Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Oscar forced one foot before the other as he climbed the front steps of St. George’s Church, following the cream of London society as they came for Sunday worship. Given that the building didn’t collapse upon him as he crossed the threshold, he took his usual seat, but kept his gaze forward rather than lingering on those around him. Attending church hadn’t ever been high in his priorities. It was an event that many of his peers avoided, yet he was in sore need of guidance.

As the cool chamber filled with the purer elements of society, he let his mind drift back to that terrible night and the dreadful days that followed. He’d killed a man. Shot him with his pistol from ten feet away without hesitation. A fatal shot that had extinguished a life in seconds. The image of how easy it had been wouldn’t leave Oscar’s mind.

It didn’t matter that the magistrate had absolved him, had in fact applauded his quick thinking in saving the Earl of Daventry and his betrothed, Lillian Winter, from her cousin’s murderous intentions.

At the time, and in the few days that had followed, he’d lived in a dream state, accepting the profuse thanks of his friends, unable to comprehend the full importance of what he’d done. Yet the temporary state of calm had thinned when he was alone, and at night, he relived the moment in excruciating detail. Images now were becoming twisted into a nightmare he couldn’t shake even in daylight.

Oscar stood for the first hymn, his mind still picturing the slow trail of blood running down Mr. Bartholomew Barrette’s temple. He sang with the congregation, but the words were muted, dimmed by the vast horror in his mind. When the time came to sit, he sat, noticing for the first time that a few eyes had turned in his direction. Their curious regard brought him back to the present, to the calm sanity of the church. Mr. Manning stood at the pulpit, quoting from the scriptures with such burning conviction that Oscar soon forgot his troubles and paid attention to the here and now.

Manning was a passionate orator. He focused so clearly on his congregation and the meaning of his words. Oscar bowed his head and prayed. Prayed to one day find a way to banish the nightmares from his mind. Banish lustful, wicked thoughts of Agatha, too. He had to. He couldn’t continue as he was and retain a sound mind.

As the service ended, he stood and looked about him. God clearly hadn’t heard his plea to forget lust. At the back of the church, Agatha Birkenstock ushered the orphanage children from a pew toward the rear door. Sunlight bounced off her golden head, teasing him with countless secret memories of the past. He turned away and moved toward the vicar.

“Lord Carrington! Wait.”

Oscar spun and found his legs trapped by a pair of tiny arms belonging to the irrepressible orphan Mabel. She was alone. He quickly disentangled her and searched for Agatha in the crowd. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see her anywhere close.

He glanced down at the fidgeting girl. “You shouldn’t have left Miss Birkenstock’s company, Mabel. She will worry where you’ve gone.”

Mabel bounced on the balls of her feet. “But I wanted to invite you to tea this afternoon, my lord. Miss Birkenstock said we are to have tea and crumpets out on the lawn. Please come.”

Oscar stared at the girl in astonishment, unsure how to answer. As much as the invitation appeared harmless, Agatha wouldn’t be pleased. He hated to spoil the little girl’s enjoyment, but he had to decline .

“As much as I would love to attend, I unfortunately have a prior engagement this afternoon.”

The little girl’s eyes grew glassy, her pink lips pressed together. Just when he feared she was about to cry, a hand clapped over his shoulder. Oscar jumped, but it was only the rector of St. George’s smiling at him, and then at Mabel.

“Hello there, Miss Mabel. You’re looking remarkably pretty today.”

The little girl’s expression changed from supreme disappointment to a wide smile. “Thank you, sir.” She hurried to bob an off-kilter curtsey. “Will you come to take tea with us today?”

The rector lifted her chin with his finger. “I would be very happy to, child. Now run back to Miss Birkenstock’s side. You don’t want to worry her, do you?”

“No, sir.” Mabel turned and skipped down the aisle.

The little girl reached Agatha and was drawn into a hug. Agatha bent down to listen to Mabel’s news, and then she ushered the children outside.

“I had not expected to see you in church until you wed, my lord. Welcome.”

“Thank you. I…” Oscar shuffled his feet. “Well, you see…” He didn’t want to blurt out his troubles for all to hear. He just wanted to find peace again. But there were far too many ears around them to unburden his soul here.

Manning slapped his shoulder again. “So very much like your mother. She never could come straight to the point of a problem either. And judging by your hesitation, you are not quite ready to unburden yourself. But come see me later. My door is always open for you, son. Excuse me.”

Manning turned away to say goodbye to his parishioners, leaving Oscar with the uncomfortable feeling that the vicar knew his sin. Thou Shalt Not Kill.

His unease returned.

Turning for the doors, he fell in behind the chattering mass of decent society and stepped out into bright sunshine. Momentarily blinded, he blinked away the stunning effect and descended the stairs. The morning was clear of rain for a change, so he declined the services of a waiting hack and set off for home on foot. Perhaps the long walk would be good for his spirits.

But ahead of him, Agatha and two ineffective servants were shepherding the orphanage children across the street through traffic. He had the worst luck at keeping his promise to maintain a distance from Agatha.

Once they made the sidewalk, he let out the breath he’d held. Their attempts to control the children were being met with considerable resistance. The boys wanted to run ahead; the girls wanted to linger and admire every pretty sight to be seen. They were threading their way down the street at a snail’s pace. Oscar could overtake them easily if he wished, or he could divert from the path and take the longer way home. But then the children’s voices rose in disagreement over something on the ground, and Agatha stopped to speak sharply to them. Even from a distance of several yards away, he could hear how vexed she’d become.

He hurried after her. Agatha shouldn’t have to deal with this rabble alone.

“Lord Carrington,” Mabel squealed, breaking ranks with the other children to reach his side.

Oscar scowled, imitating how his own father had behaved when forced to walk with him as a boy. “Mabel, that’s no way to behave. Return to your spot beside the other girl and walk quietly now.”

Mabel blushed pink. “That’s Kitty.”

He crossed his arms, and glanced up the line of staring children. “Then return to Kitty. She looks to be waiting for you.”

Mabel rushed back to her former place and took up Kitty’s hand again. The other children were also very quick to resume their places in the line, too. As he suspected, all they needed was a father figure to make them behave themselves. Children learned early not to listen to any suggestions made by a mere servant, and Agatha was too softhearted for her own good. She might be a good influence on them singularly, but en masse…she hadn’t a hope.

Oscar let his gaze travel farther up the line and caught her frowning expression. He tipped his hat, but made no move to join her. She’d been adamant they keep a distance. Well, for today, the distance would be seven restless children, one maid, and one groom. There should be enough propriety in that to keep her happy, at least for now.

With a quick flick of her hands to encourage the children, they resumed their fast walk. Oscar followed along, keeping a watchful eye on the children’s behavior, but his thoughts were grim, turned inward to his own troubles. Should he confide his terrors to the morally upright vicar or keep his own counsel?

The Earl of Daventry hadn’t understood. Not really. Oh, he had tried, but then the man had been too preoccupied with his own happy change of circumstances to grasp the extent of Oscar’s distress.

Would anyone understand? Would Agatha?

He would very much like to talk to her. When they were together, he felt such intense peace, such perfect symmetry with the world. These days he was beginning to forget what it was to be happy.

On Grafton Street, the children hurried up the front stairs of the orphanage and noisily entered the building. Agatha gave him an odd look as he turned to follow her inside. He had no intention of talking with her, staring at her, or thinking about her soft curves sliding through his hands. But the work he had to do to assess the orphanage would distract him from his morbid thoughts for perhaps an hour or more. He handed off his hat and cane then turned for the study. He shut the door behind him. The work, however short-lived, should distract him enough to let him get through another day.

At least that was the plan until the music started.

Oscar dropped the pen to the desk, listening with every nerve as Agatha’s music filtered through the house from the parlor opposite his door. She played a slow melody—one he wasn’t familiar with, but one that instantly calmed his racing heart. Sitting back, he imagined her playing in the little sitting room opposite his office, her back to the door, the smooth line of her neck bent to the instrument.

His imagination removed her clothes so she was naked at the pianoforte.

Such thoughts were not helping. He had to forget her, but the delicate playing, music that stirred him body and soul, would drive him insane. Oscar closed the book and gathered together some papers. This was not the place to forget the past. Not when the past seemed determined to keep him firmly in its clutches. Taking the receipts and journal with him, he quietly stepped out into the hall, not wanting to draw attention to his leaving.

Just across the way, Agatha sat, tapping out the tune for the children. The previously unruly orphans appeared spellbound, their upturned faces enraptured by Agatha’s skill. This was how she’d charmed the children so thoroughly. She’d found the perfect use for her talents.

The butler approached.

“My hat and cane, if you please,” Oscar whispered.

“Yes, my lord.”

At the instrument, Agatha’s head turned as if she’d heard him. He took a step closer and her head turned to an almost painful angle. That she would still acknowledge his presence raced along his clamoring nerves. He couldn’t stay. He wanted more of Agatha Birkenstock than he was allowed.

The butler let him out, ushering him into bright sunshine, but he felt none of the warmth. His soul was chilled to the core.

Partway down the road, a gruff voice hailed him by name.

Oscar turned and found an unfamiliar gentleman approaching.

“Lord Carrington, isn’t it?”

“Yes. May I help you?”

The other man was weathered, expensively dressed, but a complete stranger to him. “My name is Leopold Randall, a silk merchant formerly of India. I was wondering if you might spare me a few moments of your time. I’m looking for information.”

That explained the dark, weathered complexion, but what the man could want with him escaped him. Randall appeared harmless, so Oscar gestured him closer. “I’ll help if I can. However, I’m headed to Berkeley Square. Why don’t you tell me what you’re seeking while we walk?”

Randall glanced behind him toward the orphanage. His lips compressed, but then he nodded and fell into step. He did not, however, immediately launch into his tale.

Oscar grew impatient. “How may I be of service?”

The other man heaved a heavy sigh. “I’ve been away from England for many years now, in India for business, and I’ve lost track of my family. I was hoping to search the orphanage’s records for any information they might contain concerning their whereabouts.”

Oscar stopped, frowning. “The orphanage is a relatively new venture. When was the last you heard of them?”

“Ten years ago, now, it would be. The youngest pair, my brother and sister, would be four and twenty and six and twenty by now.”

Oscar smiled apologetically. “Then I’m very much afraid I cannot be of help to you. The place was established just last year, and the children are all aged under eleven years, I believe.”

Beside him, the other man swore. The colorful oaths that burst from Randall’s mouth surprised Oscar for their complexity and venom. Although he was sure none were directed at him, he started walking again. Randall hurried to catch up but held his tongue. He was no doubt deeply disappointed by Oscar’s news. Poor fellow. “It must be dreadful to lose one’s family,” he said. “I’m deeply sorry I couldn’t be of help.”

As they reached the center of the square, Oscar stopped and turned around. The fellow had stopped a few steps back so he called out. “Randall?”

The other man looked up and nodded.

“You aren’t by chance one of the Romsey Randalls?”

The other man’s gaze grew wary. “I am a cousin to the current duke,” he admitted slowly.

Oscar smiled. “Well, that is a spot of good news. I had heard there was some vigorous debate about the duchy’s succession. Lord Carmichael, at one time, petitioned for guardianship of the duke, but met with resistance. You should present yourself to him forthwith so he may be easy again. I know there will be great relief when word spreads that another Randall has been found.” Oscar looked about him to see if he could spot another peer nearby to pass along the good news.

Leopold Randall took a step back. “If I might ask you not to inform anyone of my whereabouts at this time, I would be grateful beyond belief.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

Randall glanced about nervously. “Because I believe the former Dukes of Romsey were responsible for the disappearance of my siblings. I want to find my family first, well before I make my existence known to the current duke, and anyone else closely associated with the duchy.”