Page 33 of Charity

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 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 paid attention to 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 girl’s eyes grew glassy, her pink lips pressed together. Just when he feared she was about 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 had not expected to see you in church until you wed, 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 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.

Once they made the sidewalk, he let out the breath he’d held. Their attempts to control the children were being met with considerable resistance. The boys wanted to run ahead; the girls wanted to linger and admire every pretty sight to be seen. They were threading their way down the street at a snail’s pace. Oscar could overtake them easily if he wished, or he could divert from the path and take the longer way home. But then the children’s voices rose in disagreement over something on the ground, and Agatha stopped to speak sharply to them. Even from a distance of several yards away, he could hear how vexed she’d become.