by Kim Bowman
The coos of a pair of nesting turtledoves came from his right. He stopped, closed his eyes, and let their soft conversation soothe him. Such gentle birds. So peaceful and quiet. Keeping to themselves, not bothering other birds. Building their nest together and raising their babies. The perfect life.
Again, Lucy’s face crossed his mind. That’s what he wanted. With her. Love. Family. Building a life together, raising a family. He opened his eyes and continued on toward the pine tree. If anyone could know his present thoughts, they’d think him mad. He barely knew the woman. Had only just made her acquaintance. But it mattered not. Not to his heart. Not where it truly counted.
He found the wayward branch, and mindful of the sharp edges of bark, he grasped it tight to saw it off. Back and forth. Over and over. Lucy and Oliver. Lucy and Oliver. Somehow, their names went together perfectly. Just like the sweet turtledoves.
Steps sounded behind him. “Need a hand there?”
Startled, Oliver turned. “Richard, hello! Thought you were visiting your mother.”
He shrugged. “Just back.”
“And how is she faring?”
“Older, more feeble. It’s a good thing we went. I’m afraid if I’d waited a few months to take Anna to meet her…” He swallowed and turned his head.
Oliver gave the branch a final tug, and it let loose of the small fibrous edge that had held on. He set the saw down on the ground and reached into his pocket for his handkerchief. One, so he could wipe the sweat from his brow, and two, to allow Richard a moment to compose himself.
“I’m sorry to hear of it, Richard. I do understand. More than you know.”
Richard raised his head, eyes moist and mouth turned down at the corners. “Oh? Not your father, then?”
Oliver nodded. “I’m afraid so. I only just found out that he… hasn’t much time left.”
Richard stepped forward and patted Oliver on the shoulder. “It's a sad state, is it not, to lose one’s parent?”
“Yes. Quite sad.” Longing to speak of something else, he cleared his throat. “Say, is Anna here at the Sanctuary?”
Richard shook his head. “I took her home. She missed Lucy terribly these last three days.”
“As have I.”
“You’ve not seen her? I know Anna is supposed to be her chaperone, but I’d assumed perhaps someone else would have accompanied her.”
“No. I have not spoken to her since you were last here.”
“Is something amiss between you? I thought you were…”
“No, nothing amiss. I’m not quite sure what to make of it, truth be told.”
Richard smiled. “Well, just let me ask Anna for you, all right? She’ll get the lay of the land, so to speak, now won’t she?”
Calm settled over Oliver’s mind. “Yes, of course. If anyone knows what’s what, it will be your Anna.”
~~~~
Lucy felt Anna’s warm embrace down to her toes. Oh, how she’d missed her. And needed her comfort and advice.
Anna drew back and touched Lucy’s face. “What’s this? Tears? I was only gone three days, love. But, yes, I did miss you, too. Terribly.”
Lucy swallowed against the lump in her throat. The words wouldn’t form. The awful words that told of the end of her dream with a life with Oliver. And foretold of the nightmare to come. That of marriage to Conrad Croome.
“What is it, Lucy? What’s wrong? This is much more than just missing me, I’m sure. Come, let’s sit down.” She led Lucy to the settee next her bed. Anna wrapped her arms around Lucy’s shoulders, drew her close, holding her and gently swaying back and forth, as a mother would a small child. “Tell me, what has happened to upset you so?”
Wiping tears away from her eyes, Lucy sniffed. “It’s… O-Oliver.”
“Is he not well? Has something happened to him?”
“He’s f-fine. As far as I know.”
“What do you mean? Haven’t you seen him? I assumed you’d take Carlton with you to the Sanctuary, as you’ve done before.” She chuckled. “Before you were found out and had to take me along.”
Anna’s feeble attempt at humor did nothing for Lucy’s wretched state of worry. “I’ve not been allowed to… go… there.”
“Oh, is that all? Well now that I’ve returned, we’ll have that taken care of in short order, won’t we? Tomorrow, we’ll have Carlton take us—”
“No.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“I can’t.”
“But of course you can. I’ll go with you. I assure you, it’s no hardship for me to go there. Especially not now.” She sighed, blowing warm breath across Lucy’s forehead.
“You don’t understand. I’m forbidden to go back.”
Anna pulled away and looked at Lucy. She placed her finger beneath Lucy’s chin and raised her face so they were eye to eye. “No, you’re right. I don’t understand. Help me to understand.”
Lucy sat back against the settee, wiping more tears from her face. All she’d done for three days was cry. It seemed unimaginable that she’d have any tears left. Letting out a deep sigh, she closed her eyes and then opened them, focusing on Anna.
“Father found out that I’d met Oliver. And that he isn’t wealthy. He’s livid about the whole affair, forbids me to see Oliver anymore.”
“Oh, my.”
“There’s more.”
“Go on.”
Gritting her teeth, Lucy forced the words out.” And… he is insistent that I marry.”
“Marry? Who, dear? Who must you marry?”
“Conrad Croome.”
Anna’s eyes widened and she gasped. “That weasel? He’s to be your… husband?”
Fresh tears poured down Lucy’s face as she nodded. “Yes, and I don’t think I can bear it, Anna. I just don’t!”
Anna pulled her close again. “No wonder you’re so distraught. Now it makes sense. But… perhaps if I went with you, without your father’s knowledge?”
“It won’t do. Father said he’d have Alfred watching me. I’m not to go anywhere or have visitors or send or receive any messages.”
“My, my, this is a quandary.”
“Father has put his foot down. There’s no changing his mind. It looks as if I must marry that man. And marry him soon.”
Chapter Thirteen
Oliver glanced up from clearing weeds near the walking path. Richard hurried toward him. Would he have news from Anna of Lucy? He set his rake on the ground and waited.
“I’m so glad to find you.” Richard took a gasp of air.
“Claim your breath, man. What’s the problem?”
“It’s Lucy. I’ve found out something. Something you’ll…”
Oliver’s heart hammered against his ribs. Was she hurt? Ill? Had some terrible mishap befallen her? Now impatient, he wished he’d not allowed Richard a chance to catch his breath. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to wait.
One final deep breath and Richard faced him. He reached out his hand and placed it on Oliver’s arm. So the news was not good, then.
“Oliver, I’ve spoken with Anna. There is indeed a reason why you’ve not seen Lucy here for the last few days.”
“What? Please, just tell me.” His mouth dry, he swallowed.
“She’s to be married.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. His chest constricted in pain, as if kicked by a horse. How? When? Who? He’d not actually voiced the questions out loud. “But—”
“Remember that daft imbecile, that Lofton fellow?”
“Of course, no one could forget that idiot.”
“He’s the one.”
Oliver frowned. “The one for…?”
“She’s to marry him.”
“Impossible! She can’t stand him.”
“True, that. However, it’s what her father has said will happen, and he’s not budging on the issue.”
“It can’t be. It just cannot be.” Suddenly unable to breathe, Oliver swayed on his feet. Strong hands grasped his arms and lowered him t
o sit on the ground.
Richard crouched in front of him. “Oliver? Do you feel ill?”
Oliver closed his eyes and nodded. “I do feel ill. But not my stomach. In my heart.” He opened his eyes and peered at Richard. Oh, how he needed the older man’s advice.
“Yes, I understand, for if it were Anna…” He turned his head. “Sorry. That’s not what we’re speaking of, and you—”
“Not to worry, Richard. You love her as I do Lucy. It’s only natural your thoughts would go to her.” He shrugged. “What am I to do? There must be something. Anything.”
Richard sat down as well. “There is one thing I can think of. But it will involve you making a choice.”
“What kind of choice? I love her with all my heart. There is no other for me.”
“No, not another woman that you love. But you do love something else, as well.”
“I don’t—”
The turtledoves flew over them and landed in the nearest tree. Of course, it was the Sanctuary of which Richard spoke. Oliver did indeed love it. Everything about it. He’d even been at odds with his father because of it. The birds, the land, the ponds and trees. The thought of not being here to see it and help care for it tore at his heart. It had become such a huge portion of his day. His life.
If he asked Lucy’s father for her hand, he’d most likely have to give up working at the Sanctuary. He’d have to dive into the family business wholeheartedly and stop going by Oliver Barrow. He couldn’t retain his anonymity and work with the birds while at the same time openly confessing to her and her father who he really was.
Once word got out that Oliver Shipley was marrying Lucy Ashbrook, all eyes of the community would be upon them. Gone would be his tendency to hide in the shadows, stay out of the limelight by avoiding anything to do with his peers.
That would all change. Could he do it? Could he give up his work as a laborer at the Bird Sanctuary?
For Lucy, yes.
For Lucy, he could do anything.
~~~~
Oliver tugged on his cravat. It didn’t normally seem so tight. Today, though, it felt like a noose. He might jump from his own skin if he couldn’t calm down. Nervous jitters plagued his stomach. What he was about to do would determine his whole future. And Lucy’s.
But he had to talk to her father. That was the key. To convince him that Lofton would be a terrible husband for his daughter and that Oliver would be the perfect choice.
He dusted miniscule pieces of lint from his sleeves for the tenth time and then put on his hat. With a quick nod to his valet, he headed out of his bedroom and into the hall. As he hurried down the stairway, he held on tightly to the well-worn banister. No use falling and breaking his neck just when he was about to ask for a woman’s hand in marriage.
“Oliver.”
His father’s voice, now noticeably weaker, beckoned him from the study. Oliver peeked in the open doorway and then stepped inside.
“On your way, then, son?”
“Yes.” He clenched his hands into fists and then opened them, trying to relax. When would the crazy butterflies in his stomach cease torturing him?
“I wish you well, Oliver. Are you sure this woman is worth all the trouble? Sounds like you’ll have some fancy talking to do to convince her father to change his mind about the other man in question.”
“Lucy is well worth it. She is every bit to me as Mother was to you.”
Tears formed in his father’s eyes, threatening to spill onto his cheeks. With a wrinkled hand, he dashed them away. “Then go to it. If she is the one for you and you have no doubts, then go and convince her father. Whatever it takes.”
“I haven’t a single doubt, Father. She’s the one. I haven’t been acquainted with her very long, but I just… know.”
His father smiled. “Then don’t stand here talking to me. Go!”
Joy filled Oliver’s heart at his father’s encouragement. His mouth lifted in a grin. “Yes, sir!”
He turned and headed out the door toward the carriage. He’d instructed the groom to have the carriage ready and informed the driver that he wouldn’t be needed today.
This was something he intended to do by himself. And if for some reason her father was reluctant, Oliver was determined he would not leave the premises until he had convinced the man otherwise.
He climbed into the carriage and grabbed the reins. Lucy, here I come.
The sound of the horses’ hooves normally soothed him. But not today. Today his heartbeat raced, and nothing he tried to calm it seemed to help. Perhaps once he had obtained Mr. Ashbrook’s permission to wed his daughter, then Oliver could relax. Positive thoughts were uppermost in his mind, but… that was no guarantee her father would listen to him.
Reaching her father’s property, Oliver slowed the horses to a walk. He wasn’t expected and didn’t want to cause a rumpus before he even gained entrance to the house.
Clip-clop.
Clip-clop.
The horses seem to take forever to reach the front entrance. Oliver took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to remember the words he’d practiced to say when he met Mr. Ashbrook.
A groom met him when he stopped the carriage and took the horses and carriage around back. Standing alone in front of the house, Oliver prayed for strength and guidance. He knew how overprotective fathers of unmarried daughters could be. Time was of the essence, true, but finesse was called for as well.
Time to meet Mr. Ashbrook.
Checking his attire one last time, and satisfied he looked every bit the heir to his father’s fortune that he was, Oliver raised his hand and knocked on the door.
An unsmiling butler opened the door. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I do not.”
“Mr. Ashbrook is a very busy man.”
“I’m certain that he is, however, I have something of the utmost importance to discuss with him.”
Silence. A sigh. A nearly imperceptible nod. “And who may I say is calling?”
“Mr. Oliver Shipley.”
The butler’s eyes widened, but only for a second. “Please follow me, sir.”
“Thank you.” After the butler turned and walked back down the entryway, Oliver took a deep breath, held it a moment, and let it out before following the servant.
The butler led him to the front sitting room. “Please wait here while I announce you.”
“Certainly.”
Oliver glanced about the large room. Opulence abounded in everything his saw. The polished cherry floors. The forest green settee with matching twin chairs in front of a gorgeous stone fireplace. Heavy, embroidered drapes were pulled back from floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the lush front lawn.
But there, on the wall above the sideboard, was the most beautiful item in the room. A portrait. Of a lovely, dark-haired girl in a white dress and pink hat with white lace, stroking a marmalade cat that sat in her lap.
Lucy.
Oliver took steps, slow and steady, toward the painting, so slow it seemed a hush had fallen over the house. As if by taking his time and moving silently he wouldn’t frighten the beautiful creature away. The artist had done a superb job of capturing her beauty, her essence, down to the twinkle in her eye as she seemed to be hiding a delicious secret of some sort that the observer would have to beg of her to reveal.
But as beautiful as the painting was, and as well as the artist had rendered her likeness, it did not do Lucy justice. His Lucy.
Nothing ever could.
She was one of a kind. Wonderful. Heart-warming. Sweet and kind. No… those adjectives didn’t do her justice either. There was only one word to do that.
Perfection.
And if he had his way, after today, she would be his.
A squeak of shoe leather on hardwood startled him from his reverie. Oliver turned.
The butler beckoned with a thin, gloved hand. “This way, Mr. Shipley. Mr.
Ashbrook will see you now.”
And I shall see him.
Two sets of boots tapped on the hard floor of the entryway as Oliver followed the butler to a massive oak door. With a groan, the door opened on old hinges. Oliver stepped inside, was introduced by the butler, and within seconds, was alone in the study with Mr. Ashbrook.
Lucy’s father.
Time to convince this man that I am the only man for Lucy, and she is the only woman for me.
Mr. Ashbrook glanced up from his desk. “Ah. Mr. Shipley. I’m honored to have you visit my home. I must say, however, that I’m at a loss as to the reason. I know of your father by reputation of course, but…”
Oliver removed his hat. “Please permit me a few minutes of your time, Mr. Ashbrook, and I will answer your questions in short order.”
“Very well. Please. Have a seat, won’t you?”
As Oliver nodded and took a seat, he willed away his nervousness. This is for Lucy’s hand. Get a grip on yourself! Perspiration pooled beneath his gloves, shirt, and cravat. Hopefully Mr. Ashbrook wouldn’t notice his discomfort. Now was not the time to show weakness. It was the time for strength, surety, and forthrightness.
Mr. Ashbrook retrieved a cigar from his humidor. He held it out to Oliver.
“No. Thank you.” He waved it away. “But please, don’t let that stop you from enjoying one, sir.”
“I believe I will.”
Oliver breathed slowly in and out. In and out. Swallowing the dryness away from his throat as he waited for the older man to light his cigar and take the first puff. Acrid smoke curled from the end of the cigar, forming a tiny white cloud that floated toward Oliver’s nose. Never having been one to be fond of the rancid-smelling things, he closed his eyes and held his breath briefly, willing the stench to sail past him across the room. Relief wafted through him when the cigar was tapped on an ashtray on the other side of Mr. Ashbrook and set aside.
Finally, Mr. Ashbrook turned toward Oliver. “How can I help you today, Mr. Shipley?” He rubbed his hands together… as one might in the throes of greed. What was he about?
“Mr. Ashbrook… sir… I’ve come to discuss… your daughter.”