by Heather Boyd
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.
“Has been for a week, milord. Why’d ya use the servant’s 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.
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. “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 childish 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 not to giggle,” 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. 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 them.
“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.
Chapter Ten
THE CREAM OF London society swirled about Estella as she stood with her friends on the boundary of the dance floor. She smiled at the happy faces about her and preened as more than one eye cast an envious glance toward her circle. Oscar stood with Lady Penelope’s arm wrapped about his. He seemed in a good mood at long last, possessiveness clear as his hand covered Lady Penelope’s. He looked down upon her with an air of satisfaction.
“They make an interesting pair,” a deep voice murmured in her ear.
Estella turned. “Your Grace, such an honor.” She dropped into a curtsey.
The Duke of Staines shook his finger at her. “Now, now, Essy. No need to take that tone with me. We’ve known each other far too long for you to ply me up with insipid affection and think I’ll be satisfied.”
Although Estella scowled, she did rise up on her toes and press her lips against the duke’s clean-shaven cheek when he offered it. He smacked his lips against her cheek in return.
Estella blushed. “Beastly man. Now the tongues will wag again.” And indeed, the rise in chatter around them seemed to confirm that all eyes and tongues had taken in their affectionate exchange.
When he straightened, his eyes had creased with mirth. “They like nothing better than a good gossip about nothing. Besides, it will make Lynton livid with jealousy.”
Estella glanced away. The duke’s habit of annoying his younger brother was none of her concern. What did it matter if Lynton knew of that kiss? The duke meant nothing by it, aside from stirring up attention for himself. Lynton Manning could go to the devil. “I thought you would have grown out of teasing your brother.”
Staines threaded her arm through his and moved them away from her group. “You mean you’d thought I would finally grow up and behave like a real duke. Don’t pretend you don’t think it. It is the primary charge my brother levels at me during his weekly sermons. I must have some form of revenge for having a pious, church-bound brother. He used to have a fine sense of humor before he took orders.”
Estella could remember that, although Lynton’s smiles and laughter seemed a lifetime ago now. “And how do you like being preached at?”
He shrugged. “In one ear and out the other. But I have my man, Redding, pay attention and he nudges me should I fall asleep during any important bits.”
Estella glanced behind them. Redding, the duke’s long suffering footman, offered a courteous nod, but remained three paces behind. “That man must know a great deal of secrets about you,” she laughed. “Do you think he could be bribed so your brother could trip you up on occasion?”
The duke’s expression changed. He glanced at his footman, a slow smile tugging at his mouth. “You would have no chance with Redding. He is utterly incorruptible.”
Estella shuddered. “No one is incorruptible.”
“I take it you have learned that from experience.” The duke waved his cane toward Oscar. “I see your boy has finally filled out from a stick. Thought he’d never sprout outward.”
Thankful for the change of subject, Estella admired her son’s face. He was a little more drawn than usual, but he’d be certainly larger than when the duke had last laid eyes on him. Staines usually kept to less polite circles and, to her knowledge, had little cause to know her son in recent years. “He eats nonstop,” she confessed. “But where it all goes is beyond me.”
The duke laughed. “A family trait. I swear I had to protect my interests from Lynton’s incessant appetite when he was that age. To this day, I still believe he lightened my breakfast tray every morning while our valet’s back was turned.”
“Such habits didn’t do him any lasting harm. He seems trim enough.”
The duke chuckled again. “I’ll be sure to mention your warm admiration for Lynton’s figure the next time he comes to berate me for my sins. That should prove very amusing.”
Estella’s mouth fell open. She closed it swiftly. “You will do no such thing. I merely said he had not run to fat. There was nothing warm in my comment.”
The duke stroked her hand where it had curled into a fist. “Settle your feathers, Essy. You are too much fun to tease. Might I convince you to dance with me? There’s a waltz starting up, and I’m growing restless with this party.”
Although annoyed, Estella nodded. It did her no ill to be on good terms with the Duke of Staines. For a while, there was even a rumor that she would receive a proposal from him after she’d observed her mourning. Staines had never proposed; he’d merely teased her about admiring Lynton. Nothing could be further from the truth. Lynton Manning was an annoying bee spoiling her contented life.
As Staines drew her into the waltz, Estella raised her chin. “I am surprised to see you here. I would have thought this much too tame for you.”
Estella chuckled as they moved off. “Oh, don’t talk nonsense. What on earth do you want with an old widow? I’m hardly your usual fare and we both know it.”
The duke’s nostril’s flared. His hand tensed on her back. “And what exactly do you know of my usual fare, Lady Carrington?”
Startled by the abrupt change in his mode of address, Estella’s heart raced. What had she said to upset him? The truth had always appealed to him in the past. She opted to keep to that very habit. “That you have two young mistresses in Conduit Street, and look upon many married women as your own. A widow would never do for you.”
The hand at her back relaxed and she wondered what she’d missed in her accounting of his reputation that caused him to do so.
“You should never listen to gossips, you know. I could not lower myself to house a mistress in that part of Town. Too near my brother. He has such a fear of scandal, much as he is likely to cause one himself.”
The duke twirled her about the floor in silence while Estella considered the change that had come over him. He was no stranger to scandal, but his lapse into serious conversation about scandal made her uneasy. When the dance ended, he bowed over her hand. “Are you not curious about my brother’s indiscretion? It could affect the people you love most.”
Estella swallowed, and then forced a carefree smile to her face. “There is nothing in your brother’s life that could affect me or those I love.”
“Is that so?” The duke scowled. “Then can you tell me why your son and my brother could use each other as shaving mirrors? I do wish to hear an explanation for that. Apparently, I have another relation I should have been informed of.”
Estella’s breath caught. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
The duke pulled her into an unoccupied window embrasure. Estella glanced over his shoulder as the duke’s footman took position to give them privacy. “You, my girl, are on a very slippery slope. Do not lie to me again.”
Estella licked her lips. “It is merely a coincidence.”
“Bollocks.”
Estella searched for an escape. She couldn’t explain the similarity between her son and Lynton Manning. Despite the duke’s assumption, she’d never betrayed her husband. The resemblance was an act of God. “I must return to my party.”
The duke set his hand to her arm. “I do not like the connection he has made with Lord Thorne’s daughter. She is not good for my nephew.”
Estella glanced up into the Duke of Staines’ face and saw determination in the set of his features. She shook herself out of his grip. “No matter what you claim, he is not your relation and you have no say in his life.”
Staines set his hands to his hips. “You misunderstand me, quite deliberately, I think. He is family, and I will not accept this match for him. Is that understood?”
Despite her efforts to hide her feelings, Estella trembled. “Leave him be.”
Staines shook his head slowly. “I will be watching, Essy. I should have been watching over the boy all along. Imagine my surprise to see my brother’s replica parading as Carrington’s boy. When I leave here I will be calling on my brother, and I will drag his pious arse from the very church altar if necessary to finally hear some truth. You have both lied to me. One by omission—for Lynton cannot be unknowing of the boy’s origins—and you to my very face. It will take quite some time before we are ever on equal ground again, Lady Carrington. We will speak of this again. We will speak very soon.”
Estella shook her head. He was wrong. He had to be wrong about Oscar. How could he be Lynton’s son?
She stumbled two steps forward, but was caught by a firm hand beneath her elbow. When she glanced up, Redding, His Grace’s footman, had moved to support her. He must have heard it all. Shame and uncertainty gripped her, and she glanced about wildly until her gaze settled on her son.
Oscar turned at that moment and rushed forward. “Mother? Whatever is the matter?”
Estella’s mind raced. She couldn’t tell him of her confrontation with the Duke of Staines. She couldn’t allow him to doubt his place in the world. She glanced behind. The Duke of Staines watched from the shadows. Estella smiled quickly. “A spell of dizziness came over me. It’s nothing, but I fear I should return home.”
Oscar took her arm, thanked Redding for his assistance, and escorted her toward the door. “I’ll come with you.”
Estella stopped. “No, no. I should not like to ruin your evening, too. You must stay with your Lady Penelope.”
Oscar looked behind them and snorted. “Lady Penelope has disappeared without a word the minute I released her arm.” He smiled suddenly and tugged her onward. “Let’s get you home and tucked up in bed. Perhaps I could convince Cook to whip up something sweet to give you pleasant dreams.”
“Yes. Pleasant dreams would be wonderful.” They would banish the fear of Staines’ accusation.
As she settled into the carriage, Oscar tucked a blanket around her knees and caught up her hand. He was a sweet boy. A kind man.
He had very little of her husband about his manner, except impatience.
Could it be true?
Estella closed her eyes and cast her mind back to the time of Oscar’s conception. Had she done the unthinkable and lain with a man not her husband? Carrington had rarely spoken as he’d bedded her. The candles were always blown. Darkness could have hidden a different lover, but how had she not recognized the difference?
Estella curled her free hand over her belly. Why would Lynton steal into her bed and dishonor her this way?
Chapter Eleven
IN THE PAST, the climb up the front steps of the Earl of Daventry’s residence would signal a woman’s complete fall from grace. Today, a month after the scandalous earl’s marriage to Miss Lillian Winter, her oldest friend, Agatha’s call would be viewed with considerable envy.
Everyone was talking about the earl’s unexpected marriage, but since Agatha had a past acquaintance with the lady in question, she was filled with foreboding. The last time she had laid eyes on Lillian, Agatha had cried for a week. Lilly had been in agony, writhing upon the bed, whimpering as leaches were removed from her arms. The remembrance chilled her still.
How would Lillian survive marriage and all it entailed?
The broad doors clicked shut behind her back, dimming the sounds of the world outside. She handed off her bonnet, cloak, and gloves then stepped after the butler. Ahead of them, Agatha could hear giggling and deep, rumbling laughter. The butler knocked on a door and waited, flicking a complex glance over his shoulder, one that conveyed amusement and resignation. The sounds of rushed movement ceased behind the door, and after a moment Lord Daventry bade them enter.
“Miss Birkenstock!” Daventry exclaimed. “Thank you for agreeing to visit on such short notice.”
“It is my pleasure, my lord.” Agatha’s gaze drifted to her friend. Gone was the writhing, tormented body. The blonde before her was still familiar, her features a little changed with the passage into womanhood. The pretty, smiling woman was held in place by her husband, however, and she couldn’t move an inch from his arms. Agatha had never seen the earl behave with such familiarity.
“Lady Daventry, a pleasure to see you in such good health.” Uncertain of what to do next, Agatha dropped a curtsey.
Lilly burst into laughter. “Oh, how could you know Agatha would do that? You are a beast, Giles. Go off and leave us in peace.” She swatted at her husband’s clutching arms, and he released her.
Daventry smiled and set his hands to his hips. “Already displaced by old friends. Whatever shall I do without you?”
The little blonde scowled after him until he fled the room. “Agatha don’t you dare do that again. Giles said you would curtsey, but I just couldn’t believe him.”
Agatha grinned. “Things change. You’re a countess now. Certain courtesies are due to you.”
Lilly moved forward. “Between us, my d
ear, such courtesy is evil. I’ve missed you so much.” The little woman caught Agatha in a hug and held her close for an age. When Lilly released her, they both had tears in their eyes.
Agatha cupped her friend’s face gently. “I was so astounded to receive your letter last month. What is to account for your swift recovery?”
Lilly’s grin grew broad. “My husband, actually. Apparently there was quite a lot of benefit to be found in the debauched life Giles led prior to our marriage. His hands cured me of my ills. But he must reapply his treatments frequently. Marriage seemed necessary to fit his schedule.”
Agatha’s face flamed with heat. “I think perhaps this is more information than the earl would care for me to know.”
“Nonsense.” Daventry reappeared and then a tea tray-bearing maid followed. “The art should have been tried before to save my wife so much pain and suffering, but I can selfishly say I am glad no one else touched her.” Daventry smiled impishly at his wife and Agatha glanced between them.
They were speaking in riddles and behaving improperly again. The earl drew Lilly into a embrace, pressing kisses to her brow. Agatha looked away, hoping Daventry would remember they had company sooner rather than later.
“Forgive me, Miss Birkenstock. My wife has quite changed me.”
Agatha looked at him, saw the same wicked glint in his eye that she had glimpsed during previous encounters with him in society, and doubted the change was very significant.
The earl’s eyes sparkled with amusement and his hands stroked over his wife’s exposed skin. “You may be completely honest, Miss Birkenstock.”
“You seem the same, my lord.”
His expression sobered. “Ah, but the difference is that my eye, and every other part of me, is firmly fixed on my wife’s happiness. There is not another woman like her.”