A Hint of Starlight

by Connolly, Lynne

  Logan groaned and closed his eyes, dropping the cartoon as if it were poison. Which, in a way, it was. “I can’t let her face this on her own.”

  “Nonsense! Why should you care for a woman who obviously has no sense of propriety? The Duchess of Illingworth told me everyone wishes the sisters would leave town directly. They are bringing society down to the gutter.”

  “Society has been happily wallowing in the gutter for years.” Anger simmered inside him, a slow burn that would, he feared, take a long time to put out. Lady Damaris had done nothing other than follow her passion. She did not deserve this.

  “Not a gutter of our making.” His mother would not let the matter be. Usually she preferred to let Logan go about his business unhindered, but the Illingworths had stirred her into a fine frenzy. Logan had a target on his back and if he was not careful, he’d find himself skewered right through the center.

  “You told me you were amenable to making a good marriage. You agreed that you would accept a bride and set up your nursery.” Pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders, his mother strode to the door, and then came back. “Put these things away and get yourself married. The Duchess of Illingworth and I are in agreement, for a change.”

  “For a change, Mama?” he asked, desperate to close the subject. He felt like a mouse in a trap, and he couldn’t get out, no matter how much he raced around inside. Going to his club was the only respite he had left. “You and the duchess?”

  “We made our first appearances in society the same year,” his mother admitted. “I was never fond of her. Every time a man headed my way, she cut him off. She wanted the whole of London to be at her feet, but that year we were both outdone by Lady Susan Roxburgh. She had the pick of society and she chose a mere baron. At least she left the two eligible dukes to us. I had the best of the bargain.” Her expression softened, her blue eyes darkening slightly, and Logan knew she was thinking of his late father. His heart sank. “Your poor father would have approved of Lady Elizabeth.”

  As always, Logan kept quiet for the monologue that followed. If he objected, the outpouring went on for longer. “Your poor papa would not wish you to marry a low-born woman who does not know how to behave in society. He expected you to marry one of the greatest ladies in the land.” She placed her hands precisely over her heart and sighed heavily. “I miss him more every day. I cannot bear the heartache. They say grief abates, but mine never has.”

  No, it had not. Logan had remonstrated with her once and felt like the greatest boor in nature when she had taken to her bed and stayed there for two days. That had been when he was sixteen, five years after his father had died. He had never tried anything of that nature since. His mother’s hysterics were horrifying, especially for a small boy.

  “You must come to the mark soon. Your father would have wished it. Lady Elizabeth is amenable, her portion is acceptable and she has a complaisant disposition.” And would probably combine with his mother in her efforts to control him.

  Unlike Lady Damaris, who was stiff-necked and annoyingly self-willed. Also deeply alluring.

  “You have to think of the estate, my son. Your father cared for it most assiduously. You cannot let him down. You must set up your nursery soon.”

  As he had let his father down so often before, her tone said. But she was right about the nursery.

  His throat tightened. “I had thought bringing Grant and Adam with me would diffuse the rampant husband-hunting.”

  “They’re hunting in packs. Bringing two other dukes to town has only made the hunters more rampant. In any case, the sooner you make your choice, the sooner that part is over.” She rapped his hand with her fan. “Do it, Logan, and soon.”

  That terrible cartoon was probably from Lady Elizabeth, too. It was easy enough to have a scurrilous drawing made and then have it printed and distributed. Politicians did it all the time. She had a lingering hatred of the Dersinghams after the Earl of Carbrooke had jilted her for a City merchant. Logan had met the countess, and found her a charming woman. Intelligent, too. He thought she was worthy of admiration rather than opprobrium.

  The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half-hour. With relief, Logan glanced up. “I have to go, Mama. I’m taking Lady Damaris Dersingham to the park.”

  Her grace bridled, her small, pointed chin lifted and her eyes narrowed. “The woman who caused all that gossip at the Royal Society? Glenbreck, while I do not object to your interests, I have to intervene when it affects the dukedom and the dignity of your title.”

  He couldn’t hear such nonsense. “Mama, that is ridiculous. I wish to talk to her, that is all. She has had several articles accepted by the Royal Society and to be honest, Mama, they are quite brilliant. She discovered a connection nobody had traced before. We had no idea she was female.”

  His mother raised a brow, and he could see the sharp mind working behind the blue eyes. “I was not aware of that.”

  “She wrote as D. Singer.”

  The other brow rose. “I remember you talking about him. She is D. Singer?”

  Logan nodded.

  His mother waved a dismissive hand. “That is what that drawing is about then. I heard that she marched through the doors and demanded membership, which is foolish.”

  “Indeed, Mama. Now that her secret is out, when you hear that version of the story, will you correct them, please? She deserves the credit for those articles. I want to talk to her about them.”

  “Every gentleman deserves an occupation that takes his interest, I suppose. But do not do anything rash.”

  He snorted. “As if I would.” He touched his fingers to his forehead in a mock gesture of obeisance. “I will no doubt see you later. Do I have to be anywhere tonight?”

  She shrugged. “There are two large balls, but you are the Duke of Glenbreck and you may do as you please. The invitations are on the mantelpiece in the drawing room, if you wish to avail yourself of them. Not that they would deny you admittance if you decided to attend.”

  He would discover if Lady Damaris wanted to attend any of them. Then he would certainly be there.

  Before he left the house, he scrawled a quick note to his friend, Grant, who had certain connections that might prove useful. He sent a footman to deliver it by hand.

  Arrayed in the maroon gown, gloved and hatted and ready for her visitor, Damaris was on her way downstairs when her brother called softly to her. She went into his study. Gerald had his own study on the first floor, previously an anteroom. He’d given the one on the ground floor over to his sisters. Gerald was the best brother in the world.

  Gerald indicated the comfortable leather sofa, one of the few items he’d kept from their previous London house. It felt familiar when she sat in it. If a piece of furniture could be said to be comforting, she felt it now. She clasped her gloved hands, the soft kid a warm touch.

  Gerald sat next to her and stretched his arm over the back of the sofa. “My dear, is this all too much for you? I do not blame you for the scandal, but the response has been cruel. You should not have to take this nonsense and it pains me to see you fighting your way through. Your response has been everything it should be, but I know you’re under a great deal of strain.”

  Her mouth twitched. “I can cope.” She had to swallow her tears back. She couldn’t let Gerald see how much the taunts had affected her. She had to think of him, and Annie and her sisters, as well as Matilda.

  “That is not the question. We can move back to the way we were, if you wish it. So what if I have inherited a title? What does that matter? I do not need more wealth or influence, I have enough. Annie has her business to run, and we would be more comfortable in Shoreditch.”

  Damaris longed to fall into his arms and sob out her thanks. But she was not a child any more. She was a woman and she had to behave like one. “I can’t let you do that, Gerald. You’ve worked too hard to get this far. How can we go back?”

  “Easily. I’ve been thinking. We were happier in our old life, were we not?”


  Yes, they were. But that didn’t mean they would continue in the same way. “Dorcas and Delphi have more opportunities here. I can watch the stars from anywhere, but our sisters have more to lose. Delphi has the chance of meeting some of the writers and scholars she has always dreamed of, and Dorcas can visit other gardens and widen her sphere of interest. Perhaps I should retreat, but they should not.” It was true. Delphi was chattering about the literary salons she could attend. That was not dependent on being accepted by the highest sticklers, and Dorcas could spend her time in the country. If they disappeared from society, neither sister would achieve her true potential. Both were gifted in their fields. They deserved their chances. “I could go to the country. We cannot go back to Bunhill Row. Besides, Annie uses it for her business.”

  “We can buy a house further down the street.” He shrugged. “It will be the same.”

  “No it won’t.” But the prospect tempted her more than she could say. “But I won’t let anyone down. This will pass, and people will forget. Some other poor unfortunate will come under scrutiny and they’ll forget. I will stay and face them down.” Her will was firm in that.

  Gerald shook his head, and leaned behind him to pick up a piece of paper. “I did not want to show you this. I discussed the matter with your sisters, and they pointed out that you would see it, sooner or later. I am so sorry, Damaris.”

  Damaris took the paper and after a last glance at his face, turned her attention to it. It was a cartoon, the kind they sold in print shops all over the country. The owners would put the most scurrilous in the windows and if the image was amusing enough, it would draw crowds.

  After a moment of blank study, she understood. The bare-breasted woman was her, and the men were the committee of the Royal Society. She was offering herself to them, and the man staring at her most avidly was the Duke of Glenbreck.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, but let it out shakily. Her whole body trembled with shock. How dare they? Anger rippled through her, together with shame and grief. Her body was racked with fear and shame. Tears fell.

  Anger swept through her in a cleansing wave. Not “How could they?” but “How dare they?” burst out of her. “Who are they to make assumptions like this?” People all over London would be laughing at her, deriding her. How could she run from that?

  Crumpling the cartoon gave her a little comfort, but she let herself ride the anger now, letting it fill her with a new resolve. She got to her feet, and dashed her tears away. “I will not leave, Gerald. I will not give them the satisfaction of seeing me run away. Because it would be that, I would be running and hiding. That would let them know I am affected by their small-minded, disgusting accusations. They could choose to assume that it is true, that I am a hoyden. Well, I am not. I am a scholar and nothing more.” She hurled the cartoon at the fireplace. It hit the guard and bounced off. “Let them laugh, because I am not budging an inch. How dare they judge me? Who are they, that they would do such a thing?”

  The cartoon had probably had the opposite effect to the one their critics had expected. It had increased her determination not to back off. What had started as a situation she didn’t know how to cope with had turned into a war. She knew what to do with those. She would fight.

  Stronger and more determined, Damaris went downstairs to wait for her visitor. If he did not come, she would let him know her displeasure, send him a note, instead of sitting meekly at home. No more meekness for her in an attempt to conform. She would be herself and they could take it or leave it.

  As the initial fire of her anger began to build to a furnace, a fashionable equipage drew up outside the house. Since she was sitting in the front parlor, Damaris had the opportunity to examine it at her leisure.

  The duke certainly traveled in style. His carriage was a shiny black curricle, with his crest emblazoned on the side. It gleamed in the afternoon sunshine, the brass fittings polished to a golden shine. The livery-clad groom jumped down from the back and took the reins when the duke tossed them in his direction. The Glenbreck livery was grass green and gold, the vivid colors casting the duke’s more sober brown and fawn ensemble into the shade.

  He looked up, as if he knew someone was watching, and Damaris stepped back hastily. He could not have known she was watching, surely. Perhaps he was merely assessing the house, which was a perfectly ordinary London residence for people of their sort. Although she considered the house very grand, he might not.

  She was sitting in an armchair perusing a book when the footman came in with Logan’s card, tellingly turned down on the right corner. That meant he was waiting for her in person. These codes were nothing short of esoteric, but that was as naught compared with the unspoken language, and social conventions she was supposed to know intimately. That she did not was no fault of hers and she would not apologize for them.

  Putting the book aside—Sunday sermons, she noted abstractedly—she rose, took her time smoothing her skirts and pasted a calm smile onto her face.

  His smile was warmer and more genuine. Tiny lines at the corners of his dark eyes crinkled, and his smile broadened when he saw her. He bowed over her gloved hand. “I’m grateful for your company this afternoon. It is very fine, but not too hot.”

  At least she knew how to make small talk. “It was kind of you to ask me, sir. I trust I find you well?”

  “Perfectly, thank you, ma’am.” He offered his arm and after she had put on her hat and gloves, she accepted it, careful to lay her hand over the top of his sleeve in the correct manner. He led the way outside.

  She breathed in the spring air, tinged by the ever–present tang of smoke, which was inevitable in London.

  “You seem in good spirits,” he said, as he stood by her, ready to help her up to the passenger seat. She let him take her hand, but she managed the small foot rest, and used the arm rest to pull herself into place. She shook her skirts into place, keeping her gaze steadily forward. If she looked down, she might not be so steady.

  She let out her breath in one long sigh when she sat. The duke waited for his groom to descend and effortlessly swung himself up. The suspension swayed, and she grabbed the rest to steady herself, putting a hand to her hat, but she had pinned it firmly into place and it did not move. She had donned a man-style cocked hat with a long feather curling around the crown.

  He glanced at it, his amusement still evident. “I had no idea birds came in that vivid shade of purple.”

  “Neither did I, but they must exist somewhere.” The feather had most likely been dyed, but she would not admit it. The existence of a bird with vivid purple plumage amused her, too.

  “I would like to see them. My head isn’t always in the clouds.” He set the horses in motion with a quick flick of his wrist.

  She kept quiet until they reached the gates of the park, merely passing the time of day. She could have been talking with a complete stranger. Although she tried to tell herself that, she didn’t succeed. She knew him. He’d had his lips on hers, and he’d betrayed her at the Royal Society.

  So it was time to make him pay. The cartoon had only fed the fuel of her ire.

  When they drove through the wide archway of Hyde Park, he glanced at her. The smile had gone. He put the horses into a gentle trot, just enough to deter people from stopping them, and nodded to several people who smiled or raised their hats. Some curtseyed.

  “The pleasures of being a duke,” she murmured. “I do not know how you bear it.”

  “Sometimes, neither do I.”

  Startled, she gave him her full attention. He did not sound amused. “Surely—”

  “Smile at Lady Elizabeth Askew,” he said.

  She whipped her head around so fast she nearly lost her hat, well-pinned or not. Lady Elizabeth sat on the back of a sweet gray mare, dressed in eye-catching blue, undeniably beautiful and graceful. Everything Damaris wasn’t. But she kept the smile on her face and inclined her head graciously.

  She got her reward when she received the tiniest nod
in return. She turned back to the duke, who was keeping his attention on the path ahead. After Damaris had received her acknowledgment, he turned his head and touched his whip to his forehead in salute. Lady Elizabeth’s smile broadened and became less gracious. It was undeniably warmer and equally undeniably cut Damaris out.

  But she had been forced to acknowledge Damaris. If she had not, that would have been a direct insult to the Duke of Glenbreck.

  “That was handsomely done,” she said, when they were past.

  “It’s the least I owe you.” He sounded sincere, but he had caught her that way before. She would not trust him again so easily. However, that small nod proved she’d made the right decision. One small step towards acceptance. The last event she’d attended, at the theater, they’d been ignored. The next time, they could have been given the cut direct, or even turned away. There was no way back from that kind of treatment.

  “Especially after—” Belatedly she choked off her words, recalling that the duke had probably not seen the drawing.

  “After the cartoon circulating this morning?”

  “How did you know what I was going to say?” She turned her head to glare at him.

  “Smile at the people, Lady Damaris. It would be rude not to acknowledge them. The answer to your question is I don’t know. With you, I feel—as if I have known you a long time. It is inexplicable. But it is obvious that cartoon must be on your mind. I have taken steps to have it suppressed.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Indubitably. After all, I was one of the people featured. It is not in my interests, any more than it is in yours. My friend, the Duke of Blackridge, has certain connections in Grub Street. He will discover the printer and have the plates and the remaining copies destroyed.”

  “Thank you!” Her voice came out on a sob. She could not help it. Relief poured through her. “There are still some around.”

  “We cannot help them. With so few, they will make little impact. I owe you much more,” the duke said abruptly. He held the reins loosely with one hand, although she had no doubt he was completely in control of them. He kept his eyes on their path ahead. Other carriages passed them on the other side, and people exercising their horses trotted past. All acknowledged Glenbreck and were forced to do the same for her. True, the nods were chilly, but they were there. “I owe you much more than common civility. Lady Damaris, I had no idea that you and D. Singer were the same person before yesterday.”