Page 11 of Charity

Surely the orphans couldn’t be that bad.

“I’m told the children have been practicing with Miss Birkenstock for months. Why, I think they have positively blossomed under her greater influence. She has devoted many hours to their well-being in recent months and has a very good way with them. As a patron, you should be keen to see how your generous contribution has improved the children.” Alarmed at the way her son’s face had paled, Estella placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Oscar?”

Her loud tone turned a few heads in their direction and, after another long moment, his smile returned. “That sounds wonderful, Mother. I am glad the orphans have such good care.”

The patter of many tiny feet drew Estella’s attention to the stage. Six children stood upon the small, raised dais—the youngest and last orphan absent from their ranks, being too young to do more than wail—nervously waiting to perform. She smiled her encouragement, but doubted the poor dears noticed. Their faces turned as one to a side curtained area where the scrape of wooden chair or stool could be heard.

As the audience settled, Estella cast a quick glance at her son. Although his face appeared impassive, as was most always the case, there was a tension, a new strain upon Oscar’s features that hadn’t existed until recently. Given his usual even-tempered disposition, she worried for him. Becoming engaged to an earl’s daughter should have eased Oscar’s concerns, but the improvement in his connections appeared to have produced a new gravity. Although he’d been the toast of society for an age, he didn’t seem happy within himself anymore. Restlessness seemed to grip him, and Estella had found no way of discerning exactly what had altered.

Parties and dinners certainly hadn’t cheered him.

Although discovering the start of his disquiet was important to her, the soft notes of a pianoforte swept over the room and the children began to sing. The orphans held the tune well. They pulled her into the sweetness of the song and the superior accompaniment kept her enthralled until the very last note. The audience clapped enthusiastically and the children sang two more songs.

During the third set, she glanced at Oscar, sure that he would be yawning his boredom. But he sat with his eyes closed, head dipping in time with the tune. She’d never seen him so absorbed in a concert. Indeed, judging by his lack of enthusiasm for past performances, Estella feared he’d find some excuse and abandon her after the first note.

As the last words faded, he stood to clap for the children, causing others about them to do the same. Such a reaction was unprecedented for Oscar, but she rose to her feet and clapped for the giggling children.

As the orphans were ushered out of the room, Oscar’s eyes followed them with an intensity she found disturbing. When they were gone, his animation died.

“I see you enjoyed the little performance after all.”

Oscar led her to the buffet set along a side wall. “Yes, an altogether tolerable performance. I shouldn’t mind hearing them again one day.”

Tolerable performance! Whatever blue-devils plagued her son were not to be easily banished by a heartwarming melody. As she added chicken and little sandwiches to her plate, she wished he would confide in her. But no matter how she’d phrased her questions these past weeks, he’d avoided any kind of meaningful answer. He worried her. “Then I shall be sure to demand your escort again.”

His lips twisted into a shallow smile. He turned to fetch her tea, led her to a little grouping of tables and chairs, then left to fill a plate for himself.

“May I join you, Lady Carrington?”

Estella looked up and forced a smile to her lips. “Of course, Mr. Manning. Do please join my son and me. He will return momentarily.”

With supple grace, Manning drew a chair out to her right and settled his teacup before him. From a seated position, Estella found Manning’s greater height easier to bear. Age had peppered his pale hair with gray, but a boyish quality, a reminder of him as a youth, remained. Despite holding the position of rector of St. George’s, he still cut a fine figure.

His long but damaged fingers, still gloved to protect feminine sensibilities from shock, fiddled with the teacup until she could stand the silence no longer. “Didn’t the children acquit themselves well today? Such wonderful voices should definitely be heard more often.”

Manning nodded, took a sip of his tea, and settled back in his chair, stretching his long legs before him as if he planned to stay a while. “I’d rather hear your voice, but I’ve discovered to my considerable disappointment that you no longer perform.”

Estella smothered a laugh. “Manning, it’s been many years since I’ve had the desire to sing in society. There are so many younger, fresher voices to be heard nowadays.”

A scowl crossed his face. “You only stopped when your husband disapproved of the adulation you received. He never could stand to share the attention.”

Estella pressed her lips together. Here we go. Another round of veiled complaints aimed at the memory of a dead man. Her late husband hadn’t been the most agreeable man in the end, but did Lynton Manning have to constantly bring up his flaws?

Manning touched the back of her hand with the tip of his leather-gloved finger briefly. “Still blindly loyal to his memory, I see.”

Really, what did he expect her to say to that? No matter what had happened in the past, Estella was determined to never become a bitter woman as her years advanced. If she harbored ill feelings toward the man who’d stolen her youth, no one would ever know of it. She’d worked hard to forget her life with Charles Ryall and forget what might have been if she’d married someone else. “Really, Mr. Manning, you sound very unlike a man who holds the position of rector of St. George’s. I had hoped your calling might have settled your prickly temperament, but it seems you are still given to flights of fancy.”

Manning set his cup down with a clatter. He didn’t speak immediately, but his silence spoke volumes. If five and twenty years hadn’t passed since their last disagreement, she might have tried to appease him. “My memory is surprisingly clear about certain events. Should I remind you?”

Estella swallowed, shocked to the core that Manning would bring up his ridiculous assertion after all this time. Revisiting the past would change nothing. She and Lynton Manning had not suited when they were younger and now they were both older and wiser they still did not.

“Ah, Mr. Manning. A pleasure to see you again, sir,” Oscar said as he fell into a chair on Estella’s left.

“Carrington.” Manning met her son’s gaze and she blanched at his intense scrutiny. She shouldn’t care what her oldest acquaintance thought of her eldest offspring, but she was holding her breath. She forced herself to breathe normally again.

Oscar’s lips lifted in amusement as he glanced between them. “Is there a problem, Manning?”

Manning shook his head slowly. “No, nothing. It’s just you…”