Romancing the Rogue (33 page)

Oliver climbed from
his carriage and trudged toward the door. That Lofton fellow was a piece of work. Poor Lucy for having to put up with him. Still… there was the question of what exactly their relationship was. Were they friends? Betrothed? No, surely not that. They didn’t act like any betrothed couple he’d ever met. But perhaps that was wishful thinking on his part.

Lucy certainly didn’t seem too fond of him, but Lofton… it almost seemed as if he had designs on her. Could that be possible? If that were the case, didn’t he realize Lucy did not appreciate his companionship? It was obvious to anyone with eyes. The daggers she shot him could have brought down the largest goose in the Sanctuary.

Oliver’s hands tightened into fists, the impulse to pummel the rogue so strong that he nearly did an about-face to his carriage to seek Lofton and call him out. What an insulting, condescending, prissy man. No wonder Lucy was not in any way pleased to see him running toward them like some lunatic escapee from Bedlam, waving his arms and yelling across the Sanctuary grounds. If Oliver had had a net handy, he’d have tossed it over Lofton’s head and had him hauled away.

The door opened with a creak. Kirby, the butler, stood at attention in his black coat, pants, and boots and white gloves and shirt. Not a wrinkle or stain would ever be found on his person. He made very sure of that. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Good afternoon, Kirby. Is Father at home?” He stepped into the entryway.

“Yes sir, in the drawing room.”

“Thank you.”
Why would Father be in there?
Was he with someone? Oliver couldn’t imagine him sitting in there alone.

Oliver crossed the entryway and climbed the stairs two and a time. He needed to change from his soiled clothes before speaking to his father, who never appreciated Oliver bringing the out-of-doors inside with him when he’d been at the Sanctuary. Anything to do with dirt, mud, water, or feathers disgusted him. Which pretty much summed up the Bird Sanctuary.

Once in his room, Oliver changed into clean, suitable clothing, leaving his soiled ones for the maid. Wouldn’t Father have an apoplexy if he arrived at dinner looking like something that had jumped in the duck pond and then rolled in the mud like a pig in its trough?

Pond
.

A smile tugged at his mouth. Attempting to rescue Lucy’s hat from the goose may have been one of the smartest things Oliver had done to date. Otherwise, might she have been so gratified? So friendly and open? Surely seeing him in his work garb would have put someone of her status off under normal circumstances. It was a wonder she spoke to him at all in his old clothing and dirty gloves.

Thoughts of the pond also stirred something in his belly. When he and Lucy were playacting for Lofton’s benefit, part of Oliver wished it had been real. The glance. The touch. His arm about her shoulders. Their lips so close, a kiss was just a whisper away. How did she feel about it? Was it all in fun? Or had she felt something more, too? Something deeper. A pull of attraction toward Oliver.

Because he’d certainly felt a tug of desire toward her. More than a tug. As if he was pulled off of his feet by a team of frightened horses.

Until he’d met her at the Sanctuary, he hadn’t given a thought to his appearance when there. If he spotted someone he knew, he’d make himself scarce. No use giving the gossip mongers something to chew on.

“Have you seen Oliver Shipley? He’s dressed as a pauper.”

“A common worker.”

“Do you suppose his father has lost their money? That Oliver must now work to support them?”

But when he’d seen Lucy, although her appearance suggested means, the pull to stand near her, speak to her, was so strong he’d not even thought about the consequences. He’d never had an instant attraction like that to anyone before. As much as it mystified him, he could not seem to be near her enough.

It was likely if he had introduced himself using his true surname, she’d recognize it. Using his mother’s maiden name of Barrow helped hide his identity. At least for a while. Someday, someone he knew would notice him at the Sanctuary and he might have to give up his beloved work there. Since decent society would think it improper for someone of his standing to lower himself to doing physical labor.

If Lucy only knew that his status and hers most likely resided on the same plane. Or his above hers.

But she must not know. Not now. Not yet.

Not until Oliver discovered whether or not the lovely woman had an interest in him as a person. And not only for his wealth.

He left his room and retraced his steps down the long stairway. Did Lucy also live in luxury? He’d always wanted for nothing. Was that her experience as well? Perhaps they would have much in common that way, but he wasn’t ready to disclose his current way of life yet.

He found his father where Kirby suggested. In the drawing room. Asleep. How odd that he was in there alone. Sleeping. Sitting up!

Stepping softly, Oliver crossed the room and bent over his father, who was in his favorite chair with his chin resting on his chest. His face was pale and his breathing ragged. Was the man ill? Alarmed, Oliver gently tapped him on the shoulder.

“Father?”

No response. He leaned closer. His father was still breathing, wasn’t he?

“Father? Wake up.”

“Wh-what?” Snorting himself fully awake, his father frowned, peering up at him with washed-out blue eyes. “What are you about, Oliver? Scaring a man half out of his wits. Aren’t I allowed an afternoon nap?”

Oliver sat on the nearby settee and crossed his legs. His heart raced with the momentary shock of finding his father as he had. “Yes, of course. But it’s not your habit. Has never been. I was concerned you were—”

“Were what? Not breathing?” A brief smile touched his mouth but soon vanished. “You can see I am indeed alive.”

“Please don’t joke about such things.” He swallowed hard, trying to calm down.

“No one lives forever, Oliver. We must all die. Some now. Some later.” He turned his head, glancing toward the far wall. “Which is why I wish you’d marry soon. You’ll need to—”

Oliver held up his hand, just as his father turned back and peered at him full in the eye. “Please. I know what you wish me to do. And I know why. But it concerns me, this sudden preoccupation you have with your health, Father. Is there something more to this than morbid curiosity?”

A pause.

A shrug.

“Father? Is the preoccupation sudden, as I suggested? There is something, isn’t there?” What would he do if something happened to him? If he was seriously ill? Ready to…

His father drew a long, deep breath. When he released it, a slight shudder ran through him. When had that begun? Had Oliver been so preoccupied with his own life that he hadn’t noticed a change in his father’s health? Because surely this hadn’t happened overnight.

“Son, I… the physician has told me I may not have…”

“No!” Oliver stood up abruptly. “Please don’t say—”

“Believe me, I’m not at all thrilled with the prospect, either. But you have to face facts. You may soon inherit everything and must be prepared.”

Prepared? He’d never be ready for that. Pain lanced through Oliver’s heart. His father was still a fairly young man. Why was this happening? Why now? Looking at his father again with a more attuned eye, Oliver took a good long appraisal. Dark circles beneath the eyes. A rasp to the breathing. Slight tremors of the hands. Skin on his face and hands so thin, blue veins were visible from beneath.

It was true, then. His father was… dying. And Oliver hadn’t even noticed. What did that say about him as a son? That he was despicable, that’s what. That he’d put his interests above those of his very own family. And he couldn’t turn back time to make amends.

“Oliver, there are some things we need to discuss.”

Frowning, he shook his head. “I already help run the business, and as you yourself have said on several occasions, quite well. I’m sure I can manage it when the… time comes.” Oliver choked out the last words and then swallowed hard.

“I have no doubts about that. It’s… well… your hobby.” His father peered at him through tired-looking eyes.

Working at the Sanctuary, helping care for the birds was more than a hobby. It was a passion. And Father knew it. Reining in irritation in light of his father’s health news, Oliver clamped his lips together until the words longing to escape settled down and lost their heat. Now was not the time for an argument.

“Father, I have successfully done my work for the family business as well as my volunteer Bird Sanctuary labor for a while now. Nothing will suffer, I assure you.”

“But it’s the perception from the community.”

“Community? That means nothing to me.”

“But it should. Whether you care or not, what you do and say affects you, me, our home. And your future.”

Oliver sat back down. “I understand what you’re saying. I do. It’s only…”

“What, son?”

“When I’m taking care of the birds, I feel as if I’m contributing to something necessary. Something important.”

“And the family business has no importance?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He took a deep breath and ran his hand down his face. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees and his chin on his clasped hands. “Hasn’t there ever been something in your life that you were passionate about? Something that filled your heart with joy and meaning? That was on your mind the whole of the day and filled your dreams at night?”

His father’s eyes misted and he blinked rapidly. One corner of his mouth raised and quivered. “Your mother.”

Oliver glanced toward the floor and then back up. “I miss her, too.”

“I want that for you, also. To find someone who will steal your heart and be your soul mate. Is it possible there is anyone…?”

Warmth rushed to Oliver’s face. Lucy, smiling. Laughing. Delighting in learning new facts about the birds. Dark brown eyes and curly dark hair. “I… have met a woman. A wonderful, sweet woman, who loves the birds, as well.”

“So you’ve met her at the Sanctuary, then?”

He nodded.

“And what does she say about your…?” Father waved his hand at Oliver’s clothing, even though he’d already changed. The implication was there.
What does this woman think about your slovenly appearance?

“She thinks I just work there.”

“The woman doesn’t know who you are?”

“I don’t…” Heat encompassed his face and neck. How was he to gently explain to Father why he chose not to use the name Shipley?

“You don’t… what?”

He’d not disclosed to his father that he used his mother’s name instead. And for this reason. He would be angry. But things being what they were, his father’s health and time being apparently short, there wouldn’t be time to wait. Much as it would pain Oliver, his father needed to hear it from him. Before someone else had a chance to tell him. It would be horrible if some man on the street gave an innocent,
“By the way, saw your son at the Sanctuary. Did you know he’s using an alias?
”

Oliver lowered his head. “I’ve been telling people who’ve inquired that my name is… Oliver Barrow.”

“Your mother’s maiden name? Am I to understand you’re ashamed of
my
name?” His hands fisted against the arms of his chair.

“No. Of course not.”

“Then why would a son of mine do something so asinine?”

Oliver shrugged. “Aside from me not wanting my peers to know what I’m up to, it goes along with you wanting me to find my soul mate. How can I hope to find the right one, the woman who will love me for me instead of the bulk of wealth and this large estate that I could provide? Surely you haven’t forgotten the many young, simpering women who vowed to marry me on the spot. They did not really know me. If not for what they could grasp with greedy hands, why else would they be so anxious to get me to the altar? If you truly desire for me to have what you had with Mother, you’ll try to understand my reasons.”

For several seconds, silence. His father blinked and swallowed. “I think I do understand. I wish it didn’t have to be that way. That you could be who you want to be and who you are at the same time.”

“It’s not that I don’t—”

“I’m not condemning you. It is true that young ladies do seem greedy sometimes. Much to my dismay.” He took a deep breath and let it out, this time producing a frightening rattle.

Oliver knelt on the floor at his father’s knee and took the older man’s hand in his. His cold, clammy skin was alarming. “Thank you for understanding. I think this is the only way I will truly know for sure if she cares for me instead of who I am. I… need to be sure.”

A tear traveled down his father’s ruddy cheek and dripped from his chin to his shirtfront. “I wish for you only the best, because I… love you.”

“And I, you, Father. And I, you.”

A light breeze
blew through the garden, stirring the leaves of the red rose bushes and those of the large oak tree on the other side of the walking path. Sunshine, broken by thick tree branches, produced dappled light, dancing with its bright spots across Lucy’s dress and boots.

Gerald, her marmalade cat, purred and wound around Lucy’s legs. Then he stopped and sat on his haunches, studying her with large eyes as if searching her mind and soul for her deepest, most thought-provoking secrets. It brought to mind being scrutinized by a physician, eyes roaming every inch, seeking something out of the ordinary.

Lucy sat on her mother’s favorite bench, just beneath the maple tree her father had had planted for her mother shortly after Lucy was born. The tree had grown quite tall in the whole of Lucy’s years, now providing shelter, shade, and homes for nesting birds.

Now that Lucy had spent time at the Sanctuary learning about some of the birds, she knew that the newly hatched babies in the nest above her were sparrows. And the talkative tiny ones flittering about the roses were finches. She hadn’t seen any owls on the property, but that didn’t stop her from looking. Wouldn’t it be amusing to discover a sleeping long-eared owl in her very own tree?

She tilted her head back against the bench and studied the tree above her. The mother sparrow fed her chirping babies one at a time, their small mouths open wide, waiting for dinner. Oh, how she missed her own mother. The tree brought back pleasant memories of time spent together beneath it, of talks and picnics and playing with Gerald’s predecessor, his mother Gertrude. But sadness came along as well. It reminded her of her mother’s illness, the pain she'd suffered before she died. Lucy’s father’s grief and loss, as well as her own.

Now, when Lucy had questions about life… love… her feelings for Oliver, it would have helped to have her mother’s advice and guidance. It seemed now that she was older, more and more questions crowded into her mind at every turn. Events that would have included her mother, important events, would be forever tarnished. Courtship. Marriage. Children.

And Lucy couldn’t imagine in a world of lifetimes, confiding these confusing feelings to her father.

No,
never
.

He’d frown at her and tell her she was absurd for even thinking such thoughts, much less asking him for advice about them. Then he’d shoo her away so he could get back to his work. And remind her to be a good
girl.
Sometimes, no, more than sometimes, he hurt her feelings. Why must he be so brusque? Of course he could never have the sensitive nature as a woman would have, but must he be so impatient and ill-tempered with her at times?

Thank goodness Lucy had Anna to lend a sympathetic ear. They had whispered their hopes and secret longings about the new men they’d met, of course. But despite her age, Anna was as much a novice in the ways of love as was Lucy.

Both innocent.

Inexperienced in the pursuit of relationships and romance.

Two babes in the woods.

What to do? It seemed she was on her own as to her feelings for Oliver. A man of great warmth, humor, and intelligence. Soft brown eyes and gentle hands. A love for birds and nature and all that those entailed, even the less appealing items, such as muddy paths and smelly pond water. All because he longed to be a part of the world where the birds lived.

But he possessed no wealth. No income deemed
worthy
by which to care for Lucy.

Which her father would detest.

Besides that, Father seemed determined that she would marry Conrad anyway.

Sigh.

No matter what came of her time spent with Oliver, Lucy would not shy away from him. In fact, she couldn’t stop thinking of the man. Deep dimple. Broad shoulders and strong arms. More than that, though. It was his heart. His very living soul that called her, drew her closer, enveloped her in warmth and… love.

Yes love. Be it near impossible to comprehend, she had fallen in love with someone she barely knew. If someone else had told Lucy the same had happened to her, she’d call them foolish and preposterous. That she hadn’t an ounce of common sense about her.

And yet wasn’t that what she had become? Did that fact matter to her? No. Not a whit. She’d never experienced feelings like this before, and she didn’t want to give them up. Rather, she intended to embrace them with her whole heart.

And it was all because of one Oliver Barrow.

She was now the one caught in the strong grasp of love’s tempting pull, and she had not the wherewithal to abstain. Its strong grip held her tight, pulling her in, drawing her nearer and nearer. And she had no inclination to put up a struggle. Something wonderful, magical was happening to her. Why wouldn’t she want to discover what it was about?

Lucy glanced down. Her cat still sat at her feet, unblinking, studying her as if she were a specimen of some sort. Perhaps it was a good thing that he couldn’t read her thoughts at present. She patted the bench seat. “Come and see me, Gerald.”

Merrow.

The cat’s caramel eyes widened as his whiskers twitched. Strong hind legs pushed from the ground, propelling his compact furry body through the air and onto the bench. He landed squarely on all four paws at the same time. Dancing in place, he kneaded the bench, his front paws lifting up and down. Up and down. Purring louder, he tapped her lap with his paw. Twice.

A smile played across Lucy’s mouth. “Yes, you may.” The trick she’d taught him as a kitten still amused her. He’d been a pudgy ball, then, so full of energy and mischief, always wanting to play or learn something new.

Gerald climbed onto her lap and turned in a circle. Once. Twice. Thrice. Always three times. Never varying. As if her cat could
count.
And she had
not
taught him that.

“But you are a smart fellow, aren’t you, darling?”

The cat squinted and sighed before curling in a contented ball, tucking his pink nose beneath his fluffy tail. Lucy stroked his soft fur, running her fingers through the orange-tipped coat. “What do you think, Gerald? Should I continue to visit the Bird Sanctuary? Continue my acquaintance with Oliver?”

He purred.

She chuckled. “I should have known you’d agree with me. Since you are my best friend. Best friends stick together, do they not? Or is it the mention of birds that stirs you so?”

The cat, with one eye open, did something that could only be described as smile. Both sides of his mouth curved up beneath pudgy cheeks, white whiskers pointing straight out to the sides of his round face.

“Ah, I see the truth now, Gerald. The thought of multitudes of birds just out of reach of your furry little paws causes your delight, hmm? Is that what takes place in your dreams?”

He rolled on his back, presenting his round little tummy for a rub.

“I suppose I have no choice but to oblige you, then.”

Gerald wrapped all four paws around her hand, extending his needle-sharp claws. Just a little, just enough to show Lucy who was in charge of the situation. But then, she’d never had any doubt that he ruled the house.

Quite the demanding little feline, that one.

Laughing, she rubbed her fingers back and forth, back and forth, creating soft rivers of fur going in all directions. Her cat closed his eyes. The rumble from his chest sounded like thunder, loud and long.

“Let it never be said that I shirked my duty to you, Sir Gerald. I live to serve you, of course. I’m sure you think that’s my entire reason for being.”

A rustle came from behind the rose trellis. Boots tapped along the path. Anna appeared. All smiles. A tint of attractive pink colored her cheeks. Lucy shook her head. Her maid was definitely in love, bless her. How wonderful for her to have found love and contentment at her age.

At
any
age.

“Come sit with me, Anna.”

She stepped across the path toward the bench. “I see Gerald found you. He was wailing all over the house looking for you, like his little world had ended and you were the only one he could talk to about it.”

“My tiny shadow always finds me eventually. It’s as if when he can’t see me, he must find me to assure himself I’m not into mischief. But we know who’s the true mischief-maker, don’t we, Gerald?” More fur-rubbing produced even louder purrs.

The bench shifted as Anna sat.

Lucy turned toward her. “You’ve a flush.”

Anna waved her hand in front of her face, but didn’t look directly at Lucy. “Do I?”

“You’ve developed an affection for Mr. Warner, haven’t you?”

A shrug of the shoulders. A sigh. Finally, a nod.

“I’m so happy for you, Anna.”

“Truly?” She raised her head and peered at Lucy, her eyes bright.

Lucy nodded. “Of course.”

“I know it’s sudden. But…” She sighed.

“Yes. Sudden. But… I do understand.”

“You’ve a flush, too, dear.”

Lucy glanced down at Gerald, suddenly intent upon making sure she petted his fur in the proper direction. “Must be the heat. It’s quite humid today.”

“Nonsense. I’ve known you since you were a little girl. You can’t fool me, Lucy Ashbrook. You’ve strong feelings for Mr. Barrow.”

A shrug. A sigh. A nod.

“Isn’t it something that we both found someone for whom we have strong feelings? And to have found them at the same time and place?”

“It does seem rather incredible, does it not? And that they are acquainted with each other and appear to be close.”

“I never thought it could happen to me, Lucy.” She clasped her hands in her lap.

“Why ever not?”

“I’m certainly past… way past the age when most women…”

“But Mr. Warner is close to your age, isn’t he?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“And would you really want to be attracted to someone, say of eighty years?”

Anna giggled and shook her head, the ribbon on her hat gliding back and forth.

“Or someone, perhaps, of no more than twenty years?”

She waved a hand at Lucy. “Oh, heavens no.”

“So you see, it’s perfect just the way it’s happened, then.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Lucy laughed. “So I am right for once? Since I’m always hearing it's you who is
always
in the right?”

Anna smiled and tapped Lucy’s hand. “Well aren’t we just a pair, you and I, dear girl?”

“But a pair of what? That’s the question.” Lucy raised her eyebrows “Fools? Dreamers? Silly-hearts?”

She shook her head. “Love birds. Definitely love birds.”

“Perhaps that’s the reason we enjoy the Bird Sanctuary so, to be near other birds.”

“Oh, that’s not the reason. Not at all.”

They giggled like two little girls in their first years playing in the nursery together. Light. Comfort. Hope. Love.

There was that word again.

Love.