by Kim Bowman
“Stop gawking! Open that door at once!”
The groom obeyed, but his eyes were still the size of walnuts. At least he’d closed his mouth.
As I should have done. Then at least I wouldn’t taste that…
Pushing away the thought, Conrad climbed into the carriage. Relief washed over him when he was finally alone and away from curious stares. Soon he would be home and could change into clean clothes and rinse out his mouth. Lucy and Barrow were probably still filled with mirth at his expense. His face heated. How dare they?
Birds twittered in the trees as the carriage rolled by. Well that was the very last noise he wished to hear. Conrad fisted his hands in anger. He had to marry Lucy. He had to! All because his father had left him in debt up to his chin. Yes, he’d inherited the earldom, but the problems that accompanied it hardly seemed fair. The situation forced him to pursue a woman in whom he had no feelings. In truth, he loathed her. Lucy was vapid and silly and seemed to possess absolutely no redeeming qualities. The fact that he needed her inheritance rankled.
But need it, he did.
Even with the money he’d receive from blackmailing Ashbrook, it wouldn’t be enough without the inheritance. Certainly he overspent and had racked up debt with every business in London, but how was an earl supposed to keep up appearances otherwise? A certain standard of living was crucial to someone of his status.
Society expected it.
So did Mother.
Mother… If he didn’t marry Lucy soon, his mother would have his head. Such a demanding woman. Yet, he respected her. So unlike Lucy, whose sugary sweet demeanor nauseated him. At least, she was sweet to others. Not to him. Never to him. If only she would give him the respect he deserved.
And if she would have accepted one of his multiple proposals over the years, none of this would be an issue.
He wouldn’t be blackmailing Ashbrook for his daughter’s hand.
He wouldn’t have to deal with that common laborer, Barrow.
And he wouldn’t be spitting out bird…
The horses’ hooves slowed as the driver steered the carriage into Conrad’s lane. Finally, he could go inside, away from the outdoors. The filth. The birds.
And he could change into clean clothing and wash his face. And tongue!
He opened the door before his groom had a chance, barely waiting for the carriage to come to a complete stop, avoiding the driver and groom as he hopped to the ground.
Conrad hurried toward the door of his home, relieved when the door opened before he reached it. His butler, Giles, widened his eyes briefly and then composed his features. “Good day, my lord. Do you require—?”
“Stuff it.” Conrad rushed across the entryway and up the steps. He glanced down at his clothing. The mess left by the abhorrent cuckoo was already dry. What if the valet couldn’t remove it? With Conrad already in such debt, he’d be hard pressed to convince the shop owner to let him purchase another suit so soon.
When he entered his rooms, Stephen, his valet, was already there. The man kept Conrad’s things in order and pristine. Would he be able to save the clothing he wore at present?
Stephen turned toward Conrad. “Good day, my—”
The valet’s words died on his lips.
Conrad frowned. “Just help me out of these clothes.” He stood and waited for Stephen to assist him. Imagine if he didn’t have servants? How on earth would he survive? Panic welled in his chest. I have to marry Lucy. Quickly.
“Hurry up. I have somewhere else to be. And I cannot go looking like this,” Conrad snapped, glaring at Stephen and tapping his boot impatiently.
Stephen rushed toward him, nodding so fast it surely made him dizzy. “Certainly, my lord. Let’s get you out of these… clothes.”
Conrad caught a glimpse of himself in the looking glass. Egads! It was worse than he’d imagined. White dried blobs stuck to his hat, coat, gloves and boots. And his face. A putrid white streak ran from his nostril, over his lips and to the bottom of his jaw. No wonder his stoic, normally emotionless servants had stared. His image was horrifying.
With care, and a grimace on his face, Stephen helped Conrad undress. The soiled garments were left on the floor. At first, Conrad was angry. Usually dirty clothes were draped over the back of a chair until Stephen could attend to them. But in this case, perhaps it was fitting that the items were treated as refuse. At least until the valet could get them cleaned.
If he could get them clean.
Quickly redressed and having cleaned his face and mouth, Conrad stormed from his rooms much as he’d stormed from the Sanctuary. And Lucy. And Barrow. And the laughter.
He stomped toward the staircase and down the steps. Anger pushed him toward the door. Toward his carriage. Conrad instructed the driver to take him to Ashbrook’s. He climbed up and sat inside.
His mission must be accomplished. Soon. Not a moment must be wasted now, if he wished to get his hands on Lucy’s inheritance.
Fresh horses had been haltered to the carriage, which in itself looked better. The seat and floor had been swept clean of the small white dry pieces of bird dung. If nothing else, his servants were quick and reliable.
Would he even be able to afford them in the near future?
A gasp escaped his lips. No! He would not, could not live without servants.
Since it was only a few miles between his home and Ashbrook’s, the ride was over soon. His heart raced as he climbed from the carriage. Would he be able to convince Lucy’s father to force her to marry him? And soon?
He raised his hand to knock on the door, but it opened before he had the chance. Alfred stood in the doorway.
“Good day, Lord—”
Conrad waved a hand at him. “Yes, yes. Enough of that. Where is Mr. Ashbrook?”
“He’s in his study, my lord. Let me see if he’s—”
“Never mind.” Conrad brushed past him and headed toward Ashbrook’s office. Why had I even asked where the man was? It seemed he rarely left his study. When he reached the closed door, he didn’t bother to knock. He didn’t give a hang whether he would interrupt anything or not.
The time had come for Ashbrook to uphold his end. Or Conrad would go public with the information about Proust. He hadn’t a qualm about doing so.
Turning the knob and shoving open the heavy door, Conrad was greeted with the other man’s signature frown.
“What’s the meaning of this, Lofton? Can’t you see I—”
Conrad slammed the door, the noise echoing from the wall. “I don’t really care what you’re doing, Jeffrey.”
“Now listen here—”
“No. You listen. I’ve put up with this long enough. It’s time.” Conrad walked toward the desk slowly, as if he had not a care in the world, when in truth, his heart raced like that of a cat having been chased by a large dog.
“Time?”
“For you to do what you said you would.”
“I never agreed to anything.” Ashbrook crossed his arms.
“You can try to weasel you way out of this, Ashbrook, but it won’t work. You know what will happen if you don’t get Lucy to marry me. Soon.”
“But you wouldn’t really…?”
Conrad took a final step toward the huge desk, bent at the waist, and planted his hands on the desktop. “Oh, wouldn’t I? Try me.”
Ashbrook swallowed, his Adam’s apple rolling up and down. His face paled. “You really would, wouldn’t you? You’d ruin me if I refuse to give you Lucy.”
Conrad leaned closer. The aroma of cigars clung to Ashbrook’s breath. “You can bet on it, Jeffrey.” He straightened and smoothed his hands down his coat. “So what’s it to be?”
A huff of air came from Ashbrook’s mouth. “Fine. You win.”
Conrad smirked. “I always do.”
Chapter Twelve
Lucy entered her father’s study. And waited. She had no patience left after dealing with Conrad’s whining, insults, and tantrums. Making a small sound to garner her fathe
r’s attention would take more energy than she possessed at the moment. And Anna’s news, while wonderful, had knocked the wind from her sails.
Sitting on the settee, she folded her hands in her lap. Eventually, her father would look up from his work and notice her. Until then, she’d relax and try to calm down. Anger still bubbled just beneath her skin, prickly and annoying. Just like Conrad. The names he’d called Oliver! Why couldn’t the man—
“Lucy?”
“Hello, Father.”
“Is something the matter? You look a bit bedraggled.”
She reached up to touch her hair. Had it come undone from the pins again? Or did he mean something else by bedraggled? “I’ve been to the Bird Sanctuary.”
“Please don’t tell me a goose absconded with another hat.”
Her father’s attempt at humor didn’t appease her current mood. “No. No additional hats were lost. I…”
“Yes, what is it?”
She gritted her teeth. “Conrad was there.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Do you?”
“I don’t understand.” He avoided direct eye contact with her.
“He said it was your suggestion to… chaperone me. I told him it couldn’t be true.”
Silence.
“Father?”
“I had a conversation with him. I did indeed ask him to chaperone you.”
“But why? Anna went with me.” So it was true. Conrad hadn’t been lying.
“Yes, but from what I understand, her attention may have been elsewhere.”
Heat flooded Lucy’s face.
“Just as I thought. It seems she’s taken a fancy to a certain man who works there.”
“Yes, a very kind man.” Lucy wouldn’t tell her father of Anna’s engagement until Anna was ready for him to know.
“And have you… taken a fancy to… a very kind man?”
Lucy’s head shot up. She blinked. How did he know? Anna wouldn’t have told him. She’d not seen anyone else that she knew while she’d been at the Sanctuary.
Conrad. Yes, it’s something the unctuous weasel would do. Tattle on her to her father. Try to get her in trouble while at the same time benefit himself.
“If you must know, yes. I have taken a fancy, as you call it, to a very kind, sweet man.” Now that her father was aware of Oliver, might this be the moment to introduce the idea of—
“Lucy, what are you thinking?”
“That I’ve met someone.”
“No!” He pounded his fist against the desk. “I’ll not have it.”
“But—”
“While it’s true that you are not getting any younger, and you need to marry soon, it will not be to a man of his ilk. Oh, I know all about him. A Mr. Barrow. A common laborer. Really, Lucy. Are you naive enough to believe I would accept such a person as a son-in-law? As an heir to my fortune?” Voice rising on the last word, her father’s face colored an angry red.
“But, Father, I love—”
“No! Did you not hear me? You shall not marry him. I will not have it.” He swallowed and adjusted his cravat. “I can see now that you can’t be trusted on your own. And Anna seems to be of little help as a chaperone. It’s settled then. You will marry Conrad Croome. Very soon.”
Legs coiled like springs, Lucy flew off of the settee and hurried to the side of her father’s desk. “Please, no! Not him.” No-no-no!
“Yes, him. You turned down any other offers from your Season. You’ve given me no choice. Marrying Croome is the only way you shall receive your inheritance. And if you do not behave yourself and go along with the marriage, I will use my wealth and my power in the community to have your laborer friend relieved of his position at the Sanctuary.”
A single tear, followed by a second, then a third, traveled down her cheek. Mouth gone dry, she swallowed. Hard. It couldn’t be. It just could not be. She’d rather die than marry that awful, spiteful, pasty man. And it would be a hundred times worse, now that she’d met Oliver. Now that she knew what being in love felt like.
Pain, hot and searing, burned through her chest. Why? Why had she been allowed to meet the most wonderful, caring man who ever lived, only to then have him ripped away? Her fingers clawed at her sides, as if trying to regain her hold on Oliver, on the life she dreamed of.
But she knew her father. His word was law, at least as far as it concerned her. It was over. Her brief, wonderful glimpse of heaven… gone.
At least, she would need to explain to Oliver… try to explain… She shook her head. There would be no easy way to tell him the truth. But she must. She owed him at least that. Even though it was much too little, too late.
Tomorrow. She’d tell him tomorrow. Because the longer she waited, the harder it would be.
She turned toward the door to leave, unable to look at her father any longer. She’d never be able to look at him again without remembering this moment. This awful, terrible moment.
Three steps toward the door and she reached out her hand toward the knob.
“Oh and, Lucy…”
The tap-tap of her boots on the floor stilled, but she didn’t turn, didn’t reply.
“You’ll not be returning to the Bird Sanctuary. Am I clear?”
No! I must return. I need to tell him, face to face.
“And if you’re thinking of sneaking away to see him, I’ll know. The butler is under strict instructions to make sure you don’t leave the house, don’t have any visitors, and don’t send or receive letters.”
It seemed her father was one step ahead. He’d won. Closing her eyes, she nodded. And opened the door to the entryway.
To her future.
To the rest of her life as Mrs. Conrad Croome. Lady Lucy Lofton.
~~~~
Oliver waited by the Sanctuary gate. He’d not seen Lucy for three days. Where could she be? Anna hadn’t been about either, as she and Richard had gone to the next village to visit Richard’s mother. Did Lucy not come because Anna wasn’t available to chaperone?
A smile tugged at Oliver’s lips. Chaperone. At least they could be reasonably confident Lofton wouldn’t attempt the position again. The man had run shrieking from the Bird Sanctuary, his loud voice scaring a multitude of birds and several visitors. They’d be cleaning feathers from the path for weeks.
Feathers from the birds, not the visitors.
Although, one woman did turn so quickly toward the screaming man that her hat had flown off of her head.
He chuckled. At least the goose hadn’t absconded with it. Only Lucy’s hat would do, apparently.
Lucy.
How he longed to see her, speak with her, walk beside her, and hold her hand. And… kiss her. They’d very nearly done just that before being interrupted by Anna and Richard and their announcement.
There hadn’t been much chance for a moment alone between that and Lofton’s departure. That vile snake seemed to have a knack for mucking things up. Him? Lucy’s chaperone? Certainly, by all standards, Lucy should have one. Anna, the obvious choice, had other interests now. But Lofton?
Did the man honestly think Lucy would have any interest in him? Oliver had seen the way she looked at Lofton, the way she spoke to him. If the other man couldn’t see that she loathed him, he was even more obtuse than Oliver originally thought.
Turning toward the gate, he frowned. He wished she would have come anyway to see him. It seemed, at least he hoped, that she felt the same way for him as he did for her.
Something in his chest, down deep in his heart, told him that she was the one. That he loved her. And he was convinced that she loved him for himself, as she had no notion of his true surname and thought him a common laborer.
There was no reason for him not to express his intentions toward her. Shaking his head, he sighed. And he’d made sport of Richard marrying his first wife after a week. Yet here he was, only having known Lucy for a scant few weeks, and he contemplated doing the same.
Perhaps not in a week’s time, but he had no desire to
wait. Richard was correct. When one met that right, perfect person, there was no reason to delay. And it seemed Richard was to be so fortunate twice in his life. Wasn’t it fortuitous that Richard would fall in love with Lucy’s maid? The women seemed quite attached to one another. Richard and he had been close for some time, as long as Oliver had been volunteering at the Sanctuary. He thought of the older man as family. Could the four of them form a new type of bond?
Tears stung the back of his eyes. And now, with his father so ill, so near death, it seemed he’d rely on Richard even more in the future for advice and friendship. A strong desire to have his father meet Lucy before he… died overtook Oliver. He wanted them to become acquainted in the short time that remained.
In order for that to happen, though, Oliver needed to speak to her. It didn’t seem appropriate under the circumstances for him to visit her home. He’d not met her father and had not been invited. Without Anna present for him to ask after Lucy, Oliver was at a loss. Should he simply wait for her? Hope she visited today?
A sparrow squawked on the path behind him. Oliver sighed. With Richard absent, there was more work than normal to do. Best get on with it. And if he was fortunate, it would help take him mind off of Lucy, and perhaps pass the time more quickly until she returned.
He walked back up the path, startling the talkative sparrow into awkward flight. A soft breeze lifted Oliver’s hair, reminding him of Lucy’s dark curls cascading over her shoulders that first day when her hat had come loose.
His boots stepped along the path, slowing when an older couple came near. He lowered his head, stepped off of the path to let them pass, and waited. Others must see him as what he pretended to be. A Sanctuary worker. Not a wealthy heir to a large fortune in the not so distant future. If people realized who he really was, he’d not be left alone to work with his beloved birds.
Back on the path, he reached the work shed. A small saw was in order. He’d noticed a partially broken branch earlier by one of the pine trees. No sense leaving something sharp exposed for a child to cut his hand on.