The Distinguished Rogues Bundle

by Heather Boyd

  Agatha peered around the children and spotted a man’s hat at the garden’s boundary fence. “I don’t know. Kitty, will you play with Betty for me on her blanket?”

  Kitty clapped her hands and Betty happily went to her. Simon’s hand crept into hers. “You should call one of the servants,” he whispered.

  “Nonsense. It will surely amount to nothing.”

  “Then I’m coming with you.” He squeezed her hand.

  Agatha ruffled his hair. “If you must. I should enjoy your escort, young man.”

  Arm-in-arm, they approached the stranger. When they were within a few yards of the rear gate, they stopped. Better to be cautious. She didn’t know what type of fellow would peer over a fence into a yard filled with children.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Birkenstock.”

  As she shaded her eyes to peer at the stranger, Simon’s grip tightened over Agatha’s hand. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

  The gentleman removed his hat and Agatha relaxed. It was only Lord Prewitt, Oscar’s future brother-in-law. “Lord Prewitt.”

  “Ah, good. You know me. Run along, boy, while I speak with this lovely lady.”

  Simon didn’t budge.

  Prewitt frowned at him then smiled smoothly. “My dear, you look lovely among those thorns. You’d do much better on a gentleman’s arm.”

  All of Agatha’s senses came alert. “I am content where I am, my lord.”

  He hung his arms over the fence, and a pretty necklace slipped through his fingers to dazzle in the sunlight. “A pretty girl requires something pretty about her neck to show she is appreciated. Something more costly that a two penny bauble.”

  Agatha resisted the urge to place her fingers over her necklace. The gift from Oscar was a mere trifle beside the finery Lord Prewitt dangled. But she knew its worth. What Prewitt offered was payment for services she must render to him. Distasteful service, judging by the way he stared at her. What Oscar had offered came solely from friendship.

  Beside her, Simon fidgeted. He drew her hand toward the others across the garden, silently urging her to come away from Lord Prewitt.

  Agatha squeezed Simon’s hand. “Forgive me, my lord, but I must get back to my charges. Good day to you.”

  Unease prickled Agatha’s back until Simon whispered that Lord Prewitt had gone.

  ~ * ~

  The sleepy village of Staines was a place of great comfort for Estella Carrington even if they didn’t know who she truly was. To her servants and neighbors she was Mrs. B—Thomas’ second wife. After so many years, she was used to the lie. As she pushed open the front gate, she drew in the clean scents of her garden—so missed and longed-for throughout the season.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. B. We are so pleased to see you return safely.”

  “Thank you, William.” Estella glanced back at her weary companion. “I’ll see to any mail in the morning, but please send up a light supper for my husband.”

  “Of course.” The butler backed away, returning to the depths of the house.

  Thomas Birkenstock slipped her arm through his. “I do like to hear you address me that way, even if it’s not true.”

  Thomas drew her through the front entrance and upward to their bedchamber without a glance left or right. There would be time enough to enjoy the house tomorrow. Once secure in their room, he let her go and poured himself a brandy.

  “Do you think they suspect us of subterfuge?”

  He set his glass down and let out a sigh. “I imagine so.”

  That thought wasn’t pleasant. She’d been playing at being Thomas’ wife for the past few years, maintaining the fiction that they traveled extensively, but always returning to this house for brief interludes. It was an imperfect arrangement, but it was the best compromise they could reach.

  Estella slipped her arm around Thomas’ back and held him tightly. He turned his head and smiled down at her, but a little frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You do understand that I couldn’t let you marry beneath your rank.”

  She squeezed him tighter. “And I never wanted to marry again. There is no discord between us, is there?”

  Thomas slipped out of her grip and sank into a chair. “You know as well as I that any marriage between us would have embarrassed your son. But we do not get to choose who we love. I would have been content with just your smile.”

  “And you shall always have it.”

  A knock sounded on the door and their punctual servants settled a heaped supper tray before Thomas. Once they departed, Estella slipped off her shoes, sat with her legs curled beneath her on the bed, and nibbled at some bread.

  Thomas picked at his food.

  “Were you not hungry?”

  He pushed the plate away. “It seems not. Perhaps I’ll eat more later tonight.”

  Estella climbed to her feet again and approached him. He seemed more worn down by his concerns tonight than usual, so she pulled him to his feet with the intention of undressing him.

  Amusement arched his brow as she unpinned his cravat and slowly tugged it from his neck. She removed his coat, waistcoat, and shirt then bent to undress the rest of him. As she stood, she let her hands slide up his sides until she could meet his eyes. Instead of the desire she expected to see, there was an unguarded weariness to his features. Without a word, she led him to the bed and tucked him between the sheets.

  Thomas didn’t protest at her mothering, so she left him to remove her own gown, thankful she’d chosen one where she’d not require his assistance. When she was bare, she slipped into bed only to find Thomas was already fast asleep.

  Estella watched him for a long time, concerned by his fatigue. His light snore reverberated around the room. She tucked her arm beneath her head and listened. He was growing older—so much more quickly than she realized. At nearly four and sixty, Thomas Birkenstock was still a powerfully built man, still strong enough to lift her into his arms for a night of lovemaking. But not tonight, apparently.

  Estella rolled to her back and stared up at the shadows flickering around the ceiling. He had bought the house because she liked to garden, but couldn’t do it in London. He’d also purchased the house so they could pretend, for just a short while, that the differences in their class, their stations in life, didn’t matter. Estella had never thought much about it before she met him all those years ago. But over time she had come to see integrity and strength of will were not confined to the aristocracy. Such characteristics belonged to the man.

  Her husband had not been a good man. She did not miss him.

  Despite his ardent pursuit prior to marriage, and infrequent visits to her bed to get her with child, he’d preferred his actress mistress for his pleasure and more often than not ignored her needs. But it was not until Carrington had died that she’d pursued an affair with Thomas. The older man had taught her much about meeting her desires.

  Estella blew out the candle, but sleep was a long time coming. In her mind, she kept remembering how Lynton Manning had kissed her with such urgency, such eager hunger for her lips. Was it wrong to lie beside a sleeping lover and think about the effect another man had on her senses?

  She’d almost begged Lynton to come back. Estella rolled away from Thomas and punched the pillow. Damn Lynton for stirring up such a conflict within her. His stolen kisses and hints of faithfulness were highly disturbing. But she could ignore him and the wild accusations about Oscar’s parentage.

  Thomas rolled in his sleep and pulled Estella into his arms. Growing drowsy and content, she closed her eyes.

  When morning came, she was alone.

  Estella slipped from the warm bed and dragged her wrapper over her bare skin. She looked about. Thomas had a habit of early rising even when immersed in the country with nothing to do, and he appeared long gone. As she pulled the bell for assistance with her early morning toilette, she heard men speaking outside. Curious, she pulled back the thick drapes and spied Thomas seated in the garden, talking with earnest concentration. The man
he was speaking to was dark-haired, like Thomas had been, tall but with none of his physical strength. With the stranger’s back to her, she couldn’t tell who it was and curiosity bit deep. He never discussed business here, and the man resembled none of their closest neighbors.

  By the time she’d bathed and dressed for the day, the men were nowhere in sight. She could still hear them though, within the house now, and on instinct she kept her steps light.

  “Sign here and here. William, you will witness and sign the other paper with your mark, too.”

  Estella leaned against the door, trying to hear more of the conversation, but deeply puzzled by the need for witnesses. What was Thomas up to?

  “I am happy to oblige, Thomas. I’ve no need for another house as London doesn’t agree with my disposition. I’m much happier in Winchester, and it’s closer to the port. Please give my regards to my cousin. It has been much too long a time since we’ve met.”

  “That I will, Robert. You may draw on my bank as soon as you care to.”

  Estella backed away quietly and hurried into the morning room. Voices grew louder in the hall and then Thomas’ heavy tread approached. “Did we wake you?”

  She looked behind him, but he was alone. “No, of course not. Who was it that came to call so early?”

  Thomas heaped a plate with food and sat down beside her. “My brother’s grandson, Robert Birkenstock. We had a bit of business to discuss.”

  “He works for you?”

  Thomas chewed slowly. The delay in answering sent a prickle of unease up her spine.

  “He’s been learning the ropes, as it were, as an employee over the past few months. I think he will carry on my concerns quite well.”

  “Carry on your concerns? Are you handing over the business to him?”

  Thomas reached over and squeezed her hand. “He will have it, in time. He’s my heir. I cannot live forever, and I have quite a number of people depending on the business continuing for their survival. Robert has a level head on his shoulders and is eager to take the reins.”

  Estella couldn’t think of what to say. Thomas was setting his affairs in order. The thought, coming so soon on her concerns of the night before, sent a chill to her heart. She clutched at his hand.

  He patted hers in return. “Now, my dear, there is no need to fret. A man with my responsibilities must make certain his commitments will be met. Robert will do well by the business, and by Agatha too.”

  “By Agatha? Thomas, what is going on?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Given her recent moods, and the difficulty of finding a suitable husband, I have come to the conclusion Agatha may never marry. I thought to forewarn Robert of the possibility. With his agreement, we have drawn up papers to allow her to live out her days in the London townhouse, if she so chooses, and to receive a regular allowance from a trust. Since Robert’s wife is increasing again. He has no wish to add possible contention with another female in her domain.” Thomas pushed his unfinished plate away. “Agatha should be pleased. She will have a limited independence.”

  Not want to marry? Estella had never received that impression from his granddaughter. She’d always thought it a shame Agatha hadn’t already found a deserving husband. She had such pretty manners and such a good way with children.

  Thomas cleared his throat. “I would like to ask, should you have the time and inclination, to keep an eye on Agatha’s wellbeing if something should happen to me. Only at first, mind. I’m sure she won’t require much of your attention. But the girl is too fiercely independent for my taste, and I fear she will do something foolish once I’m gone.”

  “Of course I will. I had no idea she was set against marriage. How extraordinary!” Estella swallowed down the pain in her chest. She didn’t like this morbid turn of conversation at all. Thomas was a strong man. He just needed to relax more to get over his current lethargy. He couldn’t die. With that thought in mind, Estella vowed to see the next few days were as undemanding as possible.

  “She hides it well, mostly to save me from embarrassment, I think.” Thomas sank back in his chair with a softly uttered groan. “Now, what shall we do today? Your garden is looking a little lonely, out there.”

  Estella forced a smile to her lips. “Perhaps we could have the lounge carried out and you could read to me while I garden?”

  His warm smile settled her anxious heart. “With pleasure, my dear.”

  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 had 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 focused on 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 girls eyes grew glassy, her pink lips pressed together. Just when he feared she was abo
ut 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’ve not seen you in church in quite some time, 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 August 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.