Page 9 of Charity

Living with her grandfather had, at one time, been very easy. When Agatha had been younger and still distraught over her parents’ sudden deaths, Thomas Birkenstock had set his business affairs aside to soften her heartbreak. He’d been gently patient with her wish to remain apart from the world. Unfortunately, such sympathetic treatment hadn’t lasted much beyond her sixteenth year, the time when he realized she was of an age to need a husband. The once gentle prodding had grown to become a daily lecture—an interview where Agatha struggled to be an agreeable, dutiful grandchild, but not commit herself to any man he favored.

Agatha surreptitiously watched him scanning the London Times while he dug into a heaped plate of fried beef and cabbage with a saucer of mead to wash it down. Normally, she could ignore the combination. Today, however, she was hard pressed to keep her countenance when he belched into his hand. Meal times were the worst of living with him.

The flick of the paper signaled an end to his silence and the continuation of his routine. He was a man of exact habits, neat to a fault, and growing obsessed with seeing her married, now that she was an old maid of one and twenty years.

She counted the times he folded the paper: in half, then thirds. As he stood and tucked it under his arm, she felt the weight of his stare settle over her. Her grandfather’s lips had compressed, signaling his thoughts had probably turned to her unwed state again.

“Shall we meet at eleven today, child? I have some letters of business to write before our discussion.”

A brief reprieve, but certainly not an escape from the inevitable. “Of course, sir.”

She smiled until he disappeared from view then let her ladylike pose crumple. How was she supposed to commit to marry a man of his choosing? It wasn’t that she disliked the idea of marriage, a home, children, or the happy slide into comfortable old age. Yet her foolishness three months ago had made that respectable future utterly impossible.

Agatha lifted her teacup to her lips and sipped, glancing about the morning room with a critical eye. The chamber was in a bright, sunny position, being at the rear of the house, and she’d gathered her grandmother’s best possessions together to make the room feel homey for her grandfather. She was a good housekeeper for him. Couldn’t he be happy to let their situation remain a long-term arrangement?

She let the cup clatter noisily onto its saucer. No, he wouldn’t let the matter rest, but she had an hour in which to enjoy her life before the lecture began again. She had temporary freedom.

Leaving the morning room behind, Agatha hurried to her little corner of the house—a narrow slice of room that she’d taken over completely. The cluttered space held her favorite things: books, needlepoint, a soft quilt belonging to her mother that she liked to tuck about her legs on cold days. The dark walls and lavender-scented chamber offered Agatha more comfort than any other part of the house these days.

Dragging out the heavy, cushioned chair before her writing table, Agatha sat to write out the menu for tomorrow night’s dinner then wrote a reply to her newly married friend’s letter, being sure to make her life sound more wonderful than it really was. Virginia, Lady Hallam, didn’t need to know the truth of her situation.

She didn’t need to know that Agatha’s heart had shattered into a million pieces the night Oscar became engaged after compromising the incomparable Lady Penelope. The wealthy debutant possessed a healthy dowry and an equally angry father. Agatha’s lips curled into an unladylike snarl. Damn that conniving strumpet. Lady Penelope had insinuated that she had given herself to Oscar that very night. And by the time Agatha had returned unobserved to the ballroom, neat and once more respectable after she’d succumbed to Oscar’s affections, he was being threatened by Lady Penelope’s irate father.

When Oscar’s gaze had fallen upon her across the ballroom, her heart had stopped. He’d appeared unconcerned with his entrapment. He’d smiled and had immediately agreed to the match. Heartbroken, Agatha had clapped along with the other guests, and then escaped as fast as her grandfather could be convinced to leave.

It wasn’t until later, when Oscar had knocked on her window as if nothing had changed between them, that she’d discovered her error.

Oscar’s marriage to Lady Penelope had been in the wind all along. He’d been courting her behind Agatha’s back. She’d only been a diversion from boredom.

Furious over his duplicity, of his plan to marry Lady Penelope and keep her as his mistress, she’d sent him away. But later, as the enormity of her mistake became apparent, she grieved for what might have been.

Her only consolation now was that Oscar appeared miserable, too.

A shadow fell upon Agatha’s table, blocking the light filtering in through the window as her butler, George, passed by on his way through to the kitchen garden. Nell, standing in a patch of bright sunlight, was gathering lavender stalks by the far wall.

Agatha dropped her quill to the table and stood. After yesterday, she wasn’t sure how Nell would react to the male servants in the household. She’d been considerably distressed last night, and it had taken all of Agatha’s powers of persuasion to convince Nell that she was not about to be let go. After all, the assault was hardly her fault. She was an innocent victim of a lustful man. Just as Agatha had been three months ago.

She pulled the curtain aside and peered out. With the window closed, she couldn’t discern what the conversation was about, but so far Nell seemed to be holding her own. George took a step forward, closer to Nell, and blocked her view.

Anxious that he not question Nell about her late-night duties, Agatha headed outside to intervene. The cool morning air gave way to the warmth of sunshine, but with George towering over Nell now, Agatha didn’t linger to enjoy.

“Have I done something to offend?” George asked, a hard edge to his tone.

Nell took a step away. “No, of course not.” The maid retreated another step, and George followed.

The anxiety in her maid’s voice tugged at Agatha’s heart. She stepped to the side, letting Nell see her approach. Her maid’s eyes widened.

George turned to take in Agatha’s approach. “Can I be of assistance, Miss Birkenstock?”

“No thank you, George. I am here to speak with Nell. You may go about your usual duties.”

The butler looked about to say something more to Nell, but he clenched his jaw over the words, nodded, and then turned on his heel to return to the house.

“Nell?” Agatha took a step and caught the miserable expression in her maid’s eye. Oscar had always claimed she should hold herself aloof from the servant’s but Nell needed her support, at least for the moment. The girl certainly needed a distraction. “I believe the flowers would do better with a little less pressure around the stems.”

As hoped, Nell glanced down and made a show of checking the poor flowers.

“What did George want?”