Lord Bachelor

by Tammy L. Bailey

  “Why won’t you give me the paper, Abby?”

  She stole one of his smiles. “You mean besides the fact that you are a crass human being who only cares about himself with no motivation to improve his…” she paused to say in an impressive British accent, “atrociously flawed behavior?”

  Edmund deserved her retort. He’d been born wealthy, sent to the best schools, and raised to fill the shoes of a man he barely knew.

  “Yes, besides those things.” She didn’t say anything else, and he was content to stare quietly at her for the rest of the morning. For the time being, he took a few bites of his own breakfast, wishing it were the eggs Benedict his butler made him. Damn, he missed Timmons, although he was convinced the man was trying to kill him, mainly with the green glob concoctions he invented to help Edmund out of his hangovers.

  Still, Timmons had been the closest male figure in Edmund’s life, aside from Sir Richard, of course. His butler, on many occasions, tried to steer Edmund onto the good and noble path.

  Sometimes Edmund listened. Sometimes he didn’t.

  Reluctant to drown himself into a bout of self-pity, Edmund dove in for another bite of his crunchy bagel, noticing Abby had yet to even nibble at the food he’d ordered for her. Without asking, he took the liberty of spreading the cream cheese on hers, cutting it in half and placing a sliced strawberry atop both sections.

  “Go on, eat,” he encouraged.

  She licked her lips a few times before exhaling loud and then giving in. To his surprise, she ate while he stole glances at her. Quite proud of himself, he relaxed and leaned back until she spoke, quiet and thoughtful.

  “Once upon a time, I was born into a loving family that soon disintegrated upon the death of my mother when I was nine.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She sat in reflective thought, pushing around the crumbs left behind on her saucer with the tip of her index finger. “My father tried his best, but he felt guilty because I didn’t have a mother figure in my life. Then he met Kendra.”

  “That horrid woman with her hand in the cash register?”

  Her smile lasted half of a breath. “Yes. Fortunately, they never married. However, my father did believe himself in love with her and gave her part of the shop. As it turns out, she is a woman who cares nothing for anybody but herself, much like you.”

  Edmund exhaled, absorbing the verbal dagger Abby threw at him. “Oh, Abby,” he said, placing his hand over hers. “You do wound me.”

  “What a flattering thing to say,” she teased. She continued, allowing his hands to remain firmly over top of hers.

  “My father got sick right after I graduated high school. He wanted me to go to college, so I signed up and made it through a few semesters, until I had to quit in order to take care of him. All Kendra did was yell at him for being so lazy. He died not too long afterward.”

  Edmund felt like a wretched bastard. Of all the conversations he’d had with women over his lifetime, he never remembered discovering this much about a person. In his silence, Abby chose to pull away. The coldness of her retreat made him shiver inwardly.

  “Anyway, before then and now, I’d taken this genealogy course, wanting to discover someone tied to my parents. They were both only children and had lost their parents in similar accidents at a young age. I dreamed about discovering an important relative, maybe someone like Maria in The Sound of Music.” She winced, perhaps at her own fantasy. “So, inspired by the notion, I spent hours, days researching until my mother’s tree led to a great-great-grandfather who was hung for stealing a sheriff’s horse in California. Too late to change the premise of the project, I just gathered information on royal tree limbs in Portland.”

  She appeared so dejected, he didn’t dare mock her confession. He did hope to console her, however. “Well, who cares about where someone comes from anyway? Good lineage means nothing. Look at me.”

  She laughed despite trying hard not to. “Good point.”

  “Maybe we can work together on this. You keep the paper, and help me find out what you did regarding the families who hold the noble lines or fat purses. And, I’ll help you with Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together. “What’s the catch?”

  He knew she teetered on the edge of saying yes, despite her mistrust. “There’s no catch. The bottom line is, I help you earn an A in Women’s Lit, and you help me find…well, a wealthy bride.”

  When she opened her mouth to give him an answer or a rebuke, he didn’t know which, his phone began vibrating inside his jacket pocket. He checked the caller ID and answered it.

  “Hey, Will,” he said aloud to let Abby know who was on the other line.

  He wasn’t surprised by the man’s curt question. “Do you have it?”

  Edmund raised his gaze to Abby. “I’m working on it.”

  “On what? The paper or Abby Forester?”

  Edmund’s honest answer would have been both if she weren’t sitting right before him.

  “I’m telling you, man, you’re wasting your time.”

  “We’ll talk later.” Edmund pulled the phone away and clicked the end button, thinking of another convincing argument to see her again. He didn’t want to explain the urgency or the peculiarity of it, only how he wanted her. And, he wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted.

  “Okay,” she said with an earth-shattering smile, throwing him off guard.

  “What?”

  She scooted closer to the table and leaned forward as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear. He did the same, only to draw closer to her.

  “I really could use the tutoring, and the genealogy paper isn’t worth much to me anymore.”

  “Okay,” he repeated, attempting to keep the excitement of triumph out of his voice.

  ****

  A wave of apprehension caused Abby to rethink what she’d agreed upon. Did she actually think she could spend one more day with Lord Edmund Rushwood and not fall further for his charming, though unchaste, nature? After all, how many women did she have to compete with in order to vie for his attention? Worse, how many of them were equal to him in both wealth and sophistication?

  At the thought, she jumped up, startling him from his own thoughts about the situation. “Look, I have to get back to the shop. I’m usually closed on Mondays, but I have to restock and get ready for…things.”

  “What…things?

  She glanced outside, seeing the transportation she needed to take to get her back home. She tossed her thumb back toward the window. “My bus is here. I have to go.”

  She started to move away only to have Edmund stand and block her path, allowing little distance between them. His eyes flickered like a restless sea, both mesmerizing and evocative at the same time. He reached up to smooth her cheek with the back of his knuckle. Warm and caressing, he had a way of rendering her immobile. “Don’t go.”

  Somehow, Abby found the strength to fall back. Then, he sent her a cocky smile. Of course, she stared at that smile a few seconds too long, realizing too late her ride had come and gone.

  “Great,” she mumbled, and then imagined having to wait another hour for the bus.

  “My car’s parked near the school. I can take you home.” He reached back to pull out two ten-dollar bills and place them on the table.

  She supposed she’d be a fool to turn him down, even if alarm bells rang from every point of consciousness. They were together because he needed to find a wife. As cautious as she was with men, she thought she’d want to stay more than a mile away from him at all times. She just couldn’t make herself walk away.

  So, they walked together, her enjoying the cool breeze on her heated skin. Young trees swayed with white and pink blossoms, the sweet, fragrant air thriving after a hibernating winter.

  About halfway to the school, he stopped her before a quaint shop, the outside so ambiguous, if she’d blinked she would have missed it.

  “Do you mind?” he asked. She shook her head and he g
rasped her hand. Quietly, he led her inside, her unable to take her gaze away from his face or the way his eyes lit up with wondrous fascination. With her hand still in his, he guided her across the threadbare Persian runner.

  “There’s no one here,” he said, surprised.

  He was right. There was no one at the counter, just a silent green and yellow parakeet keeping watch, although not very well.

  Unlike the sanitized smell of a chain bookstore, this place used the exotic aroma of vanilla incense to distract the customer from aged leather and dust. Mismatched shelves were overstuffed with leather-bound books, most of them so old they looked like they’d been carried through a half dozen wars.

  In the background, an old phonographic record player played The Beatles’ “In My Life,” with the record skipping at thirty-second intervals.

  “You like books, eh?” said a kind voice behind them. Abby and Edmund turned to find a small-statured man well into his seventies standing next to a grandfather clock. The hands were stuck on five minutes to one, the brass pendulum frozen in time.

  Edmund let go of Abby to step toward the stooped man, his snowy white hair combed over and touching his small ears. “I do, indeed,” Edmund said, offering the man his hand.

  “Very well. If you find something you like, just ring the bell. I’ll come running.” He smiled without showing his teeth.

  “We have a customer,” squawked the parrot. “We have a customer.”

  “Ah, stupid bird,” the man said, sending his pet guard a slow flip of his pale wrist. “I should have had you stuffed when the Beatles broke up.” The man then turned and sauntered back to a mysterious place behind the steep staircase.

  “Do you want to leave?” Edmund asked Abby.

  “No, not at all,” she said, fascinated by his interest in such a bizarre and time-worn place. “Are you trying to find something in particular?”

  “Yes,” he smiled, his gaze lingering on her face a tad longer than usual.

  Then, he turned and began scanning the shelves, lifting his long, manicured fingers along the spine to read the titles. After fifteen minutes of watching him, his shoulders finally dropped and he smiled. He pulled the blue leather cover from the shelf and ran a slow palm over the fine gold leaf detail. He then searched a little while longer, finding another book and placing it on top of the other.

  “What is it?” Abby sauntered closer, sucking in her breath as she caught the faded titles of the two books she needed to read for Women’s Lit.

  “Not that I’m concerned that I’ll ever run out of things to talk with you about, but I do like to be prepared,” he said with a warm smile touching his lips. Then, he stepped away, dinging the bell and making the purchase without her knowing how much he paid. He remained heavily engaged in a conversation with the owner before reaching across the counter to shake his hand.

  She smiled when he retrieved her from a gold and maroon eighteenth-century high-backed chair she’d plopped into to watch him. Before they stepped outside, the parakeet shrieked, “Welcome to Lost in Time.”

  “Ah, put a cork in it,” the poor owner chided his bird further about its failed duties.

  “That was fun,” Abby said, a giddiness making her giggle and pause to lean against the almost undetectable storefront.

  “Thank you,” Edmund whispered down to her, his deep, throaty tone causing her pulse to scatter.

  She shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

  His hand lifted to her cheek, his light brows furrowed over his mesmerizing eyes. “No, I mean it. That was very kind of you to wait for me in there. I’m sure you were bloody bored.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” she confessed, not giving away just what she found fascinating about the place or whom. As she gazed into his beautiful face, he placed his other hand at her waist. She held the air in her lungs as he shifted closer, his height and shoulders blocking the afternoon sun. She shivered, not from the absence of the sun’s rays, but from the heat of his palm and the nearness of his lips.

  Unable to move, she let him continue to touch her, to slide the pad of his thumb along the seam of her mouth. She waited, her heart rapping, her stomach flipping, until a passing car’s obnoxious horn blared on the street behind them. He jerked away, leaving the chilly breeze to whip across her heated skin.

  “My car’s not too much further.” His detached tone was like having a bucket of cold water dumped over her head. There was nothing else said between them as he pulled up to her shop and put the sleek rental car in park. He sat for a long moment, staring out of the windshield at the quiet street.

  She supposed the lack of traffic was one of the reasons why her father’s shop barely clung to life. That and the fact record albums were no longer a high-demand item.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, his head turning to see if she’d changed her mind.

  “Right,” she nodded and stepped onto the sidewalk, his heady scent still lingering on her cheek.

  As she predicted, the rest of the day was a wash. She filed jazz records in the classical section and placed several Miles Davis LPs in with ABBA. She even lingered too long over the pile of records Edmund had scattered the day before.

  “Oh, this cannot end well,” she said under her breath, contemplating standing him up and just mailing the papers and being done with him and her rebellious heart palpitations altogether.

  Chapter Eight

  Edmund hung up the rest of his clothes that Timmons had packed for him. Oh, how he missed his butler. Well, maybe he just missed what Timmons did for him all these years. As he thought back over the many times he’d neglected to tell the man ‘thanks,’ the unfamiliar ring of his doorbell made him jump.

  When he thought it might be Abby, his heart lurched, a reaction he sought to control. He saw no reason to lead the girl down a path of promises, only to leave her in the end. No matter what he felt for her, she was a broke shop girl who didn’t even know what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Even if she possessed a little money or had some mysterious bloodline that led to a viscount, would it be enough for him to maintain the life he’d always known?

  Still, he could not help but think of her, or want to find ways to unravel the cocoon in which she’d wrapped herself. This was worth getting to know her, just a little bit better.

  His doorbell rang again, the impatience giving away the caller immediately. He strode across the beige carpet, the quaint living room so much larger than Abby’s full apartment.

  “Edmund, are you in there?”

  Edmund opened the door to find Will leaning against it. “So, were you able to make any progress with Abby?”

  For a second, Edmund wondered exactly what sort of progress Will was referring. “Yes. I’m going to meet her tomorrow morning.”

  Edmund turned, leaving Will in the doorway, as he continued to talk about Abby. “Did you know her great-great-grandfather was a horse thief?”

  Edmund heard the door shut and then the squeak of leather as his friend sat down in the nearest available seat. “Hmmm. Tragic,” Will said, not the least bit interested.

  A moment later, Edmund turned to see Will’s face lift with dramatic intrigue. He lunged forward, his finger used like a sword. “You like her? She’s a temptress, I’ll give her that, but you’re wasting your time if you think she’ll throw you any bones. I’ve seen more men crash and burn around her than the last lap at Talladega.”

  Edmund chose this moment to walk further away. “You talk gibberish.”

  “I do? Well, you’ll see. You keep playing with her fire, you’re going to get burned…not to mention a horrible headache,” he mumbled.

  Edmund halted and twisted back in Will’s direction. He wanted to defend his actions, but he couldn’t think of a bloody thing to say.

  “Just let me know when she gives you the paper,” Will said. “We need more names for the show, and that list she’s holding onto, for whatever reason, could provide us with the missing links.” Then, the man stood and le
t himself out, seeming to find great amusement in the situation. This left Edmund wondering why, out of a half dozen other women he’d met in Oregon so far, did he find himself thinking endlessly about Abby?

  His thoughts didn’t change after he laid down that night, his mind reliving the moment on the staircase and against her hideous refrigerator. He believed he only had to kiss her and then his curiosity would wane to the point of disinterest. He bored easily, like a child who knew the next wrapped present would bring him more joy than the last.

  The next day, however, she agreed to have him come by the store to receive the college project. The shop was already occupied with a few customers and the peculiar woman in the hideous straw hat with a life-like bird perched on one side.

  “Lord Rushwood,” the woman greeted him, gesturing with her hand to the floral loveseat next to the window. He sat down and glanced toward Abby, who was talking with two young men of college age; they were laughing and she was blushing like a shy teenager.

  “Are you here to buy another Beatles album?” Raify asked, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.

  “No, I—wait, how did you know I bought a Beatles album?”

  The woman sighed loudly and reached over to pour him some tea from a gilded teapot that appeared older than the set in his family’s china cabinet. He thought he was going to enjoy a cordial conversation until the woman spoke again.

  “Do you think you deserve her?”

  He had lifted the teacup, grateful he hadn’t taken a sip of the fragrant bergamot tea before she dropped the question on him.

  “Ms. D’Gothomer—”

  “Raify.”

  He smiled, believing her name was as odd as her personality. “Raify, Abby and I just met, so it is highly premature to assume…to insinuate…that—”

  The bell above the door rang, saving him from having to finish his thoughts. When he glanced up, Abby smiled at him, his heart skipping an unexpected beat.

  “Well, I have some errands to run, so I will see you later,” Raify said, standing and placing an affectionate kiss on Abby’s rounded cheek. An awkward moment passed as the door clicked shut and he remembered the men she’d been talking with earlier.