Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

The childish screams of happy pleasure lifted Oscar’s head for the third time that morning. He was supposed to be sorting through the accounts before his next appointment, but the orphans’ shrieks kept pulling him toward the window.

Agatha was outside playing with the unruly bunch. The first time he had dared look, he found her swamped by children. Two on her knees, the others hovering about. Agatha sat inside the circle of children, but it was the look upon her face that kept him by the window.

She loved them. The children had her complete an undivided attention.

An older boy was showing her something cupped in the palm of his hand. Agatha had examined it carefully, smiled, and then the boy had run to a corner of the garden. The other children had followed, but Agatha remained seated with the baby bouncing on her knee.

It was the sight of Agatha’s joy that demolished the little of his. Even through the dirty glass, he could see she loved the child she held. Her face was a mix of contentment and acute longing as the child patted her face and pressed, no doubt, wet kisses to her cheek.

From the start, Agatha’s loneliness had tugged at him. The orphans seemed to fill a void in her that life couldn’t fill. But as tempting as she was, he hadn’t considered marrying her. He’d been expected to look higher for his bride. Love hadn’t featured in his calculations. Yet he missed Agatha with a fierce ache he couldn’t easily dismiss.

He sighed. He couldn’t look outside again. Agatha had caught him last time and scowled so fiercely he dreaded speaking to her again. Today his chest pained him, and it was from remembrances of yesterday. He hadn’t wanted to leave Agatha’s side. He had wanted to stay warm and cosseted in Agatha’s arms, but when the maid invaded their private world, he had made his escape without a word of goodbye.

So it was over. Finally.

He should marry Penelope as soon as it could be arranged. Yet his heart sat like a lead weight, dragging his spirits lower. With time and luck, the sensations would dim until he could think of Agatha with only fondness. But today the thought of her was a thousand knives piercing his heart.

So he sat at the desk, straining to hear the world outside while futilely trying to add the same column of sums.

“Darling, why so serious a face?” His mother hovered at the door, her arm twined about Mr. Birkenstock’s.

He threw his pen down with relief. “’Tis nothing, Mother. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Can a mother not enquire about her son if she chances to come upon him?” She slipped into a chair with a delicate huff, but Oscar wasn’t fooled. Her eyes darted about the desk, no doubt trying to ascertain his progress.

“Of course.”

Oscar nodded to Birkenstock. The older man’s face had slacked of expression, but Oscar thought him quite weary today. “Please, take a seat, sir. Shall I have your granddaughter called to you? She is out in the gardens with the children, I believe.”

“No, no.” Birkenstock mopped his brow. “I shall search her out directly.”

Disappointment thundered through Oscar, but he forced a smile to his lips. “Very well.”

He shut the ledger, more certain than ever that he would never tally the page today. It wasn’t as if he were in a rush to confirm his suspicions—that the orphanage was struggling to pay its way and had been for some time.

He looked expectantly at his visitors. As always, there was a definite companionship between his mother and Agatha’s grandfather. A subtle and unspoken ease, which spoke of a deeper acquaintance than they let on to others. They had always been on friendly terms, even when his late father had lived, but quite frankly, Oscar was tired of pretending he didn’t suspect they were closer than mere friends.

“Was there something you wished to say to me?”

His mother squirmed in her chair. “No. Nothing out of the ordinary. I just wanted to remind you that I’m bound for Chertsey soon.”

“Ah, yes, your annual pilgrimage to see your old school friend. I do, indeed, remember. Please convey my regards to Miss Hill.” He glanced between them. “Was that all?”

Mr. Birkenstock shuffled awkwardly upon his chair then let out a loud breath. “Lady Carrington was telling me her itinerary this morning, and since our travel plans happen to coincide, I thought to take her up in my carriage for both journeys. I’m bound for Winchester tomorrow morning on business, but I’d happily delay my plans to deliver her safely to Chertsey, given the recent spate of attacks by brigands on the roads.”

Oscar raked his fingers through his hair. “Yes, I remember reading about those again this morning at breakfast. Until I was roped into sorting through this mess, I was toying with the idea of accompanying Mother to Chertsey myself. But considering I was absent from Town all of the last month, I am hesitant to abandon my future wife again. I would be pleased if you can take my place. Very obliging of you.”

Oscar turned to his mother. Her eyes widened in shock at his easy acceptance of the lie. He gave her a weary smile. Far be it for him to quibble over her pursuit of happiness. If Birkenstock pleased her, then he’d be the last man to stand in her way.

Birkenstock clambered to his feet. “Well then, my lady. I must be going. I’ll just pop out to speak to my granddaughter and return momentarily to escort you home.”

When he was gone, Oscar’s mother sighed. “You know the truth, don’t you?”

Oscar nodded without meeting her gaze .

“Thank you for your understanding, Oscar. Although it is none of your affair who I see, Thomas has been worried how you might take the news of our association.”

Oscar smiled, but inside an appalling thought had presented itself. What if his mother and Mr. Birkenstock married? He could become related to Agatha, and not in a way he cared to entertain—to see her with family about them each holiday. Could he bear it?

Oscar shook his head to toss away the idea. His mother would never consider marriage again. She’d been more than clear on that score over the years since his father’s death. He could not believe any man could capture her affections. She was too fond of the social whirl to buckle under a man’s rule again. He remembered the disagreements between his parents when he was a child. His father had been an extremely hard man to please. He’d been jealous of every petty compliment she received and had always claimed his mother encouraged flattery. No, Oscar couldn’t believe her affair with Birkenstock would lead to marriage. But everything else he could be deaf and blind to.

A movement at the door caught his eye. Oscar waved Mr. Manning in then flipped open his pocket watch. “You are right on time, sir. Please, take a seat.”

Manning sank into the chair Thomas Birkenstock had just vacated and turned his gaze on Oscar’s mother. She squirmed and refused to look in his direction. “Essy.”

“Mr. Manning.” She stood, and Oscar stood, too. The rector climbed to his feet leisurely, and when she made a move to pass his chair, Manning snagged the edge of her gown, letting it slip through his fingers as she passed.

He watched her depart then turned a rueful smile on Oscar. “Your mother is such a lovely woman. She is little changed from the happy girl I knew in my younger days. She was quite a catch, even then, and believe me, I tried.”

Oscar dropped to his chair in shock. Did his mother have two men chasing after her? And one of them the most moral vicar he’d ever met. Oscar coughed. “You knew my mother when she was a younger woman?”

“Since I was in short pants. Long before she married. We were…close, friends, once. ”

A regretful smile crossed Manning’s lips—a bittersweet remembrance? Oscar started to feel distinctly uncomfortable about his mother’s love life. Just how many beaux did she have dangling on her arm this season? Surely one was enough. “I’d not heard that.”

“I am not surprised.” Manning shrugged. “She will deny any history exists between us, but she made an irreversible impression on me and I’ve never forgotten her.”

“I see,” he said carefully. “Forgive me but I have never once noticed she had any particular interest in you, or remarriage.”

Manning shrugged. “I intend to change her mind and persuade her to a permanent alteration in her status.”

Oscar passed a hand over his mouth to hide a grimace. His mother was headed for a week-long sojourn in the countryside with her lover, Thomas Birkenstock, and the rector of St. George’s was telling him he planned to court her for marriage. This could only descend into social disaster for the family—something he’d been raised to take great pains to avoid.

Perhaps he should attempt to subtly discourage Manning. “That might prove more complicated than you believe,” he murmured.

Manning merely smiled at his warning, an expression that boded ill for his mother and anyone who stood in his way. But that smile triggered a memory he couldn’t seem to place. It reminded him of someone he knew, but the name presently escaped him.

“You wished to see me, Mr. Manning?” Agatha stood poised at the doorway, keeping her gaze firmly on the rector, ignoring Oscar’s existence completely.

Manning gestured for her to come closer. “Yes, child. I thought that since Lord Carrington has become involved in the orphanage that he should be given a tour by the one person who knows the place so well. My lord, Miss Birkenstock has investigated every nook and cranny of the house, and can give you a detailed history of the improvements made over the years.”

Agatha’s face flushed at the compliments. “Of course, I would be happy to.” However, she looked anything but pleased.

Manning chuckled. “Well, now that is settled, I shall leave you to the grand tour. Carrington. Miss Birkenstock. ”

Manning departed, leaving them alone. “Good morning, Miss Birkenstock. Please be assured that I had no idea Manning would do that to you. I assumed he was here to offer advice as so many of the trustees are apt to do.”

Agatha scowled. “Good morning, my lord. If you would please follow me.”

Without waiting to see if he was ready now, Agatha disappeared beyond the door. Oscar rushed to follow and found her waiting upon the first landing above his head. She appeared, at first glance, impassive, yet her hostile gaze spoke volumes. Oscar interpreted her gaze to mean that he was to behave and to keep a distance.

He tucked his hands behind his back and hurried upstairs.

The tour was conducted with excruciatingly polite conversation. He saw the linen closets, the children’s dreary, cold bedchamber, the schoolroom, and the servants’ quarters in quick succession. He supposed he should have concentrated on every word Agatha uttered. However, the lingering scent of roses tickled his nose, reminding him that all but twelve hours had passed since he’d held her in his arms, their bodies fused together as passion took them to new heights.

Agatha turned. Sunlight pierced through the cloudy sky at that moment, falling through the window and striking her in brilliant light. She looked heavenly, and without caution, Oscar approached until a bare inch separated them.

Time stilled, and then Agatha stepped back and around him, pacing away to put a respectable distance between them again. “Did you wish to see the cellar, my lord?”

Oscar cursed under his breath at his foolishness. “Will there be rats?”

Agatha rolled her eyes then turned to begin her descent of the servants’ stairs. “There are always rats, Lord Carrington. But if you find yourself about to faint, do give me warning so I might step aside. I have no wish to be crushed by a falling lord.”

Oscar barked a laugh. “I was, in fact, worried about your delicate sensibilities, Miss Birkenstock. I would not like to have you confronted by the fearsome beasts in such close quarters. You might have sought comfort in my arms.”

Agatha turned and pierced him with a scornful look. “You might wish for it, my lord, but such a circumstance will never occur again.”

Oscar passed before her and took the lead down the stairs in case she fell. “I shall keep hope within my breast until eternity ends. It’s either that, or haunt Berkeley Square, remaining watchful for your next misadventure.”

At the lower door, Oscar dug into his pocket. The comforting weight of gold chain slithered between his fingers. He caught up Agatha’s hand and pressed the bauble into her palm. “A replacement. Your neck looks bare without your cross.”

Agatha examined the jewelry in the weak light, her lips pressed together. Oscar had managed to find an almost identical replacement for her stolen necklace, but in all the excitement of yesterday, he’d forgotten to offer it up.

Watching her jiggle the chain between her hands unnerved him. Judging by her expression, she was debating whether to keep the piece or toss it back in his face. He hoped she kept possession of the chain. The gift wasn’t much; it wasn’t even truly expensive. But if Agatha kept it, he would know she had something to remember him by. She would remember that he cared for her very much.

With a sigh, Agatha tucked the chain into her pocket then pressed a handkerchief over it. “We should continue the tour.”

Relieved, Oscar reached for the knob. But the door wouldn’t open. It was jammed, stuck beyond his understanding.

Behind him, Agatha huffed. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to win a round with a hunk of wood and a bit of brass. The door is stuck.”

Agatha pressed a hand to his shoulder and shoved. “A nice trick, my lord. Here, let me try.”

Amused, Oscar watched her shake the door handle repeatedly then take a pace backward to stare at it. A sliver of light seeped around the frame and the door, illuminating her squinting expression. Suddenly she stepped forward, placed her hands on the wood, and pushed upward.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to adjust the door. It has dropped in the frame, I believe. It is not quite plumb anymore.”

Oscar stood behind her so he could see what she was talking about. It was true that less light filtered into the crack on the right than on the left. How clever of her to notice. Unfortunately, they would have to work together to get to the other side.

He moved behind Agatha, placed his hands higher up on the door, and dropped a kiss to her hair. “I’ll lift the door. You turn the knob and pull when I tell you to.”

God, she smelled heavenly. Oscar dragged in a deep breath but kept his hands on the wood. As much as he wanted, he’d not create scandal with her here. The walls would be paper thin and gossiping servants would not hesitate to circulate rumors about their masters. He’d already taken enough risk with their brief conversation.

Her head nodded beneath his lips, and Oscar strained upward, watching the crack of light until it appeared even on both the right side and the left. “Now, Agatha.”

The door shrieked and swung inward toward them until the stairwell blazed with light. Beyond the opening, voices rose in agitation and Oscar peered around Agatha.

A good many servants stood watching them.

“The door was stuck,” he explained unnecessarily.

“Has been for a week, milord. Why’d ya use the servants’ stairs for anyway?”

“Miss Birkenstock was kind enough to give me a tour. Clearly, she doesn’t know everything about the orphanage or she would have known about this stuck door.” He caught her gaze as her skin pinked with embarrassment and chuckled softly.

She gathered her skirts and swept past him. “It wasn’t me who made the claim, my lord. Could you make provision to have the door repaired?”

Back to the business of the orphanage before he could blink. “I think that could be arranged.”

Agatha led him through the kitchens, down through the cellars, and back up without further incident. There were precious little goods in the cellar anyway. Certainly no sign of the rum the orphanage had paid for recently, or the cloth. “Is there a separate wine cellar in the place?”

“No…” Agatha staggered back a step. Alarmed, Oscar rushed forward, but discovered her to be pinned by a pair of ch ildish arms.

“Mabel,” Agatha exclaimed. “What are you doing in this part of the house? You should be with your brothers and sisters outside at this time.”

Mabel glanced at Oscar and then shrank back. “They wanted me to hide again. I needed a better place and its dark down here.”

“And better not giggle this time,” Oscar chimed in.

The little sprite flashed a quick smile in his direction. “Do you know where I could hide so even Simon can’t find me?”

Oscar considered it while Agatha tucked a stray curl behind the child’s ear. Mabel was light, small. She’d fit easily atop a high piece of furniture. “Come with me, Mabel, I know just the place. Miss Birkenstock, if your tour is finished, I’ll be heading back to the office.”

Agatha frowned when Oscar held his hand out for Mabel to take. The little girl let him lead her toward the office, lift her up in his arms, and then place her atop a tall bureau. Her eyes widened a bit, but then her smile turned beatific. If she kept her giggles in check, she’d be very hard to find up there. For good measure, he collected a short stack of books and set them so Mabel’s peeking head could hide behind.

“Is that acceptable, my lady?”

“Oh, you are the best lord I have ever met. Will you marry me someday?”

Oscar choked. “No. Of all the ridiculous notions.” But this girl had them by the dozen. She’d be easy pickings if she found herself in the street, should the orphanage close. The notion made him shudder but he ignored it, turned back to his papers to await the confused searchers looking for Mabel.