The Unwanted Earl (The Love Bird Series)

by Hartman, Ruth J.

Conrad stepped closer. “Today, I will have an audience with Miss Talbot.”

  “But, my lord, I—”

  Conrad took another step until he was nearly nose to nose with the butler. Being several inches taller than the servant, it was easy for him to lean forward, thus making the butler lean back. So far back, in fact, that the man nearly stumbled.

  With a step backward, then another, the butler regained his balance. He swallowed and looked over his shoulder and then back. “Lord Lofton, it’s not my doing that you… You see I’ve been instructed not to…”

  Conrad stepped into the house and shut the door behind him. “I know all about instructing servants.”

  “I… I…” He swallowed. “Yes, of course, my lord.”

  “And I shall wait right in this very spot until you bring Miss Talbot down here.” Conrad crossed his arms. “Am I being clear enough?”

  The butler bobbed his head quickly, like a small boat on a choppy sea. “Very good, my lord. Right away, my lord.” He backed up several steps, then turned and all but ran up the tall flight of stairs.

  As soon as the other man was out of sight upstairs, Conrad let out the breath he’d been holding. Truth be told, he hadn’t been at all sure his show of bravado would work. It wasn’t as if he’d had a lot of practice using it.

  Voices could be heard from upstairs. Amelia’s. The butler’s. Amelia’s again, a little louder, though Conrad couldn’t quite make out the words. Although they didn’t sound amused.

  He paced around the large entryway so much that he lost count of the number of times he passed the framed looking glass. Each time he caught his reflection, he registered one expression.

  Fear.

  Fear that Amelia would refuse to see him. That she would listen but wouldn’t believe him. Or worse… that she believed him but still wouldn’t marry him.

  Please Amelia. There is something between us. I know you feel it too. I know you do.

  The sound of rapid footfalls came from above him. He raised his gaze to the stairs. Sapphire blue slippers appeared on the top step. Followed by a skirt of matching color. He recognized the gown as one of Amelia’s favorites. Conrad’s heart raced. It was her. She was coming down the steps!

  By the time she had descended far enough past the landing that he could view her face, he was appalled to see that she was scowling.

  Did you expect anything different? That she’d throw you a party, perhaps?

  Amelia reached the bottom step and halted. Fire sparked in her eyes and she placed her hands on her hips. “What is the meaning of terrorizing our butler, Lord Lofton?”

  He took a step toward her, but only one. “I wouldn’t exactly say terrorize. It was more like—”

  She held up her hand. “Stop talking.”

  He opened his mouth and promptly snapped it shut again.

  Amelia walked nearer to him. Slowly. Deliberately. “Since you cannot seem to take the hint that I don’t want to see you, I suppose I shall have to listen to you spout even more lies until I can successfully see you gone.” She raised an eyebrow. “For good.”

  “May I… speak now?”

  She lifted her chin and glared at him down the end of her nose. The queen could not have done it better. “You may.”

  He removed his hat. “You see—”

  “Not here.” She glanced around and then motioned him to follow her into the parlor. Once they were inside, she closed the door. They were alone. Without a chaperone. Did she even realize what she was doing?

  She pointed to a high-backed chair. “Sit.”

  Like an obedient dog, he hurried to the chair and did her bidding, anxious to have the interview over. She sat in a chair opposite from his. Too bad the chairs were so far apart. He longed to touch her. Gaze into her eyes. Although, the way she was glaring, it was unlikely either of those two would be happening in the foreseeable future.

  With a sigh, she shifted in her chair. “I’m here now. What is so important that you barged your way into my father’s home? I can’t imagine there’s anything you could say that would alter my current opinion of you, low as that happens to be at the moment.”

  Lovely. He had his work to do there, obviously. But he was up to the challenge. Amelia’s love was at stake, and that was a very worthy cause, indeed. There was none higher.

  He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, training his gaze on her face. Quite a relaxed posture, but perhaps, just perhaps, she would get the idea that he wanted to speak of something of a personal, heartfelt nature.

  For a few seconds, she didn’t move. Then, she relaxed the tiniest of bits. He drew a small bit of encouragement from that and proceeded.

  “Amelia, when you were last at my house, I’m sure what you witnessed caused you some alarm and confusion.”

  “Please don’t deign to tell me what I felt, Lord Lofton.”

  He longed to roll his eyes at her deliberate use of his title, but he refrained. He needed every bit of positive thought to accomplish his goal of having her actually listen to his words.

  “As I was saying, when you walked in and Cecilia was there, it was because she…” Once he said the words, he could never un-speak them.

  She yawned. “Yes, continue.”

  “Cecilia, who I might remind you is a recent friend of yours…”

  She raised one eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Well, Cecilia had come uninvited to tell me something of a very grave nature.”

  Amelia flipped her hand in the air. “Let me guess, she’d had a tear in her already worn pelisse and needed to cry on your shoulder?”

  “No. What I’m speaking of has to do with someone having been hurt. Trampled by a horse, in fact.”

  She sat up straight. “Oh… My.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And who was… trampled, may I ask?”

  “You may. It was her father. You met him that day on Rotten Row. Mr. Fletcher.”

  “The surgeon-dentist. Yes, I know who he is.” She glanced down. “Is he… that is, was he…?”

  “He’s alive, but…”

  “But he was hurt? Badly?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Conrad swallowed against a lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. Imagining what his father had gone through was still difficult.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Truly I am. Although, I still don’t see what it had to do with you.”

  “I… I’m getting to that.”

  “Very well. Go on.”

  “First, let me tell you what happened to Mr. Fletcher. His life was spared and he was battered and bruised…”

  “Well I’m very glad to hear it was nothing more than—”

  “But, I’m afraid his hand was stomped on. Crushed in fact.”

  She grimaced. “How ghastly. The poor man.”

  “Quite.”

  “Conrad. I’m sorry but I still don’t understand why she was at your house in your… arms.”

  Encouraged by her use of his Christian name, he continued. “When you and I were at the Shipleys’ home for Pall Mall, I had introduced Cecilia as my relation.”

  “I remember that quite well, I’m afraid.” She crossed her arms. “You said she was a cousin.”

  “I wasn’t exactly truthful about that.”

  “I knew it. So she’s not your relation.”

  “No, that part was true.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “You see, Cecilia and I are in fact related.”

  Amelia’s mouth dropped open and she uncrossed her arms, but she made not a sound.

  “But we are much closer than cousins. She’s my… sister. Well, half-sister to be exact.”

  With a slow back and forth shake of her head Amelia frowned. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t possibly have heard you correctly. I thought you said sister.”

  “That’s exactly what I said.”

  “But that’s not possible. I’ve met your mother.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “And whi
le I realize that Lord Lofton was in fact not your real father—” Her cheeks reddened. Was she thinking of her blackmail scheme about that very thing? “It simply cannot be that Mr. Fletcher, that he… he and your mother…”

  Conrad moved forward on his chair and leaned near her. “Amelia. What I’m telling you is the truth. I only found out recently who my real father was. Cecilia was the first to wonder about a connection. After I was there to have a tooth pulled, she began to notice similarities between Mr. Fletcher… Andrew, and myself. I’m not sure I ever would have noticed on my own, and I doubt Andrew would have either.”

  “Then how do you know for a fact it’s true? It could be a simple coincidence.”

  “For one thing, Mr. Fletcher said he’d known my mother many years ago when they were young. And that he’d… loved her then. He said he’d searched for her but had never known what had become of her. And then, I confronted my mother.”

  “Oh dear. I’m sure that wasn’t enjoyable.”

  “You have no idea. But I wanted to know the truth. Needed to know.”

  “And your mother actually admitted it?”

  “Not at first. But when she finally did, she cried. Actually cried. Other than yelling at the servants or berating me, my mother doesn’t really show much emotion.”

  Amelia looked down and ran her finger along the seam of the armrest on her chair. “So, what I saw that day… when you had your arms around Cecilia…”

  “What you saw was a brother and sister encouraging each other.”

  “Because their father had been severely injured.”

  “That’s part of it, yes.”

  She focused on him again. “There’s something else? Was someone else hurt that day?”

  “No one else was hurt… physically.”

  “Conrad, what are you saying?”

  He crossed the few feet separating their chairs and knelt in front of her. Emboldened by her willingness to listen to him at last, he took her hands in his. “What I’m saying is this. Andrew, with his hand irrevocably crushed, will no longer be able to perform his duties as a surgeon-dentist.”

  She blinked. “Oh…”

  “That being the case, I told Cecilia that she and her parents were not to worry about their finances. That I would make sure they were properly taken care of. From now on.”

  “Oh, Conrad…” She turned her head away.

  I’ve done it now. She’ll think me foolish, giving money to people I hardly know. The worst sort of irresponsible—

  When she flung herself into his arms, he was nearly knocked from his knees to his bottom.

  “Amelia? What are—?”

  “You are the sweetest, most thoughtful, generous man I’ve ever—”

  Her lips pressed to his, squelching whatever else she was going to say.

  But Conrad cared not. Not a whit.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The Fletcher’s tiny house sat in the shadows of two larger ones. The sun could only reach it when directly overhead. If the shabby structure had a state of mind, surely that would have been depression.

  Conrad raised his fist and knocked on the door, not looking forward to seeing his father in pain. But see him he would.

  Cecilia opened the door. “Conrad?” She glanced behind him then back to his face. “What are you…?” Her neck and face reddened. “Forgive me for making you stand in the breeze. Please, come in.”

  She stepped away so he had room to enter, although in such tight quarters, he still had to squeeze past her.

  He removed his hat and held it at his side, reminding himself that there would be no butler there to take it from him. “I’ve come to see about Andrew. How is he faring?”

  Cecilia shut the door softly and faced him. “His spirits are down.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I can imagine.” But he couldn’t. Not really.

  “Would you like to sit down? I can prepare some tea.”

  “No, no… Please don’t trouble yourself on my account. I’m sure you’re quite busy with things here.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Cecilia? Who’s there?”

  Conrad recognized his father’s voice. His heart squeezed with anguish for the man’s suffering, but also with love.

  She turned to the back of the house. “It’s Conrad, Papa.”

  “Oh?” A shuffling came from behind a closed door. The knob turned and the flimsy door squeaked open. Andrew stepped out, holding his hand against his stomach. A white bandage was wrapped around it until all that was visible beneath was the very ends of his three middle fingers. Red patches colored the bandage where blood had begun to seep through.

  But Andrew smiled, joy filling his face as if he’d been given the most wonderful gift, simply because Conrad had come to see him. Such a small thing, yet it seemed to mean the world to him. Conrad’s throat went dry and he swallowed, hoping for some relief.

  “Thank you for coming, but you needn’t have worried yourself about me. I’m sure you have more important matters to attend to.” He sat in one of the old chairs that faced the fireplace and held out his hand to the other chair.

  Conrad stepped forward and sat. Cecilia walked away. A cabinet opened and closed. Was she making tea for them after all?

  “Andrew, of course I had to come. I’ve been so concerned about you. All of you. When Cecilia told me of your… accident…”

  With a shake of his head, Andrew lowered his voice. “I told her not to bother you. That you…” He glanced away.

  “No, I’m so glad that she did.”

  “And she told me what you’d said, about helping with our… expenses. I cannot thank you enough. I’ll pay you back as I can, of course. I wanted to write you a note.” He glanced down at his bandage. “But…”

  “I don’t require your thanks. We are family, are we not?”

  Andrew looked back. His smile returned. “That we are… son.”

  Warmth encircled Conrad’s heart. He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, Andrew sat rubbing his fingers.

  “Are you in much pain?”

  “I… at times. But it’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

  “I am concerned for you.”

  “But you needn’t.”

  “There’s nothing you can do to stop me from caring.” He lifted one corner of his mouth in a smile.

  Andrew swallowed. “Th-thank you. That…” He cleared his throat.

  “Now…” Conrad sat forward and placed his hat on his lap. “I had intended on asking you how I could be of help, but I assumed you would have told me there was nothing you needed.”

  With a shrug, his father nodded. “Yes… yes I suppose that would have been my answer.”

  “That being the case, I’ve taken matters into my own hands.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’ve arranged for you to have a maid to help you with your care, any care your wife might require, and to help Cecilia with whatever she might need.”

  Andrew opened his eyes wide. “B-but… you needn’t…”

  “Please, I want to. It’s such a small thing for me to do.”

  “No, it’s not small. Not to us.”

  Cecilia returned and set a tray with a teapot and cups on a table to Conrad’s right. She frowned. “Is everything all right, Papa?”

  “Your… brother has arranged for us to have the services of a… maid.”

  “Pardon?” Turning to Conrad, she laid her hand on his shoulder. “Is this true?”

  He nodded, suddenly unable to form words in light of their gratitude. Doing something kind for others was still relatively new to him. If his joyous heart was any indication of the benefits he himself would have reaped, it was a pity he hadn’t done it sooner.

  “Oh my goodness! You are a dear.” She leaned down and hugged him, her blonde hair briefly falling across his face.

  The sensation tickled and a sneeze threatened to emerge. He gritted his teeth. Not now.

  She straightened and wiped a tear from
her cheek.

  Conrad cleared his throat and the sneeze ran into hiding. Thank heavens. “The maid, a Miss Percival, will start tomorrow, and will be here every morning for as long as she is required.”

  “How generous you are. I cannot thank you enough.” Andrew sniffed and looked down at his bandaged hand.

  Emboldened by their acceptance of the maid, he smiled. Hopefully they would accept the rest of his plans for them, as well. “I am also in the process of having a cottage built on my property.”

  “Oh?” Andrew tilted his head.

  Cecilia tilted hers in exactly the same manner. “How lovely for you.”

  Now comes the enjoyable part. He clasped his hands together in his lap. “Actually, I’m hoping it will be lovely… for you.”

  As the news sunk in, Andrew leaned against the back of his chair. Cecilia plopped down onto a stool at her father’s feet. For several seconds, they remained speechless.

  A crease marred their father’s forehead. “No… no of course you must not think that we could—”

  “Please.”

  “But… I… we couldn’t possibly.”

  Would they indeed refuse his good intentions? “I want to do this for you. It’s my strongest desire.”

  Cecilia remained quiet, but Andrew still shook his head slowly from side to side. “I can’t allow you to spend your own money on us.”

  “Why ever not? You are my relatives.”

  “What would people think? There would be talk. Your reputation…”

  “I’ve already thought of that. If you would perhaps concede to being, say, my steward.” He held up a hand. “It wouldn’t require you to do any manual labor, of course, simply to oversee my workers and make sure they were doing their work in a timely fashion.”

  “I…” Andrew’s cheeks reddened.

  Oh no… I’ve embarrassed him. Conrad placed his hat on the arm of his chair and knelt in front of his father. He took Andrew’s uninjured hand in his own. He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. “F-father, I don’t mean to cause you alarm, or hurt your feelings in any way. This is something I can do and something I long to do… for you and yours.” He glanced at Cecilia and back. “If circumstances had been different, I would have had a much different life. But since my mother… since she decided…” He cleared his throat. “Since she made the decisions that she made, I was given no choice.”