A Hint of Starlight

by Connolly, Lynne

  Grant kept pace without losing his breath. He probably scarcely noticed the punishing pace Logan was setting up. “Not me, either. We’re not the only eligible dukes in London.”

  “With Adam, we seem to be drawing the most attention,” he said. “Do you think she would settle for a wealthy baronet?”

  Grant snorted indelicately. “Not her. She wants a high-born spouse. She’s charging at her targets a little too much, though, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Logan wanted to forget her as soon as he could. Twilight was shading into dusk as he took the next corner. A servant stood outside a grand house, lighting the flambeaux set in sconces on either side of the front door. The flare of red heat made his friend look more like a pirate than a respectable peer. “I’m for the club. How about you?”

  “I thought you had an urgent appointment?” Grant laughed. “Though I suspect it’s much the same as mine.”

  “Why did you accept the invitation to dinner, then?” Logan demanded. “I had to attend, but you did not.”

  Grant shrugged, evoking a curious glance from Logan. His diffidence didn’t sit well on him. He was hiding something, or he had a motive he wasn’t prepared to share with Logan. “I had nothing better to do. And I wanted to see how the land lay for myself. You did not have to tell me you don’t intend to offer for her. I saw that for myself.”

  That proved why Grant was one of Logan’s closest friends. His intuition surprised some, but Logan was used to it. “You’re perfectly right.”

  “But your mother will soon have something else to celebrate, eh?”

  Logan swung around another corner. “And pray, what might that be?” he inquired sweetly.

  “The wedding of her son.” Grant was not perturbed by Logan’s stormy glare. “Face it, dear boy, either you marry Lady Elizabeth, or you marry someone else and right soon. The lady has boxed you neatly into a corner, and now society expects a declaration.”

  “Society can expect all it likes. I’ll not wed to please society, and it may go to hell for all I care.”

  Grant’s laughter echoed down the street. Logan should have killed him years ago.

  His mother returned to the topic at breakfast the next morning. “Lady Elizabeth was deeply disappointed to discover you were not to accompany us to the play last night.” Petulantly, she knocked the top off her boiled egg with a neat swipe of her knife.

  “I’m sorry for that. I saw her at the ball, later.”

  “Elizabeth is a charming girl. The more I become acquainted with her, the more I am convinced she is the wife for you. She understands, Glenbreck.”

  “What does she understand?”

  His mother ignored his chilly tone. “That marriage is a business. You have no heart, Glenbreck, so you had best look for a business relationship.” She touched the black enameled locket around her neck, the one that held a picture of his father and a lock of his hair. “You will never know the pain of love, or of losing the loved one.”

  Annoyed, he ignored the last part. “I want more than affection. I want friendship, companionship and partnership in a wife.”

  The dowager duchess sucked in a breath. “Not with the same woman. In a wife you need a fertile woman who regards you with affection. Lady Elizabeth fits those requirements.”

  “I’m not at all sure she does. She wants a duke, but any duke will do for her.” He poured himself a cup of coffee, since his mother had dismissed the servants, no doubt with this conversation in mind.

  His mother dismissed Logan’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “You may even fall in love with her.”

  Georgie met his gaze, and grimaced. “It is time, Logan, but there is no reason why you should not choose someone else.”

  “Do it soon. Tonight, at the Butlers’ ball.”

  Logan spluttered, dropped his cup back in the saucer and grabbed the nearest napkin. “What on earth do you mean, Mama?”

  “I mean that society expects a declaration tonight. Since Lady Elizabeth is the only candidate on the horizon, it should be her.”

  As Logan recovered his senses, anger rose to a slow simmer inside him. “Since when has society made my decisions for me?”

  “Correct your speech, Glenbreck.”

  As usual, his burr had risen with his anger. He ignored his mother’s command and let his accent fall where it would. “Society can go hang. I’ll not go to the ball tonight. Then I can propose to nobody.”

  “If you do not do it tonight, it must be before the end of the week.” She tossed a paper across to him. Logan straightened it, and scanned the closely printed columns. “Gossip,” he said, once he’d located the nasty little paragraph. “Who told the journalist he could link our names? I have been circumspect.” He continued to read, and his temper cooled, turned into the kind of fury that burned like ice. “How dare they accuse Lady Damaris of such things?”

  Somebody had seen him leave the carriage yesterday. A closed carriage with shuttered windows, as the writer salaciously pointed out. He would ensure it was not the servants who had carried them there, although he very much doubted they had done it. “I shall deny everything.”

  “Since you were seen earlier at the Royal Exchange, that might be difficult.”

  He practiced the lie he must tell later. “We met at Heath’s, the lens maker’s.” A thought crossed his mind and made him smile. Despite Damaris’ protests, he’d bought the smaller telescope Heath had offered, and had it sent to her. She’d have it by now. The thought of her opening the parcel and exclaiming in pleasure warmed him. “I’d rather marry Lady Damaris than Lady Elizabeth.”

  Where had that come from? Why did that damned woman keep cropping up?

  Because he cared about her too much, that was why. Sitting here, in this room with his mother reminded him of his resolve, and of the reason. His mother’s inordinate grief for a man Logan regarded as a fine duke but an inadequate man was all the reason he needed.

  Could he keep his regard for Damaris under control? Could he indulge his rampant desire for her without it turning into love if he changed his mind and pursued her?

  He could. He knew he could. But could she do the same? Damaris was a rational woman. Her interest in numbers and scientific study spoke to that. If he held his course, marriage to Damaris was entirely possible.

  He regarded his mother steadily. Her mouth had dropped open and after one yelp, Georgie had stifled her laughter. “You drove him to say that, Mama. Can you not see that Logan does not wish to marry Lady Elizabeth, or anyone else for that matter?”

  The duchess’ mouth tightened. “I sent Lady Elizabeth hothouse flowers on your behalf this morning. With a sweet message of deep regard.” She rushed the last words, as if she didn’t want him to hear them.

  Well she might. “What?” He might have delivered the word quietly, but fury throbbed behind him.

  Georgiana’s chair scraped back and silk rustled as she got to her feet. “If you will excuse me.”

  Neither of the two other occupants in the room glanced her way, but they remained silent until the door clicked gently behind her. “Sending her flowers looks like I was giving Lady Elizabeth distinct favors. Some might take it as an outright declaration, especially with a sweet note. Madam, what gave you the right to make my decisions for me?”

  The dowager duchess swallowed but she showed no sign of retreating. “As your mother, sir. You have been prevaricating on the subject of marriage for far too long. With Cousin George dead, you no longer have an heir. I have held my tongue, but I will not tolerate your estate going to the German crown.”

  His lip curled. “You reveal your Jacobite sympathies, madam.”

  She rapped her spoon on the table, calling him to order. “That was a long time ago. We are talking about reality, here and now! Your poor dear father expected you to continue his line, and so you will.” Her usually serene face crimsoned. He had not seen his mother in a temper for a long time.

  He would far rather talk about the
failed Jacobite cause than his own situation, but she would know that. Her attempt at distraction would not work. He lifted his hand in a dismissive gesture. “We accept what is, not what we would like things to be. I am still young enough to father you a basketful of heirs.”

  “Then start now. Give me an heir, at least. If you must take the Dersingham woman, then do it and have done.”

  “But it appears you have all but declared my suit to Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps I had best invent urgent business and leave town tonight.” Even as he said it, the notion stuck in his craw. He refused to retreat.

  Damaris still disturbed the equilibrium he had fought so hard and so long to attain. Cool detachment did not come easily to him, but he had to do it for his own sanity. Damaris could well drive him mad. That way lay ruin.

  But Lady Elizabeth? He shuddered.

  So, should he leave town or attend the ball? Should he be prudent or throw sense and reason to the four winds?

  Chapter Twelve

  Although Damaris preferred to dress and be done with the whole complicated business, she took more care the following evening. After consenting to hair powder, she emerged from the small room, still clouded with the white dust, to discover her maid had laid out a dark blue satin, heavily embroidered in silver thread, with colored silk thread interspersed. The white robings were stiff with stitchery. On second perusal, Damaris decided the thing was vulgarly splashy, which was probably what Sir Peter would like. And it would suit the fan he’d given her to perfection. That, above all, made her come to a decision.

  She held up her hand in a gesture of denial. “I don’t want that one,” she said.

  “But it’s your finest gown. You cannot wear the one you wore to the Spenloves, my lady, so this is the best choice.”

  Damaris remained adamant. “No. I will not wear this. Before I wear it next, take some of the silver ruffling off it. The gown would be wearing me, not the other way about. The ivory,” she said wildly, recalling a gown she had ordered a week ago. “Is it here yet?”

  Murray’s features relaxed. “Indeed it is, ma’am. I will fetch it.”

  Allaying her maid’s suspicions counted for something, surely. The new gown was of delicate ribbed ivory silk, printed with pink roses, embroidered with gold thread, and with gold lace embellishments to be on the safe side. It was a robe à la française, with the pleats sewn down tightly at the back, flaring into a lovely full skirt. It was worn over a matching petticoat, even more heavily embellished, even though the whole effect was light and airy. And the fan, which was predominantly blue, would not be a match. So if Sir Peter demanded to know where it was, she could claim it wasn’t suitable for this gown. That would give her the opportunity to return it discreetly without ruffling his feathers.

  Murray applied the light, gossamer lace to her neck and shift sleeves, the big running stitches meant to be easy to remove without damaging the costly material. Patiently, Damaris remained still, but her mind buzzed. She’d see him tonight. And she was not thinking of Sir Peter.

  Logan had sent her a telescope. Of course, she would return that, too, as she’d assured her sister-in-law she would, but she had not been able to yet. No, that wasn’t quite true. She had spent a blissful hour studying it and using it, even though there was little she could see during the daytime. That was when she’d decided that tomorrow was soon enough to send it back. She was far too busy today to concern herself with parceling the telescope up. That meant she would have the luxury of it for one more night. Nobody would object if she took it out later, as long as she ensured it came to no harm. She would have to sit up late but, in London, few people rose before noon, so she could become a fashionable lazybones for once.

  She’d left it next to her bed last night, just so she could remember where it was, of course. She would give it back. The instrument was not what she wanted, not precisely, but it was undoubtedly finer than the one she’d owned. And it had no bitter memories. Dorcas had pointed out the obvious conclusion when her father had given it to her. “You’ve always wanted a telescope. Force yourself to use it until you think of the stars when you handle it and nothing else.”

  Damaris had done as her sister advised. She had not quite reached the time when her telescope had no memories, but they had dulled.

  The choice had become stark. She could accept the fan and Sir Peter’s suit, or the telescope, with no promises from Logan. He had not committed himself to any decision, except that every time they grew close, he pushed her away again, as if his body wanted what she had to offer, but his mind did not. She should probably put a halt to the speculation and take Sir Peter, but when she considered it, her mood plummeted. At the end of the season, she could easily find herself with no suitors at all.

  She would know tonight. She would make her decision tonight, and end the turmoil that kept her awake at night and made her stomach churn with worry.

  At her maid’s urging she sat before the mirror and allowed Murray to apply a little rouge and a fine layer of rice powder to refine her complexion. Nothing else, despite Murray’s attempt to add more. “What happened to that fan I brought home the other day?” Perhaps she could return it tonight. She would certainly not use it, but she was wearing a pocket large enough to contain it. The thing made her nervous, even more when Logan had told her its significance.

  She should have known the reputation of the shop that had sold Sir Peter the fan, but unlike her sisters, she’d taken little notice of the trinket shops littering the Royal Exchange. They all sold the same kind of item, and if she had sufficient and was happy, then she could see no point browsing for more. That had been when she was living modestly with her brother and sisters in Bunhill Row. Now she needed more, but apart from her astronomy, Damaris saw no point in lingering.

  “I laid it out with the blue gown, my lady. Would you like to use it?”

  “No. It would not become the gown I’m wearing. I have one with bone sticks and rose decorations, do I not?” At her maid’s nod, Damaris agreed to that one. “But give me the other fan in its box.”

  If people were gossiping about them, as the papers had reported this morning, then she needed to keep calm and avoid Logan’s company. Someone had seen him leave the carriage. When Gerald questioned her about the matter earlier today, she said she was not sure where the journalist had that information. Perhaps he had seen Logan escort her to the carriage and hand her inside at the Exchange, and made the rest up, she said, hating herself for having to lie to her brother.

  Damaris was wiser now. Having weathered one scandal, she had a better idea how to manage this one. Denial would work. Yes, she’d seen him at the Exchange, but she had absolutely not traveled in a closed carriage alone with him. If she practiced the lie enough, she would be able to carry it through.

  Only one person’s word against hers. She would prevail.

  Sighing, she shoved the blue fan in her pocket when Murray brought it to her. Either she would return it and reject his suit, or she would accept it and give him her hand. Tonight, she would do it. Then she picked up her other fan and her handkerchief, and went downstairs.

  Although the ball was held barely half a mile away, they traveled in style, in a carriage. It became obvious the ball would be a success from the moment their carriage slowed to a crawl. They had been forced to cram inside, and lap their skirts over each other just to fit, so the carriage did not prove a comfortable ride. To add to that, they ended in a line of traffic that took them fully half an hour to negotiate.

  By the end of the journey they were barely talking. Not that they had fallen out, but the journey was so tedious Damaris privately swore that next time, scandal or not, she would get out and walk. They waited until Gerald had climbed out, shaken his elaborate coat back into place and helped Annie to alight. She shook herself like a sparrow caught in the rain, and annoyingly, restored her appearance. But Annie always preferred neatness to extravagance, so she was relatively modestly attired—if forget-me-not watered silk and pink floss
flowers could be described that way.

  Damaris had her smile fixed in place when she alighted, the first of the triplets to do so. Although they had not planned it that way, Damaris and her sisters were attired in shades of pink and cream. The coordination probably drew attention to their likeness. Although they were not identical, they were, after all, triplets. Their chins had the same point, their eyes were the same color and they were of a height. Their hair was similar, though not exactly the same shade, but they were all wearing powder tonight.

  The three burst into laughter simultaneously, none of them requiring explanation. “Do you remember when Papa used to have us dressed exactly the same?” Dorcas said, but clapped her hand over her mouth. They rarely mentioned their parents these days.

  “Yes,” Damaris answered steadily, but she did not smile.

  Turning, Damaris followed her brother and his wife up the shallow stone staircase to the main hall of the Butlers’ imposing London house.

  The houses in Mayfair appeared large from the outside, but they were even larger within. Clever design made the most of the spaces, so that a gracious staircase led up to a broad landing on the first floor. The ground floor was packed with people divesting themselves of their outer clothing, and gossiping. This time, nobody moved aside to allow them to pass and there was no skirt-twitching. They even exchanged a few nods.

  Annie answered one woman who said something that included the word “journal” and they both laughed. How different that story would have been had it come out a week ago.

  Society had drawn its lines. Damaris recognized the woman Annie was talking to as a lady who ran a literary salon, one of the drawing rooms Delphi had taken pleasure in visiting. The lady was known for her scorn of idle gossip, and her equal scorn of the Duke of Illingworth and his family. If society decided to take sides, that could prove interesting.