Love Birds: The Complete Collection

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Conrad nodded.

  Cecilia was ready to stop, but Conrad kept going. Surely it wasn’t a good idea to keep dancing? They didn’t know who—

  “Ah, I didn’t mean to interrupt. But it does look like fun.”

  Mr. Radcliff? Cecilia pulled away from Conrad. What would Mr. Radcliff think? Would he have noticed her clumsy gait? Her uncertainty of the steps?

  Amelia stopped humming and smiled. “Good day, Mr. Radcliff.”

  He inclined his head. “Lady Lofton.” After a nod and a ‘good day’ to Conrad, his gaze found Cecilia’s and rested there. “Miss Fleming.”

  She did her best to curtsey, still trying to perfect the fluidity of the motion she’d practiced for the ball. “Good day, Mr. Radcliff.” What to do now? Should she ask him to sit down? Inquire as to his reason for the visit? No, that wasn’t her place. She clasped her hands together and waited.

  Conrad swept his arm out toward the room. “Come in. Please.”

  Mr. Radcliff stepped into the parlor. His black breeches and coat were spotless and his cravat, a dove grey, was tied perfectly at his throat. His hair was slightly mussed. Had that happened when he’d removed his hat at the butler’s earlier request?

  Why is my mouth suddenly dry? How she longed to wipe the perspiration from her palms onto a handkerchief, but doing so would draw too much attention. And the way Mr. Radcliff peered at her from those unblinking big dark eyes, Cecilia was under enough scrutiny as it was.

  He finally broke eye contact with her and spoke to Conrad. “Say, I didn’t mean to interrupt your dance. Please, don’t stop on my account.” But his steps to Cecilia belied his interest in watching her dance with Conrad. He came so close, in fact, she smelled his woodsy scent. Trees, earth, fresh breezes, and warm sunshine.

  Conrad smiled. “Say, Cecilia would you mind terribly if I shared a dance with my wife? I’m certain she can hum and perform the steps at the same time.”

  “Thank you for the sentiment, dear. Heartened to know I possess more than one talent.” Amelia laughed and strolled to Conrad, who already had his arms open and ready.

  Mr. Radcliff blinked slowly and gazed down at Cecilia. “Might I interest you in a new dance partner, Miss Fleming?”

  Wait. I’m not nearly practiced enough to dance with anyone else. I might step on his toe like I did with Conrad. Or turn left when I should go right. What if I—?

  “If you’d rather not.” Mr. Radcliff shifted his gaze to the floor.

  Oh no. I’ve hurt his feelings, the very last thing I’d ever want to do. “On the contrary. I’d be delighted.”

  “Truly?”

  She nodded. More than you know.

  Conrad chuckled. “Amelia. Up for some more accompaniment?”

  “Of course.” She began with the first note again. Poor dear. How patient she was. Surely she was weary of humming the same tune time and again.

  Mr. Radcliff held out his hand. Cecilia placed hers in his. So warm. One side of her mouth tipped up. Please oh please let me remember my steps. And not to forget to keep my eyes on my partner instead of my feet!

  Keeping her gaze on Mr. Radcliff wouldn’t be any trouble. No, none at all. His hand curved around her waist. A tiny spark of heat dashed across her stomach. What in heaven’s name was that? Focus, Cecilia!

  Dancing with Mr. Radcliff didn’t feel like it had with her brother. Not at all. They stepped in perfect unison. Left, right, a twirl. Yes, I’m dancing! Amelia hummed on. Cecilia had heard the tune so often she might never push it from her thoughts. But would that be so bad? If it kept her memory of this moment close at hand, who was she to mind?

  Mr. Radcliff smiled, his lips full and soft. “Are you enjoying the dance?”

  Her gaze fell to his chin. “Yes. Very much so.” She’d had no trouble, none at all gazing into his eyes in the silence. Something about his breaking the quiet with that deep, masculine timbre, though, had her quite rattled. As if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

  He twirled her to the right. But the instant she ducked beneath his arm, her left boot caught on her right.

  Noooo!

  His strong arms caught her before she hit the floor, but just barely. Mere inches separated her head from the polished wood. Mr. Radcliff’s fingers tightened on her upper arms and then his arms slid around her back as he crouched beside her.

  “Are you hurt, Miss Fleming?”

  A light tapping on the wooden doorframe drew their attention. Cecilia glanced up. Papa? There she sat practically in a man’s lap. She pulled away from Mr. Radcliff, her face heating, and scrambled to stand.

  Papa’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. He flicked a glance to Conrad and Amelia who must have been so focused on each other that they hadn’t before noticed the predicament in which Cecilia found herself. Papa glanced back at her, opened his mouth, and then promptly snapped it shut. Had he been about to ask what was going on with his daughter?

  She gulped in some air. Thank you for staying silent, Papa. How would she have explained to Mr. Radcliff why the steward had any right to express his opinion of the master of the house and his family?

  “Cecilia! Are you hurt?” Amelia rushed to her side.

  “No. Simply clumsy.”

  Mr. Radcliff puckered his brow. “Oh, certainly not, Miss Fleming.”

  Papa gasped. Was it because Cecilia had been referred to as something other than Fletcher? Of course he’d be confused. She’d not told him of that detail yet.

  Mr. Radcliff glanced quickly toward Papa and back. “Indeed, the fault lays wholly on me. Pardon my ineptitude during the dance.”

  Warmth encased Cecilia’s heart. What a sweet man to take on responsibility for something that was obviously her doing. She smiled and curtseyed.

  Conrad turned to Papa. “Good day, Mr. Fletcher.”

  Papa reached up and swiped his hat from his head. His cheeks reddened. Normally, no one expected Papa to be concerned with niceties in Conrad’s home, least of all Conrad. But with a guest in the house, Papa took on his role of the property’s steward. “Good day, Lord Lofton.”

  “And what might I do for you this fine day?”

  Papa cleared his throat. “I…” His blue-eyed gaze slid again to Cecilia. He pursed his lips and tilted his head ever so slightly toward the window.

  What could he…? Oh! Had Mama woken early and caused a fuss when she discovered her daughter not there to wait on her? Cecilia couldn’t imagine any other reason why Papa would show up when there was a guest in the house. She curtseyed again to Mr. Radcliff. “Thank you for the dance. I’m afraid I must be leaving now.”

  “Leave? But I was under the impression that you were staying here.”

  “I… yes. Staying here, yes. But I need to—”

  Amelia grabbed Cecilia’s hand and tugged. “She is needed in her room. Straight away.”

  Mr. Radcliff’s mouth pulled down slightly at the corners. “I understand.” He bowed. “I thank you very much for the pleasure of the dance and hope to repeat the pleasant experience in the near future.”

  “Thank you. I—”Amelia yanked her from the room. Good heavens, her sister-in-law had a strong grip.

  “Come along,” whispered Amelia. “If your father was trying to tell you what I think he was, you’ve no time to waste getting back to the cottage.”

  Cecilia couldn’t have agreed more. If Papa went to the trouble to find her, Mama must be livid. She kissed Amelia on the cheek and fled from the house.

  Chapter Twelve

  Barrington stepped into the crowded ballroom. He peered around the room searching for a certain blond beauty. Would she be there? Most everyone he knew would be. However, the only reason he came was to dance with her. Otherwise, he avoided the frivolity and pretention of his peers. It all seemed so pointless.

  He still couldn’t locate her. But then, she was small of stature. Perhaps he should be looking for Lord Lofton instead who was taller than most. A second perusal of the room provided bette
r results. There, next to a grouping of chairs was Lord Lofton and Lady Lofton. She was hard to miss as well with that flaming auburn hair. But where was—?

  His breath caught in his throat. Miss Fleming sat on a chair in front of them wearing a lovely lavender gown and some sort of white band in her hair. Dancers moved about in the room and his glimpse of her was blocked. “Blast.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Barrington jumped and glanced to his right. A short, balding man of considerable girth now stood next to him. “Pardon me, sir. I hadn’t intended on uttering the thought aloud.”

  The man sniffed and put his nose in the air. “I should hope not.”

  With a shrug, Barrington turned from the other man and continued to watch the area where he’d observed Miss Fleming. Why wasn’t she dancing? And why am I just standing here like a tree stump instead of asking her to dance with me?

  A large group of men and women shoved from behind. They parted and streamed around him on either side as if he were a tall rock protruding above the surface of a river. How was he to get across the room to Miss Fleming with this sea of humanity flowing through the door? A curse escaped his lips.

  “If you please, sir.” The same man eyed Barrington with beady dark eyes. “There are ladies present.”

  Barrington gave a nod of apology. All he wanted to do was find a clear path across the ballroom floor. Was that too much to ask? He knew he’d taken too much time deciding on what coat to wear and how to tie his cravat. If Daniel hadn’t done it for him, he might still be standing in his bedroom.

  He took a step forward, intent on pressing forward just as the little man next to him did the same. Barrington winced as the other man’s surprisingly large foot smashed on his toe. “What in the blazes are you about, man?”

  “Well. It’s apparent they allow just any sort into these galas these days.” The man frowned and turned away to speak to someone else. “Ah, my dear, here you are at last.”

  He had a dancing companion? Who would want to associate with the likes of him?

  “Yes, so sorry to keep you waiting.”

  That voice. Barrington slowly pivoted around. Oh no. Why, oh why would it have to be tonight that he’d finally run across her again?

  “Barrington?” Martha, his past love, stood with one hand clinging to the haughty man’s arm and her other hand clutched at her throat as if she was choking.

  Perfect. “Good evening, Miss Lymington.”

  Martha’s cheeks tinged pink. She averted her gaze to the floor. “Surely we know each other well enough to continue use of our Christian names.”

  Barrington forced his words out through clenched teeth. “I think not.”

  The man looked from Barrington to Martha. “My dear, you know this man?”

  “Why… yes. He’s a childhood friend.”

  “Huh.” Barrington barely contained his fury. A friend? After all the time they spent together, sat closely together on several occasions? The stolen kisses? He glared at Martha’s companion. “Mr. Pemberley, I presume?”

  “That’s correct. I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage and know not your name.”

  “Mr. Radcliff. Apparently, Miss Lymington hasn’t mentioned me.”

  Martha winced. She tugged on Mr. Pemberley’s arm. “Perhaps we should find somewhere to sit.”

  “Why do I have the distinct impression that something more is going on here?” Mr. Pemberley took a step toward Barrington, a frown on his pudgy face, his hands knotted into fists.

  Did the other man want a fight? Barrington nearly laughed. Aside from the man’s large feet, there was nothing about him that posed a threat to anything bigger than a spider. Perhaps not even that. He rolled his eyes and presented his back to the man, intent on pushing through the masses, whatever the cost.

  Barrington skirted around a rainbow of colors as their dance partners twirled about women in gowns of various shades of pink, yellow, white, blue and green. Groups of laughing attendees around the edge of the dance floor blocked him at every turn. How many people were stuffed into that single area? Sweat trickled down his neck beneath his cravat. Guess it wouldn’t have mattered how it was tied if it was only to become damp with perspiration from the hot room. He tugged it down a good inch to relieve the discomfort. With another glance over the crowd by the seating area, he finally spotted Lord Lofton.

  Without delay, he hurried in their direction. He didn’t want to lose sight of them again and miss his chance to see Miss Fleming.

  “Ah, good evening, Mr. Radcliff.” Lord Lofton nodded.

  “Good evening, Lord Lofton, Lady Lofton.”

  He glanced down to a row of mostly occupied seats. And there she was. The lavender dress was even more stunning up close. It fit her curves snugly, off the shoulders and dipping low over her breasts. Her cheeks had a rosy glow about them. Whether it was from the warmth of the room or excitement of the evening, he knew not, but found it quite appealing.

  Her eyes… Somehow next to that particular shade of her dress, they had taken on the exact same color. Incredible. He could scarcely blink, afraid somehow the lovely vision she produced might be lost, not to be rediscovered.

  Lord Lofton cleared his throat, startling Barrington from his reverie. “Mr. Radcliff, I’m sure you remember my cousin, Miss Fleming?”

  “Indeed.” Barrington bowed to her. Had he appeared the buffoon, staring at her as if he were a love-struck boy of ten? “Lovely to see you again, Miss Fleming.”

  She lowered her gaze, her long lashes sweeping against those rosy cheeks. “And you as well, Mr. Radcliff.”

  Music from a different song began. Suddenly Barrington longed for nothing more than to hold Miss Fleming in his arms and never let her go. To sway to the music, twirl her dainty frame around and press his fingers to her waist once more. Would her hair smell like roses if he leaned close? Or would her scent of choice be lavender, as a nod to her color of dress? Would she place her hand on his shoulder, the other hand fitted snuggly in his?

  Lord Lofton cleared his throat a second time.

  He’d done it again. Get ahold of yourself, man! The only way to stop imagining what delights were in store for him with Miss Fleming was to actually ask her to dance. He held out his hand. “Miss Fleming, might I have the pleasure of a turn about the floor?”

  She blinked. The corners of her lips rose, the left side a tiny bit higher than the right. Adorable. “Yes. I would like that. Very much.”

  The full skirt of her gown swished against his trouser leg as she stood. A ripple of desire went through him. From her gown? He swallowed hard. Something about this woman grabbed hold of him down deep inside. It was as if he’d never truly lived until he met her. But how could that be?

  In all his years spending time with Martha, the outings, the parties and events, he’d never, not once, experienced anything remotely like he felt right now. A hundred bees stinging his heart couldn’t give it more of a jolt. A thousand chirping birds signaling the coming of spring couldn’t equal the joy in his soul. A million sonnets sung of the purest love in existence surely couldn’t fill his mind with more wonder than standing there holding Miss Fleming’s hand.

  Miss Fleming tilted her head and blinked. Someone tapped his shoulder. Barrington inwardly groaned, grief stricken that the magical spell had been broken. He peered behind him.

  Lord and Lady Lofton stood quite close, both biting their lips as if trying not to smile. “We’re going out to the ballroom floor to dance and thought perhaps…” Lord Lofton pointed behind them.

  Ah… Miss Fleming’s chaperones didn’t want to leave their charge unattended. With a sigh, whether of remorse for the end of the perfect moment or in splendid anticipation of the dance, he knew not. As long as he was in Miss Fleming’s company, he would be content.

  Barrington offered his arm to his dance partner and they followed Lord and Lady Lofton. They didn’t, however, take a space very near them. Instead, Barrington lagged behind so he could have some privacy w
ith Miss Fleming. If there is privacy to be had amongst several hundred people. At least her cousins’ ears wouldn’t be able to listen in on their conversation.

  Miss Fleming placed one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand. They began to dance but she appeared to be inordinately interested in her slippers. Were they new? Perhaps she was concerned they would get scuffed amidst all the moving feet close by.

  “Your slippers are lovely, Miss Fleming.”

  She inhaled sharply and raised her gaze to his. “Oh. Thank you.”

  “I thought perhaps you were concerned for their wellbeing.”

  She shook her head, but the hint of a smile played at her lips.

  “Are you enjoying your stay with your cousins?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you done anything of particular enjoyment while there?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “No.”

  Would he be required to have the whole conversation on his own? Maybe she was nervous. Sometimes crowds did that to people. He’d never particularly liked them. Perhaps if he could find something about which she was interested, she would be more willing to speak. Barrington twirled her around and sighed when she was rested once again in his arms. “Do you enjoy dancing?”

  She nodded.

  “How about… card games? Have a particular favorite?”

  Wisps of hair danced around her face as she shook her head.

  This wasn’t going at all as planned. There must be something. He had a feeling that conversing about a topic as benign as the weather wouldn’t coax any more from her than a shrug. “Are you fond of animals? Have any pets?”

  Her eyes sparkled and her entire face lit from within. “Oh, I adore cats.”

  “Do you? Splendid.” Finally, something had caught her interest.

  “My cat’s name is Henry.”

  “Named after a king?”

  She laughed. “No, although I’m sure he thinks of himself as royalty.”

  “Does he perhaps sport a tiny crown?”

  She smiled.

  “Carry a tiny scepter around in his paws?”

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m afraid not, although if I could procure something of that nature, it would be fun to try.”