A Hint of Starlight

by Connolly, Lynne

  A Hint of Starlight

  The Daring Dersinghams

  Book Two

  By

  Lynne Connolly

  Copyright © 2019 Lynne Connolly

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  Lynne.connolly@gmail.com

  lynneconnolly.com

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Lynne Connolly

  The Daring Dersinghams Series

  A Touch of Silver

  A Hint of Starlight

  *** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***

  www.dragonbladepublishing.com

  Amazon

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Lynne Connolly

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Lady Damaris Dersingham paused and gazed around her. Standing in the ballroom during a prestigious society ball wasn’t all it was supposed to be. As a child, she’d dreamed of this, but now all she wanted to do was get away.

  “Face them down,” she’d told her sisters, but she was the one ready to go. What had she been thinking? This evening was pure torture for all of them, and they’d achieved nothing. Only more disapproval from the highest in the land.

  The problem was, their brother Gerald had followed his heart rather than his head, and married Annie, a woman from the City of London. While Damaris and her sisters adored Annie and the two little boys from her first marriage, they had to face the wrath of Lady Elizabeth Askew.

  Lady Elizabeth considered herself spurned. Not for the first time, either. And between Damaris and the supper room, there she was, chatting to her friends and casting cold looks at Damaris for good measure.

  No help for it, that was the only way Damaris was getting out of this nightmare. She’d had enough sneering for now. A short break and she’d be ready for more. Lady Elizabeth, the daughter of the Duke of Illingworth, had been betrothed to the last but one Earl of Carbrooke, and considered herself inherited as part of the estate. When Gerald spurned her, he had declared war. And she was bringing out all her weaponry. Unlike the Dersinghams, she had been comfortable in society since her birth.

  Taking a deep breath, Damaris turned her head as if she had not seen Lady Elizabeth and her cronies, and headed for the door.

  Her lips tightened when Lady Elizabeth twitched her skirts aside. The motion could be construed as polite, but Damaris knew better. As she passed, she heard mutters of “Riff raff” and “Upstarts”. They were words she was meant to hear, but pretended not to. Other ladies moved their skirts as if afraid Damaris would pollute them with her passing.

  Three men walked past, and she tensed in expectation of another snub, but they barely noticed her. “I could use a glass of your excellent whisky, Logan,” one man said. Damaris had no idea what whisky would be except, presumably, it was a beverage of some kind.

  The speaker received a low laugh in return but she walked past, and didn’t catch the full reply. That laugh—it put up the fine hairs on the back of her neck in a way she found impossible to define. It sent her senses rioting, dancing for an instant, awake and ready for more.

  Glancing around, she caught the gaze of a man she had never seen before. Dark eyes, shining with good humor, set in a face she found deeply attractive—far too much for comfort. But at least he did not look away. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, and he gave her a brief nod. She nodded back, all she could do because they had not been introduced. His gaze sharpened, and he frowned.

  He had recognized her. Damaris turned away.

  Another woman twitched her skirts when she saw Damaris approaching, and moved closer to her companions. Damaris’ brief instant of high spirits melted away as if it had never existed. Lady Elizabeth’s campaign to have them rejected by society was working, and she could think of no way of reversing that. They had no influential friends, no champions. They would be shut out by the end of the season.

  The gestures were short of the cut direct. But in a few days, Damaris had no doubt they would receive that, too. That would be the end of their entrance into society. She could not let her family down like this, even though this kind of cruelty made her feel sick.

  Another female murmur of “Anyone can just walk in” reached her ears, then she was past the crowd and into the supper room. Her throat tightened and tears stung her eyes but she would not allow them the reward of witnessing her distress.

  A mere thirty or so people lingered in the elegantly appointed space. A few glanced at her when she came in and then looked away.

  Damaris could not pretend to help herself to a tidbit and a drink. She wanted air.

  Unfortunately, the spring evening was cool, but she needed to get out of there. What was the chill of nature compared to the ice of society?

  Three doors set close together, all half-glass, half-wood, led to the paradise of the garden beyond. Although flares had been set on the terrace, nobody wandered around. A few minutes to regain her sangfroid, and she would be fine. That garden looked like paradise.

  She slid through. True, she snagged the embroidery on her white petticoat, and gained a smear of dirt on the blue overskirt, but she could not make herself care. The important part was that she was out of the torture chamber.

  She stood at the top of a flight of stone stairs that led into the lush, and probably damp, green expanse of lawn. Damaris scurried down them, only pausing when her satin evening shoes threatened to slip off. Her maid had sworn up and down that she’d ordered the right size. However, they were too large, and she’d needed to secure the buckle tightly to make them stay on. Now her insteps were hurting.

  Damaris grabbed the handrail to keep her balance. That gave her a smudge on the palm of her white silk gloves. She hated those things.

  Having reached the path, she would stroll along one of the narrower paths. That would put her out of sight of the big windows that were currently glittering with the light of hundreds of candles. Keeping her attention on the path ahead, Damaris kept her pace to a brisk walk. One turn around the garden and she would return, suitably refreshed.

  Outside an unremarkable pavilion, she paused. Climbing the three shallow stone steps, she stood with her back to the pitch-dark interior and faced the garden. The tight band around her chest eased. Perhaps she would not cry after all. Damaris despised criers. Tears only made a person’s eyes sore, and did nothing to change anything. A waste of time.

  As always when life became difficult, Damaris took solace in the stars. She looked up. There they were, her friends, the entities that never let her down. She sighed, and let her senses relax. It was as if a clockwork spring had finally begun to unwind—a new spring, one that had not b
een used more than a couple of times, one that still had to find its perfect tension level.

  That was the trouble, really. Damaris and her sisters had found themselves in a world they were unused to, and they couldn’t cope with it.

  “I will not let them defeat me,” she vowed to Andromeda, one of her favorite constellations. “I swear the nasty cats won’t win.”

  Someone cleared his throat. Damaris closed her eyes and swallowed.

  “I should probably let you know that you’re not alone.” The masculine voice rumbled through her, rousing her senses. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. The man who had caught her attention in the ballroom. She could not see him but, instinctively, she knew it. Her reaction had been exactly the same as before.

  “Did you follow me from the ballroom?”

  “I raced you,” he said. “While you were staring at the stars, I came directly here. I knew you would pass this place sooner or later.”

  “Why?”

  His low laugh stirred her. She dared not face him, not with her heart beating fit to burst and her breath growing shallow. No man did that to her, only new discoveries and successful calculations. But she refused to run away. She’d done far too much running recently.

  “You intrigued me.”

  “I’m honored.” Her dry tone could not fail to inform anyone of any sensibility that she was being ironic.

  “You rushed past us so quickly I thought you were on fire.”

  Having sucked in a deep breath, Damaris felt in enough control to turn around and face him.

  She had not heard him speak in the ballroom and if she had, she wouldn’t have expected that drawling burr. “You’re Scotch?”

  “Scottish.”

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. Scottish, of course.”

  A half-smile quirked his mouth, serving to warm his features. With the lights from the house behind her, Damaris could see him reasonably well. He was tall, more than a head taller than her. His heavily-lashed eyes gleamed darkly in the light filtering through from the ball. Sheer power bled through his fashionable but relatively plain evening coat, waistcoat and breeches. The first two were in a dark red color, from which metallic embroidery gleamed. The paler shade of his pristine breeches drew her attention to an area a lady should really know nothing about and feign not to notice.

  “The skies are clearer back home.” He didn’t look away from her face. “The stars are brighter. I would very much like to show them to you.”

  As heat rose to her cheeks, she glanced at the building behind them. The wooden columns held up a pan-tiled roof, with three of its walls open, presumably to catch the sun. Her sister, Dorcas, would probably grow roses up it and Delphi would bring her books here to read in peace. Damaris considered its suitability for observations of the sky, or she would have if she had been in her right mind. This man made calming her spirits impossible.

  She turned to leave, but a fold of petticoat furled treacherously under her shoe. If she moved, she would trip.

  He caught her elbow. “Allow me.” Bending, he wrapped his hand around her ankle.

  A shot of sheer sensation speared her. Every part of her trembled as he urged her to lift her foot. He replaced it on the ground, but his hand lingered, and as he withdrew it, he stroked her. Or did he? She couldn’t be sure. He straightened and took a pace back.

  Then he bowed. He did not execute the gesture as gracefully as some, but she liked him better for that. “I should not have presumed, but I would rather not see you tumble flat on your face.” He glanced up, keeping her gaze as he rose. That easy smile returned. “Such a pretty face, too, although I daresay I should not say that either.”

  “You certainly should not. It is impudent.” But she could not stop her lips quivering with amusement. The smile broke through. It had been so long since she’d heard any kind of compliment.

  His eyes gleamed. “There it is. I knew you would have a charming smile. I am glad you took my help in good heart.” A wary expression entered his eyes as they narrowed. “We have not yet been introduced so we must perform the office ourselves. Do you know who I am?”

  “I overheard entirely by accident.” Flustered, she rushed her next words. “It’s Mr. Logan, is it not?”

  He hesitated before he nodded. “It is, indeed.”

  She curtseyed, just to show she could do it. “I am Damaris Dersingham. Lady Damaris Dersingham, I mean.” Now it was her turn to grin. “I’m not used to the title. My brother only inherited his earldom recently.”

  “Well met, Lady Damaris.” He glanced up, reminding her what she was doing when he spoke. “You were watching the sky. Did I interrupt you in a prayer?”

  “No.” Damaris followed his gaze. “I was looking at the stars.” She pointed. “That is Andromeda.”

  He tilted his head to one side. “It’s clever of you to spot it. It isn’t the easiest constellation to identify.”

  “Yes, indeed, and it’s well past its best viewing time. It is better viewed in the winter months.”

  “Do you like star-gazing?”

  “It is my favorite occupation.” Matilda Cathcart, her chaperone, had warned Damaris and her sisters to keep their interests quiet. They were in danger of being labeled bluestockings, she said. Damaris did not care any longer. Society could label her whatever it liked. “I enjoy gazing at the night sky. There is so much to discover. The prospect is breathtaking.”

  She tore her eyes away from the eternally fascinating prospect above them to the equally fascinating man regarding her with genuine interest. “Have you ever been to Greenwich?” he asked.

  Delight surged inside her, a dimly remembered emotion from when they’d lived in a different part of London, enjoying a different life. She had rarely come across people who shared her obsession with the stars. Her sisters recognized her occupation, as they had interests of their own, but they didn’t share her captivation with the firmament. “Yes.” She tried not to appear too stupidly enthusiastic.

  “Have you visited the Observatory?”

  She bit her lip. “No, sir, I have not. We could not find anyone to give us admittance.” They had visited the pretty village and the magnificent Naval College a number of times. However, Flamsteed House, where the Royal Observatory was housed, was closed to her. She needed special permission to enter and she could not get it.

  “We shall have to see what we can do about that.”

  Damaris could do nothing to curtail her eagerness. “You can do that? Gain admittance for me? It is, above all things, the place I would love to visit!”

  Tilting his head to one side, he smiled, that warm, intimate expression she enjoyed. “I believe I can arrange something. Do you own a telescope?”

  “A small one. Nothing like the instruments I dream of, but it suits my purposes.” Damaris did her best to forget the circumstances in which she acquired it. They were not pleasant.

  “You should have a new model. Recent developments have improved the quality of optical instruments immensely.”

  The move to Mayfair, the escalation in their fortunes and Gerald’s recent marriage, not to mention the new wardrobes they’d acquired had done much to keep Damaris away from her beloved studies. “You are right. I will save my pin money and invest in a new telescope,” she vowed, more to herself than to him.

  A sharp breeze gusted over her, raising goosebumps on her arms.

  “You shivered.”

  He must be watching her very closely to notice that. She had suppressed her response. “It is not a warm evening. Inside or out,” she added, unable to control her unruly tongue.

  “Indeed,” he said softly. His body warmed her, even though he was not touching her. The urge to move closer, to let him take her in his arms swamped her for a brief moment. In another world with different expectations she might have done just that, but here and now, the action was impossible. She barely knew him. However, apart from his occasionally audacious words, he was behaving perfectly properly
.

  “I am not so feeble as to melt from one gust of wind.” Last winter, she had stood on the narrow parapet on the roof of their old house, telescope in hand, watching the stars wheel overhead. She had not cared about the snow that fell around her until she stumbled and nearly plunged to her death. At least she would have died happy and been spared the torture she’d endured tonight.

  Her assurance did not persuade him to move away. Goodness, he was emitting enough heat to fuel a blacksmith’s forge. “I knew you were a woman of courage the instant I saw you.”

  Startled, she couldn’t think of anything to say. Silence fell between them, one he didn’t seem eager to break, until she found words again. “It is not courage. I merely find myself at a disadvantage standing in a room with a group of strangers who are not in the least inclined to make my acquaintance.” She shrugged, feigning indifference. “That is, if I cared enough about the matter I might be courageous.”

  “I dislike seeing a lady in distress,” he said softly.

  She would not accept that. “Not so, sir. Endurance is a better word.”

  “I saw a woman hurt by the comments of others.”

  She should really move away from him, but she did not. “Many women are in distress. Mine was fleeting and paltry. My happiness does not depend on the thoughtless actions of a few society matrons.”

  “Oh, they were not thoughtless.” Was he closer, or was it her imagination? She glanced at him. No, he had moved away, if anything. “I commend your attitude. It is fortunate that society is not one homogeneous whole, but a collection of people. You will find your place. Forgive me, but I have heard of you, and your remarkable entrance into society. You are bound to put a few noses out, but not everybody thinks that way.”

  Damaris didn’t want to talk about her personal situation any longer, especially with a stranger. She returned her attention to the sky. “I was looking for Venus, but I tend to pause at Andromeda. It is my talisman.” Her solace when she felt particularly sad.