by Heather Boyd
Estella opened her reticule to withdraw her fan. “I just wanted to enjoy the performance in peace with you. Really, some of them will think nothing of chatting through the entire performance.” Aghast at her blunt words, she snapped open her fan while she glanced at her neighbors to determine if anyone had overheard. After a few anxious minutes, she blew out a relieved breath.
“That was rather boldly said, Mother. Are you feeling quite the thing?” Oscar chuckled. “So, to what torture am I to be subjected today? The screech of violin or harp, the latest debutant wailing about her lost love? You know that lost love will be a lucky man, don’t you?”
Estella smacked Oscar’s knee with her fan. “You do go on with a lot of nonsense. I’d thought you had outgrown your impatient nature. You will sit and do your best to listen with polite interest. We are here for the orphanage, as you well know.”
Oscar shifted in his chair. “No, Mother. I don’t believe you mentioned that fascinating tidbit in your note.”
Estella glanced up at her son’s face and found it dark with . . . Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what emotion he was feeling at that instant. But he definitely glanced toward the door as if to judge whether he could escape.
Surely the orphans couldn’t be that bad.
“I’m told the children have been practicing with Miss Birkenstock for months. Why, I think they have positively blossomed under her greater influence. She has devoted many hours to their wellbeing in recent months and has a very good way with them. As a patron, you should be keen to see how your generous contribution has improved the children.” Alarmed at the way her son’s face had paled, Estella placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Oscar?”
Her loud tone turned a few heads in their direction and, after another long moment, his smile returned. “That sounds wonderful, Mother. I am glad the orphans have such good care.”
The patter of many tiny feet drew Estella’s attention to the stage. Six children stood upon the small, raised dais—the youngest and last orphan absent from their ranks being too young to do more than wail—nervously waiting to perform. She smiled her encouragement, but doubted the poor dears noticed. Their faces turned as one to a side curtained area where the scrape of wooden chair or stool could be heard.
As the audience settled, Estella cast a quick glance at her son. Although his face appeared impassive, as was most always the case, there was a tension, a new strain upon Oscar’s features that hadn’t existed until recently. Given his usual even-tempered disposition, she worried for him. Becoming engaged to an earl’s daughter should have eased Oscar’s concerns, but the improvement in his connections appeared to have produced a new gravity. Although he’d been the toast of society for an age, he didn’t seem happy within himself anymore. Restlessness seemed to grip him, and Estella had found no way of discerning exactly what had altered.
Parties and dinners certainly hadn’t cheered him.
Although discovering the start of his disquiet was important to her, the soft notes of a pianoforte swept over the room and the children began to sing. The orphans held the tune well. They pulled her into the sweetness of the song and the superior accompaniment kept her enthralled until the very last note. The audience clapped enthusiastically and the children sang two more songs.
During the third set, she glanced at Oscar, sure that he would be yawning his boredom. But he sat with his eyes closed, head dipping in time with the tune. She’d never seen him so absorbed in a concert. Indeed, judging by his lack of enthusiasm for past performances, Estella feared she’d be abandoned after the first note.
As the last words faded, he stood to clap for the children, causing others about them to do the same. Such a reaction was unprecedented for Oscar, but she rose to her feet and clapped for the giggling children.
As the orphans were ushered out of the room, Oscar’s eyes followed them with an intensity she found disturbing. When they were gone, his animation died.
“I see you enjoyed the little performance.”
Oscar led her to the buffet set along a side wall. “Yes, an altogether tolerable performance. I shouldn’t mind hearing them again one day.”
Tolerable performance! Whatever blue-devils plagued her son were not to be easily banished by a heart-warming melody. As she added chicken and little sandwiches to her plate, she wished he would confide in her. But no matter how she’d phrased her questions these past weeks, he’d avoided any kind of meaningful answer. He worried her. “Then I shall be sure to demand your escort again.”
His lips twisted into a shallow smile. He turned to fetch her tea, led her to a little grouping of table and chairs, then left to fill a plate for himself.
“May I join you, Lady Carrington?”
Estella looked up and forced a smile to her lips. “Of course, Mr. Manning. Do please join my son and me. He will return momentarily.”
With supple grace, Manning drew a chair out to her right and settled his teacup before him. From a seated position, Estella found Manning’s greater height easier to bear. Age had peppered his pale hair with grey, but a boyish quality, a reminder of him as a youth, remained. Despite holding the position of Rector of St. George’s he still cut a fine figure.
His long but damaged fingers, still gloved to protect feminine sensibilities from shock, fiddled with the teacup until she could stand the silence no longer. “Didn’t the children acquit themselves well today? Such wonderful voices should definitely be heard more often.”
Manning nodded, took a sip of his tea, and settled back in his chair, stretching his long legs before him as if he planned to stay awhile. “I’d rather hear your voice, but I’ve discovered to my considerable disappointment that you no longer perform.”
Estella smothered a laugh. “Manning, it’s been many years since I’ve had the desire to sing in society. There are so many younger, fresher voices to be heard nowadays.”
A scowl crossed his face. “You only stopped when your husband disapproved of the adulation you received. He never could share your company.”
Estella pressed her lips together. Here we go. Another round of veiled complaints aimed at the memory of a dead man. Her late husband hadn’t been the most agreeable man in the end, but did Lynton Manning have to constantly bring up his flaws?
Manning touched the back of her hand with the tip of his leather-gloved finger briefly. “Still blindly loyal to his memory, I see.”
Really, what did he expect her to say to that? No matter what had happened in the past, Estella was determined to never become a bitter woman as her years advanced. If she harbored ill feeling toward the man who’d stolen her youth, no one would ever know of it. She’d worked hard to forget her life with Charles Ryall. “Really, Mr. Manning, you sound very unlike a man who holds the position of Rector of St. George’s. I had hoped your calling might have settled your prickly temperament, but it seems you are still given to flights of fancy.”
Manning set his cup down with a clatter. He didn’t speak immediately, but his silence spoke volumes. If five-and-twenty years hadn’t passed since their last disagreement, she might have tried to appease him. “My memory is surprisingly clear about certain events. Should I remind you?”
Estella swallowed, shocked to the core that Manning would bring up his ridiculous assertion after all this time. Revisiting the past would change nothing.
“Ah, Mr. Manning. A pleasure to see you again, sir,” Oscar said as he fell into a chair on Estella’s left.
“Carrington.” Manning met her son’s gaze and she blanched at his intense scrutiny. She shouldn’t care what her oldest acquaintance thought of her eldest offspring, but she was holding her breath. She forced herself to breathe normally again.
Oscar’s lips lifted in amusement. “Is there a problem, Manning?”
Manning shook his head slowly. “No, nothing. It’s just you . . .”
Estella laughed to distract the men. “Did you forget breakfast this morning, Oscar? I think you have enough there to feed a regular si
zed person for a week.”
Oscar slanted a quick smile in her direction and promptly fell silent as he ate. When Manning discontinued their conversation too, the silence at the table grew uncomfortable again. Between bites, Estella was aware that her son’s gaze flickered between her and the rector. If she had an explanation she cared to share, she might enlighten Oscar as to her estrangement from her oldest acquaintance. As it was, Oscar was better left in the dark about their tangled past.
Manning shifted in his chair, his leg rubbing against hers under the table. An unfortunate flush of heat swept her cheeks. Damn the man. Could he not leave her be?
Manning chuckled at her immediate reaction. “When you have a moment, Lord Carrington, I wonder if I might have a word with you,” Manning asked with a quick glance in her direction. “In private, perhaps.”
Oscar pressed a napkin to his mouth and then threw it over his unfinished plate. “Of course, I am at your immediate disposal.”
Manning spared her a wry glance. “Forgive me, my lady, I hate to deprive you of your son’s company, but if you can spare him this instant my business should only take a few minutes.”
In an attempt to hide her irrational nerves, Estella nodded her head rather than question them. The men departed, leaving her with a sinking feeling. This could be very bad, indeed.
“Why the long face, my dear lady?” The seat to her right creaked as her lover unwittingly settled where his rival had sat moments before.
“I was just wishing the children were to sing another song, but they’ve all gone back to the orphanage haven’t they, Thomas?”
Her gaze settled on the big man. She was determined to forget all about Lynton Manning. Thomas Birkenstock was kind, a generous man who made few demands on her time except for their infrequent rendezvous. She should be content.
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Agatha took them back immediately after the performance. She’s got a bee in her bonnet over the sick, little one and cannot abide being apart from the babe.”
Estella smiled and patted his hand quickly. “Her compassion does her credit. The children are getting along so much better with her influence.”
“Perhaps her playing will have affected some unattached gentleman here today,” he grumbled. “Her performance on the pianoforte was exceptional, but I do not like that she refused to linger and take advantage of it.”
“Was that Agatha, today? She certainly plays beautifully. Oscar appeared enthralled with the performance. Perhaps the other gentlemen noticed too.”
“My granddaughter should be thinking of her own children by now, but the stubborn minx is dead-set against the idea of marriage. I fear she always has been and hid her discontent behind polite smiles. I might have to resort to a matchmaker to see her wed securely.” Under the table, Thomas knocked her knee with his.
Although Thomas mimicked Lynton Manning’s earlier gesture, Estella’s body didn’t respond the same. Her cheeks remained stubbornly cool, her heartbeat at a regular plodding pace. She swallowed at the discovery. Why didn’t she react more to Thomas?
Estella forced a smile to her lips. “Surely the situation is not as bad as all that.” She sighed and set her chin in her hand. “I’m sure all that’s required is for the right man to sweep her off her feet. Agatha is a very pretty young lady. I’m constantly surprised that some clever gentleman hasn’t recognized her worth and married her already.”
A hand pressed hard to her shoulder and she looked up to find her son hovering. His expression appeared pained.
Estella stood. “Is everything all right, son?”
His lips twisted into a grimace. “Everything is fine, but I appear to be very popular today. Several members of the orphanage’s board of trustees wish to speak with me as a matter of some urgency. Do you mind if I leave you in Mr. Manning’s care for the afternoon?”
Estella frowned, wondering at the trustee’s agitation. Yet her unease at being left in Manning’s company stirred too. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him. “Mr. Birkenstock is entertaining me, Oscar. I do not need to be coddled.”
“Nevertheless, I have asked Manning to escort you home in my place if I do not return within the next half hour. We were coming to inform you, but I think Manning was delayed by Mrs. Whittaker.”
Estelle glanced around her son and found Manning indeed trapped by the notoriously chatty lady. Poor man, but still, she wouldn’t be going to rescue him. “I hardly need an escort, Oscar. I’m sure you will be free again in due time.”
Oscar raked his fingers through his pale hair, disturbing his usually neat appearance. “Would if that were true, but I am promised to take Lady Penelope driving in the park this evening.” He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. “As it is, I may be inexcusably tardy in my arrival. It would help me a great deal if you let Manning escort you home.”
Damn her son’s need to keep everyone happy. As a child, she’d liked the trait. However, as an adult his constant need for approval drove her to distraction. Not everyone needed to be pleased. “Of course.” But inside, Estella dreaded the drive.
It didn’t take long for Manning to grasp her arm after Thomas took his leave. He whisked her out the door quickly. As she approached his gleaming coach, she tried not to appear concerned to be all alone with her former beau. However, the lingering hand that pressed against the small of her back as she entered the carriage proved just how interested Manning was in improving their acquaintance. A flush of heat swept her cheeks again and she dipped her head to hide the reaction.
Determined to quell the impulse to bolt from the carriage, Estella drew in a deep breath to calm herself. “Do you know what the trustees wish to speak to my son about? It is not like them to involve him in their petty squabbles.” There, she could be civil with Manning and forget all about those distressing reactions.
Manning pursed his lips, as if considering whether to share his thoughts. The board members frequently failed to share most reasons for their decisions with her. Indeed, it was a lucky coincidence that anything happened there at all. She’d never met a group of men who bickered as much as they did. Estella held her breath, hoping Manning would trust her enough to share this confidence and tried not to think overmuch about those pursed lips, or past kisses bestowed from them.
“The board wishes for an evaluation of the orphanage to be conducted, but they do not want to bring in an outsider. Since your son’s involvement has been minimal to date, they have agreed that he shall be judge and jury for its continuation.”
Shock held her mouth open. Of all the hair-brained, foolish decisions. Having Oscar decide the fate of seven children seemed ludicrous. “He barely knows the place,” she whispered.
Manning removed his leather gloves and flexed his fingers in a way that drew her attention. The ugly scar on his left hand and the missing little finger, an ever present reminder of times past, caused Estella’s heart to race with renewed anxiety.
He clenched his damaged hand into a fist. “Exactly. He’ll not be swayed by allegiances within the board. They expect him to make a fair decision.”
Estella dropped her face to her hand. This was simply dreadful. The poor children. To be judged in such a manner, without any attempt to understand them or their needs. And Oscar’s habit of trying to please everyone would fail him this time. She was sure someone would be disappointed with his decision.
The carriage dipped as Manning squeezed onto the bench seat beside her. Alarmed, she slid to the side to put distance between them again.
“You should not fret so, Essy. I’m sure your boy will do a fair job of it.”
Despite the use of his old nickname for her, his smile chilled her to her core. “This was your doing. All of it.”
He waggled his undamaged hand. “You have no idea of the pain listening to those pea brains causes me. An evaluation will finally put the matter to rest and then we can move forward. I have every confidence that Carrington will vote in favor of continuation. But no one need kn
ow that but us.”
He reached for her hand, but she clenched them together and denied him a chance for improper behavior. His frown grew. “What are you about, Essy?”
“I am about nothing, Mr. Manning. You, however, are again attempting to overstep your bounds. Kindly return to the other side of the carriage.”
Manning huffed but did as she asked. His eyes, however, held deep scorn. “You know I hadn’t wanted to believe the whispers, but it appears they could, indeed, be true. Do you know they say you’ve taken that cit, Birkenstock, as your lover?”
Manning quirked one brow as he waited for her to deny it. While the rumor was true, she’d hardly confess her most personal affairs to a man of the cloth. Especially since that man also aimed to take her lover’s place, most likely after a respectable wedding ceremony had been performed. Estella had no intentions of marrying again. She pasted a fraudulent smile to her lips. “What amazes me is that the ton haven’t learned of your wicked past and shunned you for it.”
He lifted his damaged hand in the air before her and waggled it. “I imagine that would relieve you, as anything questionable in my past almost certainly involved you.”
How typical of a man, even a man of the cloth, to lay the blame for wickedness on a woman. She’d had nothing to do with the loss of his finger. She hadn’t known of the duel that caused its loss until years later. To this day, it amazed her that he’d become a vicar. Given what she knew of his past, he was far too lusty a man for the role. How could he stand before a congregation and extol the virtues of thrift, compassion, and avoidance of sin, when he was so well versed in them? “Please. Spare me your lies.”
The carriage drew to a halt before Manning could speak. When the door opened, he jumped to the pavement then held his damaged hand out. With no further wish to argue, Estella slid her palm over his lightly and then stepped from the carriage with relief. Manning tucked her arm tightly about his, led her up the stairs, and ushered her into her drawing room before she had time to object to his cavalier attitude.