Love Birds: The Complete Collection

by Ruth J. Hartman

  “Mr. Radcliff. Good day.”

  He recognized Mr. Kensington and inwardly groaned. They’d been in school together but had never been close. Barrington found the man to be too much of a flirt with the ladies. All ladies, whether married or not. “Mr. Kensington.”

  His old school mate stared pointedly at Miss Fleming, obviously angling for an introduction. Fine. I’ll introduce you, but that’s as far as you go.

  “Miss Fleming, may I present Mr. Kensington. Miss Fleming is a cousin of Lord and Lady Lofton.”

  He inclined his head. “How pleasant to make your acquaintance, Miss Fleming.”

  “Good day, Mr. Kensington.” She curtseyed.

  “And who have we here?” Mr. Kensington glanced to the other side of Miss Fleming.

  Barrington frowned. “Pardon?”

  Mr. Kensington had the audacity to point. “This lovely lady here. You’ve not introduced her yet.”

  Miss Fleming blinked but seemed not appalled at the statement. Odd. Barrington, however, was aghast. To ask for an introduction of a servant? As much as he enjoyed Miss Hunter’s company on their outings, for she was sweet and truly caring of Miss Fleming, society frowned on what Mr. Kensington requested.

  The other man didn’t waver his gaze on Miss Hunter. So be it. Barrington glanced from left to right to make sure no one else of the ton was near. “Mr. Kensington, this is Miss Hunter.”

  With a step closer to Miss Hunter, Mr. Kensington nodded his head. “Very, very glad to make your acquaintance.”

  A red flush started at Miss Hunter’s collar and rose to encompass her cheeks. She glanced to Miss Fleming, who nodded, and then curtseyed to Mr. Kensington. “Good day, sir.”

  Barrington forced a smile at Miss Fleming. “Won’t you excuse us for a moment?”

  She lowered her eyebrows but nodded.

  He latched onto Mr. Kensington’s upper arm and wheeled him away until they stood a few yards from the women. Keeping his voice low, he muttered, “What are you about?”

  “I haven’t a clue as to what you are referring.”

  “Miss Hunter is Miss Fleming’s maid.”

  “And your point would be…?”

  “Think about it, sir! Intentionally asking for an introduction while standing in the middle of Hyde Park with members of the ton edging around you like salmon in a stream?”

  Mr. Kensington shrugged. “It matters not to me. A woman as beautiful as Miss Hunter should be admired and courted, just as any other lady.”

  “Courted? Are you mad?” He gave him a gentle shove, placing them well away from the women. “Listen, you’ve had your fun, now be on your way.”

  “Say, what’s gotten into you?”

  “I happen to be courting Miss Fleming, and I don’t wish for you to spoil it in any way.”

  “Well, I would think that would work out wonderfully for you.” He rubbed his hands together. “While you court Miss Fleming, I could court—”

  “No.” He pointed in the opposite direction of Miss Fleming and Miss Hunter. “Take. Your. Leave. Now.”

  Mr. Kensington held up his hands in front of him. “Very well. Don’t get in a huff. I’m going.” He leaned around Barrington and tipped his hat. “Pleasure meeting you, ladies.”

  When Mr. Kensington finally strolled away, Barrington let out the frustrated breath he’d been holding. The very idea… Mr. Kensington wished to court someone not of the ton? With a shake of his head, Barrington walked back to the women. Shouldn’t people be equally matched according to their station? Didn’t that just make sense? Help keep order in an already chaotic world?

  “Miss Fletcher!”

  Barrington rolled his eyes. Now what? Wasn’t he allowed a simple, pleasant walk in Hyde Park without being accosted by someone every six feet of the path on which they walked?

  With a gasp, Miss Fleming spun around and stared at someone behind them. Barrington turned around as well. The gall of someone yelling in Hyde Park. How gauche.

  A short, portly man hurried toward them, tripping over a tuft of grass and nearly stumbling before righting himself.

  Barrington squinted. Wasn’t it the same man who he’d discovered attempting to accost Miss Fleming in Lord Lofton’s stables? The one he himself, at her approval, had tossed from those stables. And into horse manure?

  “Miss Fletcher? I’ve been calling you.”

  A cold, icy grip took hold of Barrington’s heart. Miss Fletcher? There it was again. Someone referring to Miss Fleming by the wrong name. Doubt crept in. This man. And the rude fellow showing his teeth to her in the bookstore. Then woman who lived in the cottage at the estate.

  Miss Fletcher…

  All of the moisture fled from his mouth and throat until he feared he’d not be able to swallow or breathe. No. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t! His heart cried out to fend off the unwanted thought. Make it disappear in a cloud of mist and never haunt him again. There must be some explanation.

  Please let there be something. Anything!

  Miss Fleming stiffened as the man reached them. “Mr. Seymour. What are you about?”

  “Now, we’d agreed that you would call me Horace.”

  “I never agreed to anything of the sort.”

  “But—”

  Miss Hunter, in an unusual display of affection from a maid to her mistress, stepped forward to stand beside Miss Fleming, placing her hand on Miss Fleming’s arm.

  Barrington shook his head. What was going on with everyone? Everything had twisted around as no one was acting as expected, as society dictated that they should. He blinked. Be that as it may, there was still the problem of Mr. Seymour. Why was he bothering her again?

  “Listen, Mr. Seymour,” Barrington said, “perhaps you’d better just find your way back to your carriage and be on your way.” Before you receive the clown treatment.

  “I will not.” He stamped his foot like an irritable horse. “I have every right to be here.”

  Miss Fleming’s face colored. Through clenched teeth she uttered, “But I have no wish for you to be here.”

  He laughed. “What do your wishes count for? Nothing.”

  “How dare you speak to a lady in such a manner?” Barrington frowned.

  “She’s no lady,” scoffed Mr. Seymour.

  “I beg your pardon?” Barrington clenched his fists at his sides.

  “She’s just the daughter of a—”

  “Mr. Seymour! Kindly take your leave.” Miss Fleming’s voice rose on each word.

  Instead of taking her advice, Mr. Seymour edged closer to her and had the audacity to reach out and touch her shoulder. She tried to pull away but Mr. Seymour’s fingers locked down tight, his balled knuckles flexing beneath his gloves.

  Barrington rose to his full height, hoping to intimidate the shorter man. “Now just wait a moment. It’s obvious Miss Fleming has no desire to—”

  “Fleming? That’s not her name.”

  “No! You mustn’t—” Miss Fleming thrust out her hand toward Mr. Seymour but then pulled it back.

  Mustn’t what? Confusion clawed at Barrington’s mind. What was going on?

  Mr. Seymour ignored Barrington’s attempt at bravado. He stared directly at Miss Fleming. “I’ve been calling your name. Why did you not answer?”

  She frowned as she continued to try to dislodge his hand. “I only just heard you. Why were you running after me like a Bedlamite?”

  Barrington, while applauding her pluck to make the obsequious man disappear, was surprised at her outburst in a public place.

  The man finally let go. “I followed you. I was in my carriage just down the road when I saw you sitting in his—” He balled his fist and aimed his thumb in Barrington’s direction. “—carriage. I waved to get your attention, but you didn’t acknowledge me.”

  Barrington’s surprise at Miss Fleming’s outburst edged into fury at Mr. Seymour. “How dare you address a lady as such? And to follow her in a carriage to confront her in Hyde Park?”

&n
bsp; “How dare you take it upon yourself to dally with another man’s betrothed?”

  “Oh!” Miss Fleming’s face paled.

  “Betrothed?” Barrington whipped his gaze to Mr. Seymour and his mouth went dry. He tried to swallow but couldn’t quite seem to make his throat cooperate. He blinked and turned back toward Miss Fleming whose eyes were wide and staring at him, as if pleading for something. Understanding? Forgiveness?

  Barrington’s heart sank. No. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t have happened again that he’d put his trust in someone, opening his heart to her only to have it stomped on by lies and deceit.

  Miss Fleming’s eyes were downcast. A single tear traveled down her cheek. So it was true. He’d been the object of deceit.

  Again.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Cecilia, don’t dawdle at that window. I need you to dust.”

  A dark gloom settled over Cecilia at her mother’s words. They weren’t any different than what she often uttered, but this time, Cecilia knew this would forevermore be her life. Her destiny, such as it was. Because once Mr. Radcliff had heard what that horrid Horace Seymour had had to say, there had been no turning back. No possible way to convince Mr. Radcliff that she wasn’t who Horace claimed her to be.

  But that’s as it should be. How it must be. I lied to him, so do I truly deserve any better than this? She glanced down at her shabby dress. Mama had insisted she give back every single item that Amelia had given her. The dresses, boots, reticules, and pelisses now all resided in a closet at the main house, sitting unused and collecting — she glanced around the room — dust.

  “Cecilia!” Mama’s strident voice churned through the fog of her thoughts.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  She picked up the rag she’d been using to clean with and continued the monotonous duty of wiping every surface of every item free of the offending dirt.

  Her gaze once again strayed to the window. How she had longed for a different life. Love. A husband and children of her own. Now, though, that would never be.

  Of course, she could accept Horace’s marriage proposal. For some reason the daft man still wished to marry her even after the multitude of times she had refused him.

  Stubborn fool.

  She would rather stop living, stop breathing, than spend even one day married to that toad.

  Visions of Mr. Radcliff floated through her mind. So sweet. So handsome. And he cared for her, she knew it. Well, he had cared. Not any longer. Not since he now knew her not to be whom she had claimed.

  A knock sounded on the door. Cecilia’s breath caught in her throat. Could Mr. Radcliff have changed his mind? Come for her after all? She smoothed her hair and raced to the door, flinging it open.

  “Good day, Miss Fletcher.” It was one of the grooms.

  Cecilia’s smile fell and her heart broke apart a little bit more. “Good day.”

  “I’m to report to Mr. Fletcher when the new horses have arrived.”

  “I’m afraid he isn’t here just now. Check at the main house.”

  With a bob of his head, the groom stepped away from the cottage just as Cecilia closed the door.

  “Cecilia, I’ll be taking a nap. Keep an eye on things.” Mama stepped into the bedroom.

  Keep an eye on things? Did she expect someone to carry off the cottage, dusty furniture and all? A bird called from the tree just outside the kitchen window. A warbler of some kind? Her thoughts went back to the day at the Bird Sanctuary with Mr. Radcliff. He’d been so kind. So attentive, even going so far as to defend her from that woman. The one he stared at during the ball.

  Would he now court Miss Lymington? Give her all of the attention he had previously bestowed on Cecilia? The way he’d watched his childhood friend dance with Mr. Pemberley had hurt Cecilia’s heart. It had been obvious he’d had feelings for her.

  There was nothing for it now. This was her life. This was what she could look forward to from now on. Living with Mama and Papa. Doing Mama’s bidding. Not having a life of her own.

  A part of her wished Conrad, even though he had done it out of kindness, had never put the notion of a come-out and a better life in her head. If he hadn’t, maybe she wouldn’t be pining for something different right now.

  But you also would have never met Mr. Radcliff.

  Would she have been better off never having made his acquaintance? Cecilia’s chest physically ached. So this is a broken heart.

  She ran the rag over the surface of a side table, absently moving the cloth back and forth. A noise came from behind the closed bedroom door as Mama settled down for her nap.

  What am I doing? Just because I can’t have Mr. Radcliff doesn’t mean I can’t leave the cottage and visit the horses when Mama is asleep. At least I have that to thank Conrad and Amelia for – the notion that I can have some freedom if I time it right with Mama’s nap. She tossed the rag on the table and stepped toward the door.

  When she opened it, the warbler’s song grew louder, as if beckoning her outside, out in the sunshine. Out in the world. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of roses that the gardener had planted around the cottage for them at Conrad’s insistence.

  Such a sweet brother. Even though his plan of finding her a well-to-do husband hadn’t worked, she would be forever grateful for all he had done for her and her family.

  A horse whinnied from across the hedge. Cecilia quickened her steps, eager to meet the new arrivals. She reached the hedge and walked through the opening that took her to the path that led to the stables.

  “Cecilia!” Papa waved her over. When she reached him, Papa put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Come to meet the new horses?”

  She nodded, glad for the comfort her father’s embrace brought.

  “Step into the stables. We’ve got them already in the stalls.” He kept his arm around her as if she would run away. Why would he do that? He knew how much she loved visiting the horses.

  More whinnies and the sound of shuffling hooves on straw greeted her. She took a deep breath, enjoying the smells of the stable while her eyes adjusted to the gloom.

  “Wait here for a moment, will you?” Papa’s footsteps receded as he walked away.

  Cecilia frowned. What had that been about? Papa was acting strange. She stood still, waiting as he had asked. The familiar smells and sounds of the horses washed over her, enveloping her with their comforting presence.

  “Good day.”

  Cecilia jumped at the masculine voice. Her eyes popped open. Not Papa. Not a groom. “Mr. Radcliff!”

  “Forgive me the intrusion upon your ruminations. They must have been pleasant if your lovely smile was any indication.” He stepped closer, his face more visible in the shadows.

  “Th-thank you.” What was he doing here?

  “You seem surprised that I’m here, though I can’t really blame you.”

  She nodded slowly. Was this a dream? Or a cruel joke where she’d find out it wasn’t truly him.

  “I’m ashamed of the way I abruptly left you on your… on Lord Lofton’s doorstep. It was most ungentlemanly of me. It has never happened before and I can most assuredly tell you that it will not be repeated in the future.”

  Something sparked in her brain, awakening her to the fact that she was indeed standing, talking to him. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

  “It’s the least I can do. You deserve better.”

  “Do I?” She pressed her palm to her chest, only then noticing the tremble in her hand. How could he think she deserved any kindness from him? Even the courtesy of this visit?

  “Oh, yes.” Mr. Radcliff reached out his hand, coming within inches of her shoulder, then lowered it again to his side.

  “I can’t say I agree with you, Mr. Radcliff.” Guilt tugged at her heart. Oh, the lies she’d told the poor man!

  “Won’t you call me Barrington?” His eyes, such a dark brown as to nearly appear black, peered directly into hers.

  “I couldn’t. It�
�s too familiar.” She turned away, not able to bear him looking at her.

  “Are we not acquaintances?”

  “Yes.”

  “Friends?” He touched her shoulder, a sensation so soft she thought perhaps she’d imagined it.

  “We… were.” She twisted her hands together in front of her.

  “We still are. If you’ll have me. There is a problem with that, however.”

  Cecilia whipped around toward him again, nearly stepping on Rollo, who had wandered by right at that moment. The cat hissed and darted away. “And what might that be?”

  “I wish not to be your friend any longer.” His mouth turned down at the corners, as if the thought saddened him beyond what he could bear.

  Her heart dropped into her stomach. So that was it. Mr. Radcliff had come to lift her hopes and then throw them to the ground to stomp them to their death. “I see.”

  “Do you? I’m not so sure.” The edges of his mouth had lifted, not to a smile, but no longer in a frown.

  “What’s there to see about it? You caught me in an untruth by something another said. I didn’t even have the bravery to tell you myself.” Heat crept up her neck and onto her face.

  Mr. Radcliff tilted his head and then brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “But wasn’t there a reason for that?”

  The warm touch of his fingers nearly did her in. Why was he being so kind to her, now of all times? “Yes. I had a very strong reason for my silence. But that doesn’t excuse it. Not at all. I’m actually a very honest person. I’m afraid you’ve witnessed me at my worst, Mr. Radcliff.”

  “Barrington.”

  She sighed. “Barrington.” If only she’d been asked to use his Christian name under better circumstances. Not when he would leave her and never return.

  “As to me not wishing to be your friend. It’s because I want something more.” He let out a long breath, its warmth fanning across her cheek.

  “More?” Her heart thudded against her ribs.

  “From you.”

  Cecilia shook her head and took a step away. “Ah. I’m not sure I like where that might be headed.” He wished her to be a…