Love Birds of Regent's Park
By Ruth J. Hartman
Published by esKape ePress
http://eskapepress.com/
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2013 RUTH J. HARTMAN
ISBN-10: 1940695007
ISBN-13: 978-1-940695-00-6
Edited by Kim Bowman
Cover Art Design by For the Muse Designs
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction and distribution of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, without the written permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book, other than for review purposes, please obtain written permission first by contacting the publisher at [email protected].
Thank you for your support of the author's rights as provided for in the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.
For subsidiary rights, foreign and domestic, please contact the publisher at [email protected]
To Garry, my love bird.
Other Regency Romances by Ruth J. Hartman:
Romance at the Royal Menagerie
Rescued by a Duke
Time for a Duke
Available where eBooks are sold.
Chapter One
London, England
1814
Lord Conrad Croome, the fifth Earl of Lofton, glared at the back of Alfred’s head as he followed the butler to Mr. Ashbrook’s study. Portraits of generations of the indecently wealthy family lined the dark paneled walls of the entryway. The smell of beeswax rose from the wood and tickled his nose. Certainly, Ashbrook could afford to spare no expense in the care and furnishing of his vast estate.
At long last, after years of showing up at the man’s home every week, sitting quietly in the parlor with Lucy and biding his time… Conrad had the means to force Ashbrook into giving him what he wanted. What he deserved.
The butler turned and motioned toward the open doorway. “He will see you now, Lord Lofton.”
“Thank you.” The words leached out from between Conrad’s clenched teeth. No use letting on to Ashbrook that things between him and the servant were anything other than a visitor to the home thanking a servant.
“Very good, my lord.” Alfred appeared to be docile and subservient. Of course, Conrad now knew the man would betray his employer for enough money.
The door snapped closed behind him. Conrad smiled at the top of Mr. Ashbrook’s bent head and waited for the older man to acknowledge him. The large study, paneled in wood, smelled of cigar smoke. A window behind the settee allowed a glimpse of the massive, manicured lawn.
After today, things will be different. This is the last time I shall be required to wait. He nervously tapped the large portfolio of valuable papers beneath his coat.
Ashbrook glanced up and frowned. The man always wore a frown. That feature, added to his bulky frame, could be quite off-putting. “Lofton. Have a seat.” He looked back down at the papers strewn about his desk as if Conrad wasn’t even there.
In but a few moments, he’ll be treating me with much more respect.
Conrad walked to the settee across from the large desk and sat. And waited. Nervous energy caused him to fidget. His fingers drummed on his knees and his boots tapped. Nothing he told himself made a difference. It was as if he couldn’t stay calm.
“Well?”
Conrad gasped and jumped.
“What’s gotten into you, Lofton? See a ghost?”
“N-no… of course not.”
Ashbrook waved a hand at the papers on his desk. “What’s it to be? Haven’t got the whole of the day now do I?”
Resentment at being treated lower than mud on the man’s boot washed over Conrad. How dare he? Fidgeting was replaced by calm assurance that Mr. Ashbrook would indeed speak to him. Now.
Lucy’s father rolled his eyes. “Speak your piece, man, so I can—”
Conrad held out a hand toward Ashbrook.
The older man stopped mid-sentence and stared, opened-mouthed. “How dare you interrupt me in my own home? Why, I have a mind to—”
“To what?”
Ashbrook stood. His meaty hands squeezed into fists. “I’ll not put up with—”
“Sit. Down.”
Widening his eyes, Mr. Ashbrook stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
Conrad patted his coat. “Trust me when I tell you that you will indeed want to hear what I have to say.”
“You can’t speak to me that way.” He looked toward the closed door. “Alfred! Get in here!”
The door remained closed.
“Alfred!”
Silence mocked Ashbrook’s bellow for assistance.
Conrad smiled. “Perhaps your butler is otherwise engaged.”
Ashbrook stared toward the door a few seconds longer and slowly swung his gaze to Conrad. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. Perhaps you’re foxed. Or Bedlam might be your next stop. But there must be some explanation for your outrageous behavior, Lofton. And if you think you are going to marry Lucy now that you’ve—”
“Oh yes. I’ll marry her.”
“She’ll not be giving her inheritance to the likes of you.”
Conrad removed the papers from his coat. “She will, and you’ll give her to me gladly.” He tapped the top of the portfolio. “And you’ll be giving me much, much more than just her inheritance when we marry.”
“But—”
“In fact, as soon as I disclose what’s in this envelope, you will grant me anything I ask for.”
Red, the shade of a sunset, covered Ashbrook’s round face. His gaze slid to Conrad’s hand. He lowered his brows to a frown. “What’s that?”
“If you sit down, I will tell you all about it.”
Ashbrook opened his mouth but no words came out. He plopped onto the chair. Air whooshed out from his mouth with a low whistle. “Fine. I’m sitting. Get it over with, whatever this thing is you feel is so important. Then you’re leaving and never returning.”
“I think not.” Conrad opened the portfolio, tugged the pages free, and placed them on his lap. “You see, it has come to my attention that you have some very lucrative business heading your way.”
“I am a successful business man, Lofton. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have all that I do.”
Conrad nodded. “True. However, this information is very specific.”
“Preposterous. You’d have no way of knowing anything about my business unless I had told you myself.”
“Perhaps that was the case. Before.”
“Before?”
Conrad waved the pages back and forth.
Ashbrook narrowed his eyes. “You keep fumbling with those blasted papers. What do they contain?”
“Secrets. Yours.”
“I’ve heard enough.” He stood abruptly. His chair legs scraped the floor as he pushed away from the desk.
Conrad remained seated. “No. I think not. You see, Jeffrey. May I call you Jeffrey? Or would you prefer Father, since I will soon marry into your family?”
Ashbrook’s eyes bulged. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Lofton, but I’ll not put up with any further nonsense!”
“I wouldn’t call something that will double your fortune nonsense.”
“But… I—”
“Yes, that’s right. What I have
in my possession is proof of your future deal with Lord Proust.”
“Impossible! Why no one else knows… how did you come by that?”
“That’s my secret. And no, I won’t be sharing it with you.”
“A spy!” Ashbrook looked wildly about the room as if someone might be hiding in a corner or behind the drapes. “Who’s been spying on me? My servants are all trustworthy, and Lucy is too stupid to do something like that.”
“You won’t find out who gave me the information. What remains, however, is how we will go about you giving me half of your earnings through Proust.”
“Even if you do have the information you claim to have, there’s no way in—”
“Let’s be reasonable, Jeffrey. I’ve read through these documents thoroughly. And I was smart enough to create a copy for myself. It seems you and Proust have formed an alliance that might be of interest to the public. Shall we say an… illegal alliance? That certainly wouldn’t make you popular now, would it? And I’d wager you’d lose a vast number of business associates as a result.”
Ashbrook ground his teeth together so violently that Conrad heard it from several feet away. He stormed toward Conrad and thrust out his hand.
Conrad tilted his head. “Certainly have a look. As I said, that’s not my only copy.”
He lowered his eyebrows and read the first page, his eyes moving left to right across the paper. Then on to the second, third, and forth. With each page, his face grew redder.
Conrad sat quietly and waited. His heart thumped in his chest. It was going to happen. He was finally going to get his due!
Crushing the pages in his hand, Ashbrook threw them on the floor. He paced across the room from his desk to the door and back.
And still, Conrad waited.
Ashbrook stopped abruptly and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he peered directly at Conrad. “I see you are in possession of what you claim. I seem to be at your mercy, Lofton. What’s it to be, then?”
Conrad stood. “To begin with, I want to marry your daughter. As soon as possible.”
Chapter Two
Lucy chewed on her bottom lip, concentrating as she pressed a bit harder with the graphite pencil to shade in the bird’s eye. A smooth, curved line met in a circle around the iris. Small straight strokes created tiny feathers around its beak.
There. Now the face is complete. That will show snippy Amelia who is the more accomplished artist. The last I saw of hers, the poor bird resembled a hippopotamus.
A light breeze lifted the tendrils of hair around her face. She glanced up again at the bird she was drawing. It squawked and tilted its head, looking right at her.
Lucy sighed. She did love the Sanctuary so. As had her mother before she died. It had been such a joy to come with her as a little girl for occasional visits to see the different birds. Tears pricked the backs of Lucy’s eyes. She looked down at her paper. No. Mama wouldn’t want me to be sad while I’m at her favorite place.
Plus, there was the added bonus of staying out of her father’s way when she was there. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to please him.
Steps plodded on the smooth path beside the park bench. Then halted. Someone’s shadow obscured the sunlight that had formerly illuminated Lucy’s drawing paper. Large dusty work boots appeared from the corner of her eye. One boot tapped. Twice.
“Impressive.”
Lucy gasped, startled by the stranger’s deep voice. Her gaze traveled from the aforementioned boots, to pants with a frayed hem and small hole in the knee, up to broad shoulders covered in a thick dark blue shirt beneath a tweed coat. Widening her eyes when she finally reached his face, she gulped. His collar-length dark hair lifted in the light breeze. The stranger’s eyes were darker than the graphite of her pencil. Had hours in the sun given his cheeks that bronzed hue? And… that smile. Oh my. One corner tipped up, forming a dimple. If she had been the type to swoon, that would have been the perfect moment. And those lips. Surely they would be…
“Looks as if you’ve captured the image of a nuthatch quite nicely.”
There was that smooth as honey voice again. Should that make her skin tingle so? Mouth gone dry, Lucy nodded. Nuthatch? What was a nuthatch? And why was the handsome man there? Talking? To her? There she sat, alone in the Bird Sanctuary, drawing any bird that would light close enough for her to view its feathers, and a man, a handsome man, simply strolled up to see what she was about.
“Miss, are you often in the Sanctuary drawing birds?”
Why, oh why, hadn’t she listened to her father when he scolded her for not taking her maid Anna along? Because she had been sure no one would be about this early hour. Certain that having her driver, Carlton, just outside the gate would suffice.
Bother.
The stranger certainly was being forward, speaking to her like that. Now she would have to either speak to the man staring at her with raised dark eyebrows or act as if she hadn’t seen him. And that would be—
The man’s face reddened. “Pardon my intrusion, miss. I’ll not bother you further.” The heels of his boots scuffed on the path as he turned to go.
What was wrong with her? The man must think her an imbecile. “W-wait!”
Angling back toward her, he squinted against the sun. “Ah, words do indeed flow from your tongue, then.” A mischievous grin graced his perfect, full lips. He took a step toward her. Then another. “Mr. Barrow, at your service.” He gave her a slight bow and nod.
Mr. Barrow’s dress was that of a laborer, dusty and worn. Yet his speech told of someone well enough off to have had the benefit of education. So, which was he? A poor worker or an educated gentleman?
“I'm Miss Ashbrook. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She glanced at his old, cracked, dirty gloves. Her gloves, white and clean except for a tiny smudge of graphite, gleamed in comparison. She was not often caught in conversation with common workers — except those of her own household, of course. And even then, she didn’t converse with them much. Except for Anna. But that was different.
“Please, think nothing of it, Miss Ashbrook. My work often causes my attire to become soiled.”
Face heating, she lowered her gaze to her lap. He knew. Somehow he knew what she had been thinking. His attire. His soiled gloves. The fact that their stations were different. How mortifying. And how she must seem to him. Uppity. Snooty. Thinking herself better than him. Looking down on those of lesser wealth and status than her. And didn’t that just describe her acquaintance Amelia, whom she could barely tolerate?
Glancing about the path and area surrounding it, she wished she’d indeed brought her maid as a chaperone. What would people think? A young woman sitting on the bench alone. A strange, unkempt — albeit handsome — man standing oh, so very close. Should she be frightened? He didn’t seem dangerous or threatening. Still…
Her gaze strayed to his face. Gone was the dimple. His mouth was drawn down at the corners. The gleam had gone from his eyes. Blasted society and their rules! Ever since an unknown lady of distinction had written down some rules of etiquette, everyone spent much time trying to conform to said rules.
She looked at the long bench on which she sat. Surely it would do no harm to invite him to sit? There would be sufficient room between them if one sat on either end. And no one was about at the moment, anyway.
“Please. Join me.” She waved her hand toward the bench.
“No. I couldn’t.”
“I must insist.”
“So must I.” He crossed his arms.
“But, you must sit.”
He tapped his boot. “No. I mustn’t.”
“I’m trying to be nice.”
“As am I.”
She huffed out a breath and folded her arms. Did his frown and lowered eyebrows mirror hers? Did she seem an immature child, fussing because she wasn't getting her way? How silly she must appear. A smile tugged at her mouth. His did the same, forming the adorable dimple again. Oh, how she’d missed that dimple, even though s
he’d only first set eyes on it but a moment ago. How silly that sounded.
She tilted her head as she held out her hand. “Please?” For some reason she didn’t understand, it seemed of the utmost importance to have him join her. She’d never met him, and there wasn’t a single logical reason to have him do so, yet she wanted it. Desperately.
He chuckled, a deep sound from his throat. His eyes twinkled as a gleam of sunlight kissed his long dark lashes. “Well, in that case.” Taking her hand in his, he gave it a gentle squeeze. Only once. Then he released it. How odd that disappointment coursed through her. She’d only just met him. They were nothing more than new acquaintances.
And yet…
The bench shifted a small bit as his weight settled. Lucy had not the courage to look at him now. Why was conversing with him as they sat side by side so much different than face to face? Somehow, it seemed more intimate. Heat rose from her collar, traveled up her neck, and spread across her cheeks. Was her face red? He’d know, then, how uncomfortable she was. Would he think her so young and immature that he’d not stay to talk about the bird she was drawing?
Mr. Barrow leaned against the back of his seat and sighed. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he grabbed an old, worn handkerchief and proceeded to wipe his forehead. Was he tired from his labor? How foreign that seemed to her, as her father had workers who did such things at their home and on the grounds. Before now, she’d not given them much thought. They were just there.
But now… now glancing at this man, a gleam of perspiration on his brow, muscles firm from physical work, clothes dusty and boots caked with dirt, things were brought to her attention as never before. How had she not noticed the servants in her own household? How thoughtless to simply brush past them as if they had no worth in life other than to do her bidding? They were people, too, with hopes and dreams, likes and dislikes. They worked and labored and were married and cared for families.
Ashamed, she swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. Perhaps she could be an acquaintance of this man. Would that help make up for her thoughtlessness of the past? She laid her artwork aside and clasped her hands in her lap.
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