by Heather Boyd
He scooped Agatha into his arms and carried her from the room. She didn’t protest, didn’t struggle, only lay quiet in his arms, a rushed breath the only sign of emotion. In the hall, her butler watched them pass with shock clear on his features, mouth agape like a fish at market. Oscar ignored it all and returned Agatha to her bedchamber. He settled down on the lounge and held her against his chest. She was alone now. Deprived of the protection her grandfather could give.
“I thought you’d never come,” she whispered.
He kissed her hair. “I’m sorry. I was from home.” Oscar removed a few pins from her tightly bound hair, loosening the locks until she looked more herself, less drawn by her grief. “But I’m here now and I’ll not leave you again.”
Agatha snuggled against his chest, her hand digging into his coat pocket and tugging out his handkerchief. After a short, delicate blow, her fingers clutched at his coat. “You were wearing this last night.”
A weary sigh escaped him. “I’ve yet to go home.”
She sat up, hands splayed across his chest. Agatha’s eyes were red from crying, her cheeks splotched with angry color, but wariness tightened her eyes. “Where did you go? The Hells?”
He smoothed his fingertips across her damp cheek. “Daventry offered me bed space. We talked quite late.”
“Oh?” She sniffed. “You mean you drank quite late. You reek, my lord.”
“Sorry.” Oscar pulled her against his chest, enjoying the feel of her arms wrapped around his neck. “I should go and change, but, quite frankly, I’d not like to leave you alone.”
Agatha stilled in his arms then began to pull away. “I’m not alone.”
He slid his fingers along her jaw gently. “I know your grandfather is still here, but I’d like to stay. Let me. Please.”
Word would spread and everyone would know by now that he’d run to her front door and barged into a house in mourning. The whispers would reach Penelope eventually.
The sense of rightness swelled as he held her in his lap, offering comfort during her time of need. He wasn’t going to leave her. Not again. Lord Thorpe would sue him for breach of promise, and Oscar would marry Agatha. If the Carrington name was dragged through the mud in the process, he could not regret it.
Movement at the door caught his attention. He turned his head and met his mother’s shocked expression. Her expression turned to a glare. Once upon a time, that look would have cowed him. But those days were over. He could not please everyone, and it was high time he tried to please just one. He stroked his hand down Agatha’s back, thankful she could not see the disapproval in his mother’s face. She’d be embarrassed, and Agatha had nothing to feel guilty about today. She needed him as much as he needed her.
When Oscar pressed his lips to Agatha’s hair, she snuggled deeper into his arms. His mother took a step back, her hand rising to her mouth to hold in a gasp. Yes, Mother, I’m holding the woman I love. Can you tell that from where you stand?
Apparently she could, because her eyes filled with glittering tears and she turned her head away to give them privacy.
In his arms, Agatha stirred and looked up. She always managed to make him feel a better man than he was. He had to tell her about his mother at the door. But, oh, how she looked at him with such longing. Regardless of his mother’s presence at the door, the dead body down the hall, and the scandal of the situation, he dropped his head to press a gentle kiss to her lips. She smelled delicious, warm, and in every way his.
He kept his kisses light, undemanding, offering his love, strength, and anything else she wanted to take. When their lips parted, her contented sigh proved she’d needed him.
“My mother is at the door,” he whispered, holding her still when she would have jumped from his arms. “It’s too late to hide anything, precious. No more lies. No more secrets. Agreed?”
Agatha blinked up at him then her eyes softened. She cupped both hands to his jaw and returned his tender kiss. “No more secrets.”
~ * ~
All this time. Poor Thomas had thought that no one could win his granddaughter’s interest, but that was because her heart had already been claimed. How blind they had both been. Estella pushed the cold cup of tea away with a weary sigh. How her son had come to be so intimately involved with Agatha Birkenstock she didn’t know, but she grieved for the girl.
Her heart was bound to be broken by his marriage.
“Am I disturbing you, Mother?”
She looked up. Oscar’s face was filled with contrition and uncertainty—exactly the same expression Lynton had worn yesterday. She closed her tired eyes, willing the day of shocks to be over. “No. Of course not.”
When she opened them again, Oscar was perched on a chair opposite. “I am sorry for your loss, Mother. It must be difficult.”
Estella drew herself upright from her slump. “I should have expected it. He wasn’t a young man any longer.”
“No. No, he wasn’t.” Oscar shuffled in his chair. “Manning said you were quite disturbed by his death. Can I do anything for you now?”
“Lynton said that, did he?” Bitterness over Thomas’ death added a bite of anger to her words. Lynton would likely be happy to have Thomas out of his way.
Oscar merely shook his head at her. “Despite whatever history is between you and Manning now or in the past, Mother, he was truly cast down by Mr. Birkenstock’s death. As are we all.”
Estella took in a steadying breath. “Forgive me. It has been a long day and night.”
“Agatha was exhausted and fell asleep quite quickly, but have you been here all night?”
Estella nodded. “She sent for me not long after I arrived home from Daventry’s dinner. You, I imagine, must have been well and truly in a fog by then.”
Oscar looked down. “Perhaps not the best night to sample Daventry’s wine cellar as extensively as I did, but I am here now and intend to stay.”
“You cannot stay here.” She shook her head. “Think of her reputation. Or what she might still have, that is, after your unseemly arrival.”
“Her reputation is my only concern, and I promise to correct the damage I’ve done as soon as possible.”
Estella’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t mean to marry Agatha Birkenstock, surely? He was already to wed. “But what about Lady Penelope?”
Oscar’s face twisted into one of distaste. “I rather expect her father will sue me for breach of promise. I really couldn’t care less for my own reputation, should he savage me to society. Penelope can go find another gullible gentleman and force a match on him.”
“Oh, Oscar,” she cried. “What a mess you’re making. We may never recover from this.”
Oscar sat forward with his hands upon his knees. “As indelicate as this is for me to say to you, I’m planning to improve on my father’s efforts to be happy. I’ll marry Agatha and move from the city. If we can find a big enough place, and funds permit, we will take the orphanage children off the trustee’s hands and raise them ourselves.”
Estella fell back in the chair. He would throw away everything they had both worked so hard for, their position in society, a supremely beneficial marriage, and all for love?
She stared at him.
“Don’t look so surprised, Mother. You raised me to be a gentleman, to do the honorable thing. I should have married Agatha months ago, long before Lady Penelope made her accusation. A lie, by the way. I’ve never even held Penelope’s hand.”
Estella gulped. “Is Agatha with child?”
“Unfortunately, not.” He grinned. “But give me time and I’ll report happy news in the near future, I’m sure.”
“Oscar, this is no joking matter. This is serious.”
“And it’s about time I was serious and lived up to my obligations.” He stood and prowled the room. “Agatha will be my wife, and to make us both happy, we will have the orphans with us. If you cannot bear to lose your position in society because of my decision, you are free to disown me as loudly as you dare. B
ut if you make a scene before Agatha, I will never speak to you again.”
Estella gulped. She barely recognized the affable gentleman in the son before her. He reminded her too much of Lynton. “Oscar, I like Agatha very much, as you well know, but have you really thought this through?”
Her son set his hands to the back of a chair. “I’ve thought of little else since signing that blasted betrothal document. I made a mistake then, but I’d be a bigger fool if I didn’t marry her. I love Agatha with my whole heart, and I won’t make the same mistake my father did. I’m not afraid of what people will say. The bigger scandal would be never to marry her at all.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
OSCAR HURRIED UP the front steps of his townhouse, anxious to greet his unexpected visitors. He’d spent the last few days in Agatha’s home, mostly holding her when she cried, and had thought little of the outside world. But he should have completed his assessment of the orphanage by now. He regretted his failure to deliver his findings to the trustees, not have them demand a meeting like this. He could have worked while Agatha rested. She might have found the puzzle of straightening the orphanage finances a relief from missing her grandfather.
As he crossed the threshold of his drawing room, he drew to a sudden halt at the unsmiling faces of the trustees from the Grafton Street Orphanage. Each gentleman curled their lip at his arrival. Were they that angry with him over the delay? He’d have to think quickly to appease them and maybe they would grant him a little more time. “Gentlemen, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
They glanced between themselves then Lord Carter stepped forward. “Never in all my years have I had to engage in conversation with a gentlemen of such depravity. If it were not for our pressing business, I should have no cause to call on you at all.”
Oscar blinked at the startling statement. He glanced around those present, seeing varying degrees of violence in their expressions. All this because he was late? Perhaps they hadn’t come for the accounts, after all. “How have I offended you?”
Lord Carter set his hands to his hips. “By taking up with that . . . that . . . oh, I can scarcely say the words. Her own grandfather, a man ever conscious of his place in the world, still lies at rest within the house and yet you frolic with the girl, no doubt on his very death bed too.”
The gentlemen closest to Lord Carter looked everywhere but at him. Oscar shut his mouth. But he was shocked to his core. “There has been no frolicking, as you put it. Miss Birkenstock is a very good friend and is deeply distressed by her grandfather’s death. I am giving comfort, not debauching her. But you may set your minds at rest. It is my intention to marry her and restore her reputation.”
“We couldn’t give a fig for the girl. If she hasn’t the sense to boot you from the house, then she deserves every ill that comes to her. We, my colleagues and I, are concerned with more important matters.”
“And what exactly would matter more than your mistaken assumptions about me and Agatha Birkenstock?”
Lord Carter held out his hand. Mr. Manning, his dear newly discovered papa, stepped from the rear of the group where Oscar hadn’t spied him before with a paper in his hand. Manning didn’t meet his eye. Carter took the paper, gave it a little shake, and then handed it to Oscar.
He unfolded the note and read.
“You will find everything in order. You are not now, nor have you ever been, intimately involved with the Grafton Street Orphanage. We thank you for your interest, but are unable to accept your contribution to the scheme.”
Oscar raised his head from the ridiculous bit of paper. “But this is a lie. It is a well known fact that my family has been intimately involved for the past years. You would not have Lord Ettington’s financial support if not for our association.”
Carter glared. “I hardly think you can claim credit for that. Lord Ettington is a marquess, a benefactor to many charitable causes, and a superior gentleman not given to associating with rabble. We would never desire an acquaintance with a fellow of your low moral character. We must think of our reputations. They could be irreparably harmed by the taint of your association. It pains me to give the cut direct to any woman, but I shall cross the road to avoid Lady Carrington from this moment on. So should any good woman in society, if I had my way.”
“Don’t you dare!” Their decision and accusations stunned him. Oh, he’d known he’d endure a loss of status by marrying Agatha, but this was so far beyond what he’d imagined. He was appalled that they would turn against his mother like this.
“You are hardly in a position to tell us what we may or may not do.” Carter snapped his fingers imperiously until Lord Brooke held out another paper for him to take. “This concludes our business. Good day.”
Oscar opened the note. A one thousand pound promissory note stared back at him. Was that how much his family had contributed over the years? The sum was astonishingly small. He folded the note carefully and tucked it into his pocket as the trustees filed out. He didn’t bother to look at them. They were right, of course. His actions with Agatha had placed him in an indefensible position to be involved with the orphans. He had not behaved as a gentleman should and would be seen as a bad influence. But Mother?
He looked up. His father stood opposite him.
“I should, by rights, have something scathing to say about your behavior. However, that would be like calling the kettle black. As it is, I’ve a mind to call them out for the slight they intend to cast upon your mother. Unfortunately, if I say a word they, and she, may never speak to me again. There is too much at stake to have that happen yet.”
Oscar raked his fingers through his hair. This was a catastrophe of the worst proportions. “They are right, Father. I am completely in the wrong here.”
Manning’s breath hissed out. “Your mother told you?”
“Of course she didn’t. Would Mother ever admit to any scandal?”
Manning chuckled suddenly. “No. No, she wouldn’t.”
The older man looked Oscar over. He returned the intense scrutiny, recognizing the familiar angles that had puzzled him before. How had he missed connecting the similarities?
He’d missed them because his mother had never given him cause to suspect her of infidelity while his father lived. Behind closed doors, she had always been scathing of women who cuckolded their husbands. The man he’d called Papa had agreed right along with her. Only now Oscar knew that his papa had been weak and easily led astray by other women. How chagrined Mother must be now. Especially since she’d unwittingly done the same as her unfaithful husband had.
Oscar smiled at his real father. “I hardly know what name to call you.”
“Lynton will suffice.” His eyes glittered with unshed tears, and he quickly looked away. “Did I hear correctly that you will be marrying Miss Birkenstock?”
Quite choked up, Oscar took a moment to collect himself before he answered. “As soon as possible. However, if I cannot obtain a special license, we will be traveling to the border without delay after the funeral. I have done far too much damage to both Agatha and now my mother to wait for the banns to be called.”
“Good man.” Manning clapped his hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “I may be able to help you with the special license. Staines can add pressure to my request if it becomes necessary.”
Oscar settled himself to a chair, quite done in by the events of the morning. But one thing still puzzled him. “Why did he visit my home the other day?”
“Staines? Isn’t it obvious?” Lynton laughed again. “He loves his family.”
Oscar squinted up at his father. “And the nephew needing a new house? What nephew?”
“He meant you.” Lynton pursed his lips. “Oscar, you will soon learn that my brother is a terrible force to turn once he has chosen to act. Although I cannot claim you openly as my son, he will ignore all of that to provide for you. He loves being the head of the family and lording his opinion over all of us. We have disagreed over my taking orders these last twenty years. I sho
uld suggest, for a peaceful life, that it is in your best interests to let him have his way. Or at least consider that you will likely lose. He’s probably considering properties to purchase for you even now. I do hope you like Oxfordshire. No doubt he’ll find a property close to home.”
Oscar took Lynton at his word about the property. He only knew of Staines by reputation and by all accounts he was not a man to gainsay. But he could very well be against his marriage to Agatha. After all, her grandfather had been in trade; he held no title as Lady Penelope’s father did. What would he say about Oscar marrying a woman with no elevating connections? Would he care that he loved her?
He paced the room—worried. Perhaps he’d have to flee to Scotland to marry after all. He would do well to make plans for it just in case. Yet, inspiration struck. “Lynton, I wanted to ask, and Agatha wanted this too. Would you consent to marry us, should we obtain a special license?”
If Lynton agreed, it might influence the duke’s decision to support the marriage. But Lynton remained silent. Dread churning his stomach into knots, Oscar turned around. A single tear flowed down his father’s face before he brushed it quickly away.
“I should be honored.”
Oscar sagged with relief. “Thank you.” He grinned. “Now, I should like to return to Agatha next door. Will you join us so we might share the good news about you officiating?”
“Ah, no. I’m afraid I shall not be able to see either you or Agatha until the funeral. I have some pressing business to attend to over the next day that cannot be delayed. Please pass along my regards and affections to your mother and Miss Birkenstock. I shall see you all very soon.”
When Lynton hurried out the door, he took Oscar’s optimism with him. It seemed that despite the fact that he would gladly make amends for ruining Agatha, some things were unforgivable—even to a father.