The Distinguished Rogues Bundle

by Heather Boyd

  Oscar scowled across his bookroom, where the gathered Grafton Street Orphanage trustees were crammed into the tiny space. His opinion of Lord Carter decreased every time he spoke. “No. I am not saying that at all. I need more time. It appears the industrious Mr. Dickson has cause to explain his overuse of Orphanage funds. There are a vast number of discrepancies between his accounting and the facts as I find them. God knows where all his purchases have gone, but they are not at the orphanage and I can see no evidence that they ever arrived there.”

  “Gentlemen, this is an alarming development,” Mr. Manning conceded. “But it is not the worst it can be. As Carrington has promised us, the orphanage’s expenses are well within the boundaries of the combined annual contributions made to the fund. If only Mr. Dickson hadn’t squandered them, we might be much better off. And so would the children.”

  The other trustees muttered between themselves. They’d taken the news surprisingly well. But the thefts by Mr. Dickson, gone unnoticed for the last year, had ruled out the expense of attempting any repairs to the premises, at least for this year. There was so much to be done and no ready funds to accomplish the task. There was just enough to feed, clothe, and warm the children and the few servants for the coming winter.

  As the opposing arguments between the trustees rose to a loud roar, Oscar met Mr. Manning’s gaze. There was something quite familiar about the man’s face. Oscar felt he should know him better and be happy to spend more time with him. But they moved in different circles, their only connection being the Grafton Street orphanage and his occasional church attendance.

  Manning smiled and closed the gap between them. “They will be like this for hours, I assure you. I envy you your earlier reticence to involve yourself in the orphanage’s affairs. I might have saved myself considerable vexation should I have followed your example.”

  “The charity is my mother’s pet project. I only continued my contributions to please her.”

  “I’m sure she appreciates it. She is quite passionate about the children’s welfare,” Manning murmured with approval. “When does she return from visiting with her friend?”

  “Not till Wednesday.”

  “Ah.” Manning glanced around the room and didn’t elaborate. Was he aware of his mother’s affair with Birkenstock? That could prove uncomfortable, should he discover the truth of her trip.

  Yet curiosity ate at Oscar. There was something about the flush of color to Manning’s features that hinted he was much more concerned than he dared let on. “Was there something I can help you with in her absence?”

  “No, not really.” Manning chewed his lip. “However, I am curious to know if your mother appeared in good spirits before she left?” He sighed. “I ask because the Duke of Staines can be a trifle meddling, and I understand they had some few words recently at a ball. Now there appears to be some salacious gossip circulating about the pair.”

  Oscar remembered the night he had spotted her speaking with the duke quite well. It had not appeared a friendly conversation by the end. “Mother did appear upset that night. But she did not choose to confide in me. Given her melancholy on the journey home, I put little faith in the rumors of any kind of affair between them. If anything, they seemed to have had a falling out.”

  Manning’s gaze fell to the floor and he rocked a little from one foot to another. “My brother likes to flirt and stir up society. There is nothing between them now, nor has there ever been in the past, I’m sure.”

  Oscar had forgotten the connection between the Duke of Staines and Mr. Manning. He knew Staines by reputation only, but surely a brother would know the truth of any affair. “Then I am happy to hear it, but what do you think they disagreed on?”

  Manning rocked again on the balls of his feet.

  “I say, Manning. What do you think of this notion?” Lord Carter called and drew Mr. Manning away. But Oscar was now rather intrigued as to what Manning’s answer might have been. What business could his mother and the duke have in common?

  Oscar rejoined the conversation while the debate about pursuing Mr. Dickson was discussed at length.

  “I refuse to allow myself to be cheated in this,” Lord Carter fumed.

  “We were all cheated,” several grumbled.

  “The orphanage was the one swindled,” Manning reminded them gently.

  “Yes, well, that is really beside the point. One does not swindle the nobility. It shall not be endured,” Lord Carter asserted with force.

  Manning offered a tight smile in return.

  The conversation moved in circles.

  When Oscar caught his eye, Manning rolled his but just as quickly hid the gesture. The sight of Manning’s fleeting expression reminded Oscar that he had always liked the man. He had found him quite intelligent—with a duke for a brother, he certainly should have been—and in his own way, quite amusing. In a vicar, his attitudes were unique.

  It seemed a shame that his mother should so disregard the man’s attentions. Mother enjoyed a good laugh and always scolded Oscar when he rolled his eyes as Manning had done. It seemed that they shared a sense of humor. Society wouldn’t turn a hair if his mother chose to take up with Manning. His relationship to a duke would smooth any ruffled feathers while Manning persuaded Oscar’s stubborn mother to marry again.

  With shock, Oscar settled against his heavy desk and considered his line of thinking. He could easily accept the change, if Manning could convince his mother to marry. But he couldn’t say that about any other man. What was it about Manning that soothed him?

  He looked Manning over critically. Tall, as tall, if not an inch higher, than Oscar. Pale, his neat hair was peppered through with grey. He was lean too. Just like Oscar, Manning had not an ounce of spare flesh about him. Blue eyes, a shade paler than Oscar’s mother’s. In his youth, he must have been much admired. So why hadn’t he succeeded in winning over Oscar’s mother now?

  Perhaps Manning reminded her too much of her own son. There were some similarities between them—like height and build and complexion. Then there was Manning’s damaged hand. Oscar couldn’t believe his mother would be so squeamish as to discount a man because of an impairment. Honestly, he’d be more inclined to state nothing much could be wrong with Manning at all. He was a duke’s brother, one that appeared quietly devoted to living a good life. He was by no means poor himself, if the gossip were anything to go by. And he did seem a nice, gentlemanly-like fellow.

  Oscar would be proud to have him as a second father.

  “The Duke of Staines, my lords.”

  Oscar looked up with shock as his butler stood aside to allow the Duke of Staines to stalk into the room.

  What the devil?

  “Ah, Lynton. What the devil are you doing bickering with this bunch of old goats?”

  Several of the trustees blushed. A few snarled, “Nothing that concerns you.”

  The duke, however, laughed. “Lynton, I’m bored. Amuse me.” With a quick glance about the chamber, he settled himself behind Oscar’s desk and propped his feet up on the desk.

  “Your Grace,” Manning said around his clenched jaw. “Perhaps I could call on you at home when I finish here?”

  The duke ignored his brother and looked at Oscar instead. “Any chance for a spot of brandy? I’m parched.”

  The plaintive question brought a smile to Oscar’s face. He poured a glass and passed it over without comment. Damn funny fellow to be dropping in here for amusement. There was nothing entertaining about the trustees at all.

  Manning turned his back on the duke. “So are we decided to leave things as they are for now?” Several of the trustees glanced toward the duke and nodded, then, within a few minutes, they were all on their way, except for Manning and the Duke of Staines.

  Staines cleared his throat. “Good to see I haven’t lost my touch at clearing a room of quarrelsome creatures. At least now the annoying rabble is gone, we can get down to serious business. My nephew’s townhouse is too small.”

  Osca
r’s mouth fell open, startled by the quick change of subject. He shut it swiftly.

  “Where he chooses to live is of no concern to you,” Manning growled. “Why must you meddle?”

  “Because that is what family is for.” Staines drained his glass and held it out. “More please.”

  Really, what on earth was the Duke of Staines doing in Oscar’s bookroom? How did one subtly suggest a duke leave? He had things to do for the orphanage, and he’d like to discuss his findings further with Manning before he left today. His Grace was in the way.

  He poured the brandy and passed it over.

  “There’s a good fellow. Don’t mind me, I’m always this way. Just ask Lynton here how annoying I can be when I want something.”

  Manning pursed his lips as if he’d bitten sour lemons.

  “Now, where is that delightful woman? Essy and I have a few more matters to discuss.”

  Manning set his hands to his hips. “She isn’t here, Ambrose, and you’d better leave her be or I shall knock you on your arse and leave you there.”

  “Just look at that. It only takes one potential scandal for him to lose his preachy reserve,” Staines said to Oscar. He turned to his brother. “Remember Lynton, it wasn’t me who misbehaved. I expected better from you than to keep something of this importance from me.”

  Manning cast an apologetic glance toward Oscar. “I wasn’t certain before. It’s something of a shock after so long of not thinking about it.”

  “Careless of you,” Staines murmured. “Carrington must have been supremely put out.”

  Oscar stepped forward. “Manning and I are not on unfriendly terms, Your Grace.”

  Staines smiled suddenly. “Good to know. Hopefully that won’t change anytime soon.” He stood and approached Oscar. “You have your mother about the eyes, but the rest of you is all your father,” he laughed. When Staines held out his hand, Oscar took it and returned the firm handshake. Then the duke hurried out.

  Oscar turned to Manning. “What the devil was all that about?”

  Manning wiped his hand across his jaw. “Congratulations. The Duke of Staines has decided he likes the look of you. You have not seen the last of him, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah.” Could that be a good or bad thing for his position in society? The way Manning phrased it, he sounded doubtful it could be good. He would keep his distance from the duke until he was sure. Although, he could end up with an invitation to Staines’ private gaming hell, the Hunt Club, if he continued to like Oscar.

  Manning’s stare pierced him. “Don’t even think about applying to him for admittance to his club. Your mother will throttle you if you end up there.”

  “How did you—?”

  A wry grin crossed Manning’s face. “I wasn’t always committed to the church. Ambrose opened the club before I took orders. I’m well aware of what goes on there. Which is why he imposed a rule that family be excluded. His own son cannot cross the threshold. Given his fondness for Essy, he won’t let you even breathe the air from the street front.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “Worse, and certainly no place for you.”

  Although vexed that one, Manning could read his mind and two, that Manning didn’t hesitate to offer an opinion about his unlikely admittance to the Hunt Club, Oscar let the matter drop. He had other concerns that took precedence. “I wondered if I might apply to you for advice. I had a visit today from a fellow who’s looking for his lost siblings. They disappeared some ten years ago. Do you have any contacts at the Foundling Hospital I could apply to for information?”

  Manning mulled it over. “Perhaps. Who are you looking for?”

  “I. Ah. I’d rather not say at this time.”

  Manning raised a brow at his hesitation. “Makes it rather difficult to help.”

  “I know. But I am honor bound to keep quiet for the time being.”

  “If he’s a common man, he might apply directly to them, but it could be some time before they attend the matter.” Manning arched a brow. “If he is someone altogether more important, as I’m sensing might be true in this case, given your hesitation to speak his name, then I’d be happy to act as intermediary.”

  Oscar nodded. He didn’t know whether to confide or not. He’d have to discuss the matter with Randall first. “I’d appreciate you’re efforts, but I’ll need to apply for permission.”

  “Of course. Was there anything else?”

  “No, no.”

  “Then if you will excuse me, my lord, I must return to St. George’s. Good evening to you.”

  As Manning left the room, Oscar followed. “I say, Manning, what will happen to the children should the orphanage close?”

  Manning set his hat in place, but his expression turned sad. “I expect they will go where every unwanted child goes. Back onto the streets, unless someone else is prepared to step forward to see to their care. It is a matter that lingers in my mind. I should not like to see them gone away for good. I’ve grown particularly fond of the little ones.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  OSCAR PRESSED HIS fist to his mouth to cover his reaction to the stench of the crowds inside the lobby of the Theatre Royal. London’s most popular theatre might be the place to be seen, but it thrummed with the vast unwashed and over-scented, threatening to overwhelm his senses. He craned his neck, glancing over the dark head of his betrothed, hoping to catch sight of his friend and his wife before the cloying scents caused him to gag. The Earl and Countess of Daventry had refused callers today, but Daventry had later sent a note promising to be at the theatre tonight. He couldn’t see them yet. Damn it.

  Lord and Lady Prewitt, along with Penelope, moved through the crowds without waiting for him. Oscar hurried to catch up, eyeing his party with growing frustration. Lord Prewitt had his wife on one arm and Penelope on the other. Given Prewitt’s refusal to give up either one on the way to their seats, he commanded a wide path through the throng.

  The upper corridor was thick with the ton, and Oscar was stopped one time too many to have any say in the seating arrangements for his box. Both Penelope and Lady Prewitt took the front seats. Prewitt sat behind Penelope, leaving Oscar to take a place behind Lady Prewitt, diagonally opposed to his betrothed, and unable to even whisper privately to her during the performance. In fact, it seemed the chances of pleasant conversation were suspended for the evening. Neither Lord nor Lady Prewitt appeared keen to speak, and Penelope ignored everything but the empty stage.

  Oscar settled in the chair and withheld a grimace. Quite frankly, he was shot of this whole getting married business. The chance of any intimacy with his future wife before they married was apparently not open to discussion. He was very firmly being held at a respectable distance. Anyone could think they were not to marry at all.

  The theatre was abuzz with activity. Oscar scanned the other boxes, searching and tipping his head to acquaintances but hoping to find Lord Daventry in the crowd. His regular box was still empty, but Oscar couldn’t see him paying his respects to any other party. Perhaps Daventry had had a change of plan and decided to stay at home with his lovely wife. But then, punctuality might not be high on a newly married man’s priorities. And Lilly was often ill. While the short carriage ride shouldn’t harm her, the earl might travel London’s streets with more caution now.

  As angry voices rose from the pit, Oscar glanced down. The mob was unruly tonight, pushing and shoving without much thought to propriety. He’d never wanted to venture below. He’d always had a box from which to view the drama of the night. A woman shrieked and then the crowd laughed. Oscar caught a glimpse of a woman thrown over a man’s shoulder as he marched out the opposite door.

  His lips quirked. At least someone was fortunate tonight.

  Oscar turned his head to the left as Leopold Randall’s dark form prowling the crowds below. His seemingly random path suggested to Oscar that he was searching the rough crowd for the familiar faces of his family. Had Randall mentioned that any of them had a fondness for th
e theatre? Oscar tried to remember, but didn’t think they’d touched on the siblings’ talents or proclivities. That could be useful information too.

  Thinking of Randall’s searching below, Oscar turned his attention back to the upper boxes, peering intently at every woman present tonight and particularly at the ladies he didn’t know well. It was not beyond the realm of impossibility to imagine that the old duke had married Randall’s sister to another peer. He could have bought the loyalty of the man by arranging such a distinguished connection, with a hefty dowry thrown in for good measure. The thought sickened him. But none of the ladies he spotted bore a strong resemblance to the female sibling of Leopold Randall. For a minute, Oscar couldn’t remember her name. Rose. Now he remembered. All sweet smiles and a thorny disposition when crossed, according to Randall. If the chit had maintained her fractious temperament, she’d be so much easier to identify.

  Unless her fiery spirit had been crushed by her situation.

  Oscar shook himself. It didn’t do him any good to harbor such morbid thoughts. The siblings would be found, alive, well, and everything would be right with the world again. Well, right for everyone except him.

  As the house lights dimmed, Oscar spotted movement in the Earl of Daventry’s box. They had arrived just as the opera was to begin. Daventry settled his wife, dressed in a revealing, dark claret gown, into her seat with such focus that he never noticed the crowd loudly acknowledge his tardy arrival.

  Oscar leaned forward, closer to Lady Prewitt, so he might whisper into her ear and be heard clearly. “Forgive me, Lady Prewitt, but I must leave our party for a few minutes. I have an urgent matter to discuss with the Earl of Daventry.”

  Lady Prewitt nodded, her head turned fractionally, and then her lips moved lightly against his cheek. “I will inform my sister.”

  Nonplussed by the intimate contact, Oscar snapped his head back an inch. “Thank you.”

  Instead of embarrassment, triumph tugged Lady Prewitt’s lips into a pleased smile. Oscar rushed to leave the box, appalled that he might have unwittingly offered encouragement somewhere along the way. He could not and would not act so shamefully toward his future sister by marriage.