Page 39 of Charity

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 your 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 theater 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 theater 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 theater 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 prowled 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 the theater? 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 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 possibility 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 and well, and everything would be right with the world again.