Page 21 of Charity

Footsteps rushed up the hall and halted outside her door. “Miss Birkenstock,” her maid whispered. “Your grandfather has returned and wishes to see you. Now.”

“I’ll be there directly,” Agatha called.

When she turned to say goodbye to Oscar, he’d already disappeared.

CHAPTER NINE

The childish screams of happy pleasure lifted Oscar’s head for the third time that morning. He was supposed to be sorting through the accounts before his next appointment, but the orphans’ shrieks kept pulling him toward the window.

Agatha was outside playing with the unruly bunch. The first time he had dared look, he found her swamped by children. Two on her knees, the others hovering about. Agatha sat inside the circle of children, but it was the look upon her face that kept him by the window.

She loved them. The children had her complete an undivided attention.

An older boy was showing her something cupped in the palm of his hand. Agatha had examined it carefully, smiled, and then the boy had run to a corner of the garden. The other children had followed, but Agatha remained seated with the baby bouncing on her knee.

It was the sight of Agatha’s joy that demolished the little of his. Even through the dirty glass, he could see she loved the child she held. Her face was a mix of contentment and acute longing as the child patted her face and pressed, no doubt, wet kisses to her cheek.

From the start, Agatha’s loneliness had tugged at him. The orphans seemed to fill a void in her that life couldn’t fill. But as tempting as she was, he hadn’t considered marrying her. He’d been expected to look higher for his bride. Love hadn’t featured in his calculations. Yet he missed Agatha with a fierce ache he couldn’t easily dismiss.

He sighed. He couldn’t look outside again. Agatha had caught him last time and scowled so fiercely he dreaded speaking to her again. Today his chest pained him, and it was from remembrances of yesterday. He hadn’t wanted to leave Agatha’s side. He had wanted to stay warm and cosseted in Agatha’s arms, but when the maid invaded their private world, he had made his escape without a word of goodbye.

So it was over. Finally.

He should marry Penelope as soon as it could be arranged. Yet his heart sat like a lead weight, dragging his spirits lower. With time and luck, the sensations would dim until he could think of Agatha with only fondness. But today the thought of her was a thousand knives piercing his heart.

So he sat at the desk, straining to hear the world outside while futilely trying to add the same column of sums.

“Darling, why so serious a face?” His mother hovered at the door, her arm twined about Mr. Birkenstock’s.

He threw his pen down with relief. “’Tis nothing, Mother. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Can a mother not enquire about her son if she chances to come upon him?” She slipped into a chair with a delicate huff, but Oscar wasn’t fooled. Her eyes darted about the desk, no doubt trying to ascertain his progress.

“Of course.”

Oscar nodded to Birkenstock. The older man’s face had slacked of expression, but Oscar thought him quite weary today. “Please, take a seat, sir. Shall I have your granddaughter called to you? She is out in the gardens with the children, I believe.”

“No, no.” Birkenstock mopped his brow. “I shall search her out directly.”

Disappointment thundered through Oscar, but he forced a smile to his lips. “Very well.”

He shut the ledger, more certain than ever that he would never tally the page today. It wasn’t as if he were in a rush to confirm his suspicions—that the orphanage was struggling to pay its way and had been for some time.

He looked expectantly at his visitors. As always, there was a definite companionship between his mother and Agatha’s grandfather. A subtle and unspoken ease, which spoke of a deeper acquaintance than they let on to others. They had always been on friendly terms, even when his late father had lived, but quite frankly, Oscar was tired of pretending he didn’t suspect they were closer than mere friends.

“Was there something you wished to say to me?”

His mother squirmed in her chair. “No. Nothing out of the ordinary. I just wanted to remind you that I’m bound for Chertsey soon.”

“Ah, yes, your annual pilgrimage to see your old school friend. I do, indeed, remember. Please convey my regards to Miss Hill.” He glanced between them. “Was that all?”

Mr. Birkenstock shuffled awkwardly upon his chair then let out a loud breath. “Lady Carrington was telling me her itinerary this morning, and since our travel plans happen to coincide, I thought to take her up in my carriage for both journeys. I’m bound for Winchester tomorrow morning on business, but I’d happily delay my plans to deliver her safely to Chertsey, given the recent spate of attacks by brigands on the roads.”

Oscar raked his fingers through his hair. “Yes, I remember reading about those again this morning at breakfast. Until I was roped into sorting through this mess, I was toying with the idea of accompanying Mother to Chertsey myself. But considering I was absent from Town all of the last month, I am hesitant to abandon my future wife again. I would be pleased if you can take my place. Very obliging of you.”

Oscar turned to his mother. Her eyes widened in shock at his easy acceptance of the lie. He gave her a weary smile. Far be it for him to quibble over her pursuit of happiness. If Birkenstock pleased her, then he’d be the last man to stand in her way.

Birkenstock clambered to his feet. “Well then, my lady. I must be going. I’ll just pop out to speak to my granddaughter and return momentarily to escort you home.”