Love Birds: The Complete Collection

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Beneath the table, Cecilia wrung her hands together, twisting them so tight that a jab of pain shot through her fingers. Why wouldn’t the meal end so she could take her leave?

  She glanced toward the window. What was Mama doing at the moment? Papa had told her, of course, that he’d had need of Cecilia in the stables. And the poor man was again waiting there until Cecilia was finished for the evening so they could return to the cottage together as if they’d been together the entire evening.

  Papa was such a dear to do this for her, to want her to have a chance at a better life, at finding love. Cecilia hated that her father needed to go to such lengths in order to help the cause. She hadn’t asked him to, he’d just insisted.

  “Cecilia?” Amelia’s voice interrupted her woolgathering.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you care for some blueberry tart?”

  With a frown, Cecilia glanced at each of their plates. While she had sat there in a daze, the others had finished their meals. How must that have looked to Mr. Radcliff?

  She forced a smile. “That sounds lovely.”

  Mr. Radcliff blinked, eyed her full plate for but a brief moment and brought his gaze up to meet hers.

  Amelia’s voice interrupted Cecilia’s pleasant diversion of gazing at her handsome dinner companion. “Cecilia, I hope it won’t embarrass you when I tell Mr. Radcliff your little secret.”

  Eyes widening, Cecilia gaped at her sister-in-law.

  “That you love sweets to distraction.”

  Relief swept through Cecilia. Amelia why do you frighten me so with your sudden unexpected announcements? She aimed another false smile at Mr. Radcliff. “It’s true, I’m afraid. I can’t stay away from them.”

  He lowered his gaze to her mouth as his voice came out in a near whisper. “Then I would have to say that the sweets are fortunate, indeed.” His face reddened, but his gaze found hers. The sparkle was back in his eyes.

  Did he believe Amelia’s story about Mama being a beggar woman?

  Conrad cleared his throat from the other end of the table. “Why don’t we enjoy our dessert and then take a stroll in the gardens?”

  “Splendid idea.” Amelia leaned back from the table as the maid served her the tart.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Miss Fleming’s hand warmed Barrington’s arm though her glove and his sleeve were between them. They walked along a path surrounded on both sides by colorful roses of pink and red. Songbirds of various sizes in shades of yellow, brown, and grey perched and chirped from nearby trees.

  Lord and Lady Lofton had come outside as well but had taken up residence on a bench a few yards away. They spoke in low tones, seemingly intent only upon each other’s company. Again, Barrington was struck by the closeness of the couple. A tiny spark of envy burned in his heart. He wanted to find that kind of love for himself.

  If Miss Fleming’s chaperones could keep her in sight with nothing more than a flick of a glance, perhaps he and Miss Fleming would have an opportunity for a few words alone. In a society with a multitude of right and wrong rules concerning etiquette, sometimes just having a simple, private conversation with a lovely member of the fairer sex was nigh on impossible.

  Miss Fleming glanced up at him but quickly averted her gaze. Her cheeks colored pink. Was she embarrassed? Still uncomfortable with what had transpired the day before by the Lofton’s hedge? She’d not said much during dinner and had hardly touched her food.

  When Lady Lofton had explained the reason for the woman calling out the wrong name to Miss Fleming, at first Barrington had been distrustful. His dealings with Martha had taken away what had once been his ready faith in people and in what they said. He frowned. But that man in the bookstore had also called her by the surname Fletcher.

  Fletcher. The same name as the Lofton’s steward. Coincidence? Barrington wasn’t sure he believed that to be the case. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to inquire. Hopefully it wouldn’t upset Miss Fleming further. Something in him, though, longed to know the truth. He’d been lied to before by someone he trusted and cared deeply about. Barrington had no wish to repeat the experience. His heart might not survive a second time without shattering irrevocably.

  He lowered his voice so as not to be overheard by her chaperones. “Miss Fleming. If I’m not being too bold, may I ask you a question?”

  Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Of… course.”

  “Let me start by saying that while I was upset at yesterday’s occurrence by the hedge, your cousin’s explanation has smoothed my ruffled feathers, so to speak.” And here I am, sounding every bit like Uncle Percy with his bird references.

  “I’m… pleased to hear it.”

  “However…”

  She stiffened, but kept pace with his steps.

  “Something has come to mind.”

  “Oh?” She reached up and fidgeted with the white ribbons that tied her hat beneath her chin.

  “I remembered being introduced to Lord Lofton’s steward, who also had the surname of Fletcher.”

  “Yes. That’s… right.” She wound one length of the ribbon around her finger.

  “My question would be is the steward somehow related to the woman who has mistaken ideas about your identity?”

  Miss Fleming dropped her hand from her hat and glanced over her shoulder and then turned back, but her gaze never quite reached his. It instead landed on his chin. “They… that is, um…”

  Barrington patted her hand. “I can see I’ve upset you with my question. If you’d rather not answer, then—”

  “No. You deserve an explanation. I’m sure it was all very confusing for you.” Her hand that rested on Barrington’s sleeve tightened into a fist, then relaxed nearly as quickly.

  He nodded and then held his breath. Would her explanation help alleviate some of his questions? Am I wrong for wishing to know the truth after being previously lied to? Trust, something he’d once given freely, now seemed an elusive mist that disappeared whenever he tried to capture it in his hands.

  “You see, Mr. Fletcher and Mrs. Fletcher are indeed… married. T-to each other.”

  “Married? You don’t say?” What an odd circumstance. The seemingly capable steward to an earl was the husband of a crazed woman who roamed the grounds and accused a member of Lord Lofton’s own family of being her daughter.

  Miss Fleming gazed at the ground, slowly nodding her head. “Yes. A sad tale to be sure.”

  “How does Mr. Fletcher deal with the difficulties his wife’s behavior must cause? I would imagine him to find it quite embarrassing at times.”

  At that, Miss Fleming spun around and looked directly at him, as if she was no longer uncomfortable discussing the subject. “I can honestly say that Mrs. Fletcher’s words and actions are indeed quite vexing. To everyone.”

  “Is that so?”

  “She lives with her husband in the caretaker’s cottage just on the other side of the hedge.”

  Now it was starting to make sense why Mrs. Fletcher would have happened to have accosted Miss Fleming right where she and Barrington had been walking. “Ah… So it might not have been so unusual that she would seek you out from over there.”

  “No, unfortunately it wouldn’t.”

  “Has this gone on long? The fact that the woman believes you to be her daughter?”

  “Quite… quite a long while, yes.”

  “Extraordinary. But Lady Lofton said something about the woman sneaking onto the estate. That she came to beg often.”

  Miss Fleming wrapped a long strand of hair that had worked loose from beneath her hat around her finger and gave it a tug, but seemed unaware that she’d done it, as if she were agitated. Perhaps that was due to nothing more than he had asked questions of a personal nature of which he had no right to ask.

  What am I about? Asking prying, sensitive questions about her life? He opened his mouth to apologize but snapped it closed when she lifted her chin and proceeded to answer.

  “Lady Lofton is… embar
rassed, I suppose, at Mrs. Fletcher’s actions and moodiness. Perhaps she doesn’t want to admit that the woman lives on the estate grounds. That she must contend with someone like that so close to her own home.”

  Barrington lowered his eyebrows. That didn’t sound like a plausible explanation at all to concoct such a story as that, but he was loath to ask anything further. Hadn’t he already overstepped his boundaries? A doubt, albeit small, clung to the back of his mind, that all wasn’t as it was presented to be.

  Uncle Percy’s words floated through Barrington’s mind. Give her a chance.

  Though something was not quite right, Barrington didn’t want to contemplate ending his acquaintance with Miss Fleming over a misunderstanding. He’d never met anyone who affected his heart the way that she did, who stole his breath simply by glancing in his direction.

  Not even Martha.

  “Please don’t worry on my behalf, Miss Fleming. I assure you no harm was done.”

  She let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping as if she had indeed been fearful of that very thing. “You are very kind.”

  “Kind? No. Just—” Barrington reached up and lightly touched his finger to her chin. “—interested in a lovely lady whom I’ve had the good fortune to meet.”

  She smiled, her lips rising at the corners, her teeth showing slightly from parted lips.

  A sudden urge overtook Barrington, to take her in his arms, press her close to his chest, and kiss her soundly until she swooned.

  His heart crashed against his ribs as his breathing threatened to emerge in ragged gasps. Thank goodness she knows not my desires at this very moment, for surely it would frighten the poor girl. Besides that, Lord and Lady Lofton were sitting nearby. Heaven only knew what they would think if he carried out his fantasy.

  Barrington, get control of yourself!

  He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and willed his mind back to safer waters, to thoughts that wouldn’t land him in trouble. A quick glance toward his host and hostess showed them still deep in conversation so they most likely had not witnessed him touching Miss Fleming.

  That was something, at least.

  Miss Fleming gestured toward a bench just ahead of them by the path. “Would you care to sit down?”

  “Certainly.” With his hand at her elbow, he guided her in that direction. Time to get better acquainted and stop asking prying questions.

  He waited for her to get comfortable on the bench and then sat down next to her, leaving an appropriate space between them. A light breeze swept through, caressing Miss Fleming’s hair at her ear. Oh that it were my hand instead of the wind touching her there.

  A tentative smile crossed her lips and then vanished. She plucked nervously at the lace at her sleeve. Was she still unnerved by their conversation of the Fletchers?

  What a dolt I’ve been. Upsetting a lady for no reason other than to soothe my wounds of the past inflicted by Martha’s lies. Miss Fleming is not at fault for anything. “I have again been remiss.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes.” He shook his head slowly, turning down the corners of his mouth.

  “May I ask what has made you so remorseful, Mr. Radcliff?”

  “I’ve done something terrible, nearly unpardonable.”

  Her blue eyes widened and her hand flew to her lips.

  Barrington shifted slightly on the bench in order to face her. “You see, I’ve neglected to tell you how truly beautiful you are today. Your blue eyes and flawless skin. The way the light touches your golden hair, making it appear as if angels sprinkled it with sunshine. Surely neglecting to comment on that is grounds for lodging me in Newgate Prison.”

  Her mouth dropped open and then closed. A one-sided smile appeared bringing in its wake a delightful dimple. “Oh. Well, thank you.”

  “You are most welcome. I dearly hope you can forgive me for such an oversight.”

  Miss Fleming lowered her brow in mock sternness. “You are forgiven.”

  “I am in your debt. Truly.”

  “Are you?”

  He nodded. “But I can assure you it is the most enviable of places in which to be.”

  She laughed. Softly at first. Then with gusto, startling a pair of birds who’d been perched nearby on a low branch. “Oh dear. Pardon me.”

  “No need. Everything about you is lovely. Everything.”

  “Thank you.” Miss Fleming glanced away.

  “Have I said something wrong?”

  Color rose on her cheeks as she angled back to look at him. “No. But when you said you’d been remiss, that you’d…”

  “Yes? What is it? You may ask me anything.” You deserve at least that for the questions I’ve just posed to you.

  She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s only that, I assumed you were going to speak of that other woman. At the dance. The one you watched dance with another man. I wondered if perhaps you and she…”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “You mean Miss Lymington.”

  Miss Fleming’s gaze stayed fixed on his. She didn’t even blink, as if she didn’t intend to miss anything he said or did.

  “I have known Miss Lymington since we were children. In fact, we grew up playing in the nursery together as our mothers were friends.”

  “Oh.” She pressed her lips together in a tight line.

  “Since we had known each other for so long, and had spent much time together, I had thought perhaps one day we would…”

  “Marry?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh.” Moisture collected on her lower eyelashes.

  “But that was before.”

  “Before… what?”

  “She and I had a misunderstanding.”

  “Did it have to do with that man, that Mr. Pemberley who was also with her at the Bird Sanctuary?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he was the reason that you and she didn’t… marry?” The last word came out softly, almost timidly as if once she said it the sentiment might have come true for Barrington and Martha.

  “At first I thought that to be the case. But I no longer believe it.”

  “But, Mr. Radcliff, what has changed that you have now decided against it?”

  “It has everything to do with a small, delicate, lovely blond with striking blue eyes, named Miss Fleming.”

  She blinked slowly, once, then again. “It does?”

  “Absolutely. From the moment I met you, I knew you were different.”

  “In a positive way, I hope.” One side of her mouth rose in a half-smirk.

  He chuckled. “Most definitely.”

  Miss Fleming released a sigh so soft, it may as well have been a tiny breeze created by the flapping of a single butterfly’s wings.

  Barrington angled his head down toward her hand. “May I?”

  She peered down as well, nodded and took a long, deep breath.

  Her hand, small and warm, fit snugly in his. Oh to spend eternity holding it and gazing into her eyes.

  Barrington’s heart tumbled about in his chest.

  Is this love?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Barrington felt it in his bones. Today would be a special day for him and Miss Fleming. It was a lovely day, his spirits were buoyant, his heart full of warmth and caring. What could go wrong?

  He glanced across his carriage to where Miss Fleming sat next to her maid, Miss Hunter. Their visit to Hyde Park would surely be delightful.

  The carriage stopped at the entrance of the park. As it was a popular destination, several minutes passed until they could disembark as a line of carriages were ahead of them.

  “Such a busy place.” Miss Fleming tilted her head as she watched through the window. Her light blue dress tugged snugly around her curves as she leaned forward.

  “So you haven’t had the pleasure of visiting Hyde Park?” Barrington averted his gaze from her figure to her eyes when she looked back.

  “Once. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to stay long enough to see much of it.”r />
  “Then we shall rectify that situation straight away.”

  After alighting from the carriage, he offered Miss Fleming his arm and they made their way down the walking path with Miss Hunter in their wake, albeit somewhat distantly.

  Which was just fine in his estimation.

  Several groups of people passed by. A few gentlemen eyed Miss Fleming in a way that made Barrington’s blood boil. He wanted to pummel them. A memory of his out of control jealousy and punching the poor clown came to mind. As much as he regretted his actions, he couldn’t say for sure he wouldn’t do it again.

  Yes, he was a boor but the woman had cast a spell over his heart and he was determined that nothing get in his way. Miss Fleming may not have known it yet, but Barrington intended to make her his. Soon.

  “Oh, look.” Miss Fleming stopped to watch several butterflies in various shades of orange and yellow flit and twirl about in the flowers as beautiful dancers on a colorful stage.

  “They’re lovely.” Barrington turned her direction, restraining himself with effort from reaching out to touch her cheek. “But there are many lovely creatures at the park today.” He peered right into her eyes, making sure his meaning was made clear.

  She blushed. “Thank you, Mr. Radcliff.”

  I long for the day when I can ask her to call me by my Christian name. What a sweet refrain that would be coming from her lips.

  A stone sat in the middle of the path. Before Barrington could warn her, Miss Fleming stumbled. He caught her about the waist before she lost her balance completely. As if instinctual, her hand wrapped around his neck.

  She blinked, her lashes long and curled at the ends. “Thank you.”

  “Glad to be of service.”

  “Why is it you always happen to be near just when I need rescue?”

  “Good fortune must be on my side.”

  “And mine.” She removed her hand from about him and then darted a glance down at his hands still holding her.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon.”

  “No harm done.” A dimple appeared on her left cheek as she smiled.

  Miss Hunter had caught up to them and waited, standing off to the side. A group of gentlemen approached.