above his elbow.

  She raised her eyebrows but continued to carefully loosen the string from his ear.

  Amelia sputtered another laugh. “Pardon me, Conrad, I really don’t mean to make sport of your… dilemma. It’s only…” She bit her lower lip and her cheeks flushed. Was she trying to contain her mirth again?

  Conrad narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I’m a buffoon who has no talent for games. Now that we’ve established that fact, may we please release my person from this hideous entrapment?”

  Amelia sobered. “Of course darling. Forgive me.” She stepped behind her husband and tugged on something.

  “Ah! Darling, please be careful.”

  Cecilia still had one stubborn strand of string to undo. Why wasn’t it moving? And what was Amelia doing?

  “I think the blasted cup is the problem.”

  “Cup?” Cecilia frowned.

  “That’s the other part of the game.” Amelia gave another tug, causing Conrad to lean backward.

  “Stop!” Conrad raised his arm in the air. “Perhaps only one of you should work at a time since we are apparently at cross purposes.”

  Amelia, nostrils flared and the corners of her mouth pointing up, nodded. “Yes, I’ll step away.”

  Cecilia finished unwinding the string and ended up holding it in the middle, with the ball hanging from one end and a cup from the other. “This game doesn’t make sense. How does it work exactly?”

  “Not very well I’m afraid.”

  “Not if you’re Conrad.” Amelia's voiced floated over from a few feet away.

  “Darling, please.” He smoothed his hair and coat, resembling a bird with ruffled feathers.

  “I’m sorry.” Amelia stepped toward him and placed her hand on his arm.

  His eyes squinted at the corners. “You know I can’t stay irritated with you for long.”

  Cecilia warmed at their exchange. Even after a disagreement, they always seemed to genuinely care for one another. Would she ever find something so wonderful? Holding up the cup and ball, she tilted her head. “I cannot for the life of me figure out how this would be an enjoyable game.”

  Amelia reached out to take them. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  “Oh, the agony. Must we?” Conrad sighed.

  Someone called “Good day!” from across the lawn. Cecilia turned. It was Mr. Radcliff. Warmth flowed through her entire being. Every time he was near, she couldn’t stop the immense pleasure from nearly overtaking her, making her knees weak and her pulse increase.

  She glanced down at her attire, glad to be wearing her best day dress. Perhaps Mr. Radcliff wouldn’t notice she wasn’t dressed as nicely as Amelia was.

  Amelia waved. “Mr. Radcliff. Come join us.”

  He smiled. When he reached them, his gaze floated to Cecilia. “Good day, Miss Fleming.”

  “Mr. Radcliff. How pleasant to be in your company.”

  Amelia pointed toward the ball and cup. “Now we can have a rea
l competition.”

  “Bilboquet?” Mr. Radcliff raised his brow. “I’ve not played it since I was a boy.”

  Conrad rolled his eyes. “My point exactly. Why drag it out now? Yet, my wife insisted. So here we are.”

  “Shall we form teams?” Amelia grabbed Conrad’s arm, obviously intent upon claiming him for hers.

  Cecilia cringed. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to play.”

  “Not to worry.” Mr. Radcliff moved near her. “I’m a champion of bilboquet.”

  Conrad harrumphed. “Of course you are.” With a sigh, he gazed at Amelia and nodded. “As you wish.”

  “Splendid. My husband might be in need of a break from the merriment, so perhaps you would like to go first, Mr. Radcliff?”

  He nodded and took the ball and cup from Amelia. “Delighted.”

  Cecilia watched in fascination as Mr. Radcliff held the ball in his right hand and the cup in his left. “What happens now?”

  “Now, the object is to get the ball to land in the cup.”

  “That doesn’t seem very sporting.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “Wouldn’t it be easy to just place it there?”

  Conrad grumbled, “Oh no, that would be too easy.”

  A smile lifted the corners of Mr. Radcliff’s mouth. “That would be easy, but the goal is to do it with only one hand like this.” He held on to the cup but let the string and ball fall below. The wooden ball swung back and forth, the span getting shorter with each pass. When the ball was still, Mr. Radcliff eyed it and then the cup. With a downward and then upward thrust of the cup, he maneuvered underneath the ball as it flew through the air on the string. With a loud plop, the ball landed inside the cup.

  “Well done!”Amelia clapped.

  “Perhaps you should have had him on your team instead of me.” Conrad scowled.

  “Now, now, you know I wouldn’t want to play with anyone but you.”

  Somewhat appeased, Conrad smiled.

  “So,” said Mr. Radcliff to Cecilia. “Want to give it a try?”

  It didn’t look so difficult. Surely she could manage to get a ball into a cup. Perhaps Conrad just didn’t know how to do it correctly. He hadn't ever been adept at anything physical. “Yes.”