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Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Twin points of pain lanced through Oscar’s skull when a shaft of morning sunlight hit his face as he crossed the bustling street. Whatever had possessed him to drink so much that he’d been grateful when Daventry offered a guestroom?

Desperation, most likely. He’d just begun to imagine climbing in through Agatha’s bedroom window again when Daventry suggested it. But he’d never manage the climb without detection. Not while Birkenstock was in residence. So he’d spent the night away from home, endured Lilly’s amused giggles at his condition this morning, avoided eating any breakfast whatsoever because his stomach was in revolt, and headed out into the London morning in his hastily pressed suit of clothes from last night.

He needed a bath, a shave, and several more hours of sleep in order to feel like a gentleman again and be fit for company. He needed to face Birkenstock this morning and get his agreement for them to marry. He couldn’t do that until he could walk in a straight line without effort.

Oscar grunted as he collided with a dark figure. The man grasped his arm to steady him, and Oscar was incredibly grateful. “Watch yourself there, my lord.”

Kindly pale eyes pierced through Oscar’s thoughts. Mr. Manning. His papa. What rotten timing. He’d be sure to smell the sour whiskey on his breath and notice his rumpled state. Would he be subjected to fatherly scolding now?

“Good morning to you, sir.”

Manning’s serious expression cut into his misery. “No, it is not. Not a good morning at all. Most distressing start to the day. But everyone’s time comes when it will. We are but servants to God’s purpose.”

Oscar frowned. He didn’t understand Manning’s pious ramble, but it sounded damn depressing. Oscar had no time for anyone else’s troubles this morning. He had much to do. “Of course. If you will excuse me?”

The vicar stepped closer and placed a restraining hand on his arm. “You should be prepared for a distressing scene. She was greatly attached to him. She will need you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Why must people speak in riddles at this hour of the day? Oscar thought it far from kind, given his current state, that his papa didn’t just come out and say what he meant.

“Birkenstock. Surely you’ve heard by now?” The vicar looked about him then glanced at Oscar’s clothes. “Were you out carousing all night?”

Oscar felt like a scolded schoolboy again. It wasn’t that unusual to be coming home at this hour and in this state. Hell, he was practically a novice when it came to debauchery. “What of it?” Oscar asked, belligerence making his voice louder than he’d intended. Fierce pain resumed its assault on his head, reminding him of his somewhat delicate state. “What do you mean, Birkenstock? Heard of what?”

“He died last night,” Manning said simply, hands spread before him.

“Dear God, Agatha! Excuse me.”

Oscar pushed past his father and ran for home, despite the fact his head threatened to split in two. How could he have chosen last night to overindulge? Poor Aggie!

Oscar bounded up the stairs, slapped his palm against the wood, and fumbled for his door key. When the door opened before he could insert it in the lock, he gave thanks for his efficient servant. It was only when a hand curled around his arm and held him back that he realized he wasn’t in his own home, or about to gain entry to Agatha’s house via the window. He was already in her house. Her front entrance hall, to be precise. And her butler appeared incensed by his presence.

Oscar shook off the grip. “Where is she?”

“Your mother, my lord?”

“No, not my mother! Agatha. Where is she?”

The butler’s eyes flickered upward involuntarily, and then he scowled, tugging at Oscar’s arm in a fair attempt to eject him from the house. “I must ask you to leave this instant. The mistress is not receiving callers today.”

“She’ll see me.” Oscar evaded his grip and raced for the steps, ignoring the warning voice behind him. He took the stairs two at a time, but at the top, he hesitated. He’d never explored Agatha’s home beyond her bedchamber, but it appeared of similar design to his. Would she be in her bedchamber or keeping vigil?

Oscar chose the latter and quietly made his way toward what he assumed would be her grandfather’s room. His precious girl stood at the foot of the bed, her back toward him, her pale hair slicked into a severe knot, dark mourning weeds already donned to mark the passing. But her gaze remained fixed on the still form lying prone on the bed.

The penny-covered eyes unnerved him, reminding him of his nightmares so much he began to quake. At least there was no gaping hole in Birkenstock’s head. But the waxy-smooth, white skin did set his pulse to racing. He forced the fear down, forced himself to see the remains for what they were. No threat to him. No example of his actions. Thomas Birkenstock had been an old man. He’d lived a full life and appeared peaceful in death. He could do this.

Besides, Agatha needed him.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, he crossed the room until he stood behind her and slowly wrapped his arms about Agatha’s slim form. She didn’t resist or react immediately, but when her hands rose to clasp his arms, Oscar pressed his lips to her temple in a gentle kiss. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

Agatha’s shoulders gave a shake, and she sniffed. “It was his time, but I already miss his gruff ways.”

He hugged her tighter. “I know. You loved him. And he loved you.”

Facing death again wasn’t nearly as unsettling as Oscar feared it would be. He could look upon the lifeless face and when he briefly closed his eyes, he saw peace, not twisted, painful visions. The nightmare had left him, and he hoped it was gone for good.

He scooped Agatha into his arms and carried her from the room. She didn’t protest, didn’t struggle, only lay quiet in his arms, a rushed breath the only sign of emotion.

In the hall, her butler watched them pass with shock clear on his features, mouth agape like a fish at market. Oscar ignored it all and returned Agatha to her bedchamber. He settled down on the bed and held her against his chest. She was alone now. Deprived of the protection her grandfather could give.

“I thought you’d never come,” she whispered.

He kissed her hair. “I’m sorry.” Oscar removed a few pins from her tightly bound hair, loosening the locks until she looked more herself, less drawn by her grief. “But I’m here now, and I’ll not leave you again.”

Agatha snuggled against his chest, her hand digging into his coat pocket and tugging out his handkerchief. After a short, delicate blow, her fingers clutched at his coat. “You were wearing this last night.”

A weary sigh escaped him. “I’ve yet to go home.”

She sat up, hands splayed across his chest. Agatha’s eyes were red from crying, her cheeks splotched with angry color, but wariness tightened her eyes. “Where did you go? The hells?”

He smoothed his fingertips across her damp cheek. “Daventry offered me bed space. We talked quite late.”

“Oh?” She sniffed. “You mean you drank quite late. You reek, my lord.”

“Sorry.” Oscar pulled her against his chest, enjoying the feel of her arms wrapped around his neck. “I should go and change, but, quite frankly, I’d not like to leave you alone.”

Agatha stilled in his arms then began to pull away. “I’m not alone.”

He slid his fingers along her jaw gently. “I know your grandfather is still here, but I’d like to stay. Let me. Please.”

Word would spread, and everyone would know by now that he’d run to her front door and barged into a house in mourning. The whispers would reach Penelope eventually.

The sense of rightness swelled as he held her in his lap, offering comfort during her time of need. He wasn’t going to leave her. Not again. Lord Thorpe would sue him for breach of promise, and Oscar would marry Agatha. If the Carrington name was dragged through the mud in the process, he could not regret it.

Movement at the door caught his attention. He turned his head and met his mother’s shocked expression. Her expression turned to a glare.

Once upon a time, that look would have cowed him. But those days were over. He could not please everyone, and it was high time he tried to please just one.

He stroked his hand down Agatha’s back, thankful she could not see the disapproval on his mother’s face. She’d be embarrassed, and Agatha had nothing to feel guilty about today. She needed him as much as he needed her.

When Oscar pressed his lips to Agatha’s hair, she snuggled deeper into his arms. His mother took a step back, her hand rising to her mouth to hold in a gasp.

Yes, Mother, I’m holding the woman I love. Can you tell that from where you stand?

Apparently she could, because her eyes filled with glittering tears and she turned her head away to give them privacy.

In his arms, Agatha stirred and looked up. She always managed to make him feel a better man than he was. He had to tell her about his mother at the door. But, oh, how she looked at him with such longing.

Regardless of his mother’s presence at the door, the dead body down the hall, and the scandal of the situation, he dropped his head to press a gentle kiss to her lips. She smelled delicious, warm, and in every way his.

He kept his kisses light, undemanding, offering his love, strength, and anything else she wanted to take. When their lips parted, her contented sigh proved she’d needed him.

“My mother is waiting in the hallway,” he whispered, holding her still when she would have jumped from his arms. “It’s too late to hide anything, precious. No more lies. No more secrets. Agreed? ”

Agatha blinked up at him then her eyes softened. She cupped both hands to his jaw and returned his tender kiss. “No more secrets.”

How had she been so blind? Poor Thomas had thought that no one could win his granddaughter’s interest, but that was because Agatha’s heart had already been claimed. How wrong they both had been. Estella pushed the cold cup of tea away with a weary sigh. How her son had come to be so intimately involved with Agatha Birkenstock she didn’t know, but she grieved for the girl.

Her heart was bound to be broken by his marriage if it wasn’t already.

“Am I disturbing you, Mother?”

She looked up. Oscar’s face was filled with contrition and uncertainty—exactly the same expression Lynton had worn yesterday. She closed her tired eyes, willing the day of shocks to be over. “No. Of course not.”

When she opened them again, Oscar was perched on a chair opposite. “I am sorry for your loss, Mother. It must be difficult.”

Estella drew herself upright from her slump. “I should have expected it. He wasn’t a young man any longer.”

“No. No, he wasn’t.” Oscar shuffled in his chair. “Manning said you were quite disturbed by his death. Can I do anything for you now?”

“Lynton said that, did he?” Bitterness over Thomas’ death added a bite of anger to her words. Lynton would likely be happy to have Thomas out of his way.

Oscar merely shook his head at her. “Despite whatever history is between you and Manning, now or in the past, Mother, he was truly cast down by Mr. Birkenstock’s death. As are we all.”

Estella took in a steadying breath. “Forgive me. It has been a long day and night.”

“Agatha was exhausted and fell asleep quite quickly, but have you been here all night with her?”

Estella nodded. “She sent for me not long after I arrived home from Daventry’s dinner. You, I imagine, must have been well and truly in a fog by then.”

Oscar looked down. “Perhaps not the best night to sample Daventry’s wine cellar as extensively as I did, but I am here now and intend to stay.”

“You cannot remain.” She shook her head. “Think of her reputation. Or what she might still have, that is, after your unseemly arrival.”

“Her reputation is my only concern, and I promise to correct the damage I’ve done as soon as possible.”

Estella’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t mean to marry Agatha Birkenstock, surely? He was already to wed. “But what about Lady Penelope?”

Oscar’s face twisted into one of distaste. “I rather expect her father will sue me for breach of promise. I really couldn’t care less for my own reputation, should he savage me to society. Penelope can go find another gullible gentleman and force a match on him.”

“Oh, Oscar,” she cried. “What a mess you’re making. We may never recover from this.”

Oscar sat forward with his hands upon his knees. “As indelicate as this is for me to say to you, I’m planning to improve on my father’s efforts to be happy. I’ll marry Agatha and move from the city. If we can find a big enough place, and funds permit, we will take the orphanage children off the trustee’s hands and raise them ourselves.”

Estella fell back in the chair. He would throw away everything they had both worked so hard for, their position in society, a supremely beneficial marriage, and all for love?

She stared at him. She had not thought it possible to love her son more but she did now.

“Don’t look so surprised, Mother. You raised me to be a gentleman, to do the honorable thing. I should have married Agatha months ago, long before Lady Penelope made her accusation. A lie, by the way. I’ve never even held Penelope’s hand.”

Estella gulped. “Is Agatha with child?”

“Unfortunately not.” He grinned. “But give me time and I’ll report happy news in the near future, I’m sure. ”

“Oscar, this is no joking matter. This is serious.”

“And it’s about time I was serious and lived up to my obligations.” He stood and prowled the room. “Agatha will be my wife, and to make us both happy, we will have the orphans with us. If you cannot bear to lose your position in society because of my decision, you are free to disown me as loudly as you dare. But if you make a scene before Agatha, I will never speak to you again.”

Estella gulped. She barely recognized the affable gentleman in the son before her. He reminded her too much of Lynton. “Oscar, I like Agatha very much, as you well know, but have you really thought this through?”

Her son set his hands to the back of a chair. “I’ve thought of little else since signing that blasted betrothal document. I made a mistake then, but I’d be a bigger fool if I didn’t marry her. I love Agatha with my whole heart, and I won’t make the same mistake my father did. I’m not afraid of what people will say. The bigger scandal would be never to marry her at all.”

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