Magic in the Stars

by Patricia Rice

  “None. I have come to tell you I have surrendered. I’m going home to meet a gentleman Mother insists is perfect for me.” She sighed and settled gracefully into the rattan peacock chair, arranging the turquoise and orange pillows around her full skirt.

  “Your research?” Aster asked, taking the long wicker settee with its parrot green cushion.

  “I need money,” Emilia admitted flatly. “The equipment required to continue is extremely costly. A microscope alone is so exorbitant . . .” She sighed in exasperation. “If the university would only allow me to use their laboratories, this wouldn’t be necessary.”

  “I know. I cannot persuade the Astronomical Society to accept astrology as a science so I might have access to their records. Men do not approve of what they do not understand, and women are incomprehensible to them. At least you are in a position to choose your spouse,” she said reassuringly. “It is sad that your grandfather insisted that you be married before you receive your inheritance, but it does give you more options than most women have.”

  “I know.” Emilia picked restlessly at her black lace gloves. “But no man will accept that my research is more important than sitting about the house, entertaining society. Even your charts haven’t found such a creature.”

  “It’s not as if I’ve charted every bachelor in England!” Aster waved the maid to set the tray on the low table she used to provide a distance between them. “I have found several who are at least temperamentally suited to you, but you make it difficult,” she added, caustically. “It’s challenging enough to match an intelligent woman, but your stubbornness and lack of interest in all things feminine, and the fact that you spend twenty-four hours a day either researching or gardening, makes husband-hunting impossible.”

  “Not all things feminine,” Emilia said demurely, sipping her tea. “I do like men. They simply don’t like me.”

  “There’s no accounting for male taste,” Aster agreed, swinging the other direction. “You are beautiful, well-spoken, and wealthy. You should be able to stand in the middle of a ballroom and draw men like flies to honey. But then you open your mouth . . .” She sighed in despair. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to play a mute?”

  Emilia laughed. “Not likely. Whereas you babble incessantly of absurdities, and men flock to you proclaiming undying love. Perhaps the trick is to not want men, although I have tried that. It doesn’t work for me.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want them . . .” Aster wrinkled her nose. “I just don’t dare care for one. Perhaps I should just take them as men do mistresses, then dismiss them before we become emotionally involved. It would be lovely to have a man escort me occasionally, to have someone who listens and understands . . . Which is preposterous, of course.”

  Emilia looked sympathetic. “Have you tried drawing another chart for yourself? Surely the stars do not say you must live alone forever.”

  “I draw a solar return faithfully every year. It’s as if the heavens want me to invent another planet. The calculations show me as indecisive and argumentative, when we both know I’m pragmatic and a problem-solver. Why can I chart everyone else correctly but not myself?”

  “It could be that your gift is to read others, not yourself,” Emilia said reflectively. “Our Malcolm gifts are not always clear. You could be wrong about your danger to others.”

  “I am not wrong about my dangerous propensities. According to my tallies, my predictions have been proven true over eighty-percent of the time. Even my own mother agrees that it is best if I live elsewhere. Georgina died in my arms!”

  “She was born just a year after Finnian and your mother is no longer young . . .” Emilia said hesitantly. “Perhaps she wasn’t meant to survive.”

  Wiping angrily at her eyes, Aster shook her head. “I appreciate the thought, but that last episode with the carriage and my sisters and Finnian proved otherwise. If we’d lost my father’s heir because of my presence . . .”

  Aster shuddered in horror and caressed the onyx brooch. “I miss all of them terribly, but it was my arrival that stampeded the horses. They could have all broken their necks!”

  “Admittedly, that was an odd episode, but it was over five years ago. Surely your fortunes will look up soon. One may hope mine will do the same.” Emilia looked more miserable than hopeful.

  “I will go over your chart again,” Aster agreed. “Perhaps I missed something. And then I will dig deeper into our library. I’d thought someone of Malcolm ancestry would be best, but I could go through DeBrett’s and see if any other eligible gentlemen catch my eye.”

  In some ways, it was excellent that she must live alone. It meant she had time to do all the research her family needed and to help with their various charities. She must remember to think constructively. “Perhaps a gentleman who will simply be happy to have an income and won’t mind barely having a wife—”

  Nick appeared in the doorway with his salver, hovering until Aster signaled him to speak. “A gentleman, my lady.”

  Reading the rather battered card, Aster raised her eyebrows and tried not to fret even more. “Thank goodness you’re here, Emilia. After today, I’ll have to stop accepting gentleman callers until I find a replacement for Jennet.”

  Even with Emilia present, she wondered if she should allow the gentleman entrance. He was not likely to be carrying good news. But then she remembered Emilia’s predicament and brightened. “Perhaps your sun is finally in the right house! The caller is Lord Theophilus Ives, heir to the Marquess of Ashford. He might be just the solution for you.”

  And if she was very lucky, he might help her to approach the marquess about the child labor law. Surely his brother was recovering by now, or at least bored with lying about. She had her doubts about bringing members of her family into the marquess’s circle, but where did she draw the line between caution and progress?

  “Do please send his lordship in,” she said, trying to be decisive.

  Unlike the last time she’d seen him, the marquess’s heir had chosen to dress properly today. Lord Theophilus was wearing a green coat so dark that it was almost black, as well as a proper gold waistcoat, and linen cravat. The style was a few years out of fashion, perhaps, but he would still look every inch the proper gentleman—except his coat was unfastened, his waistcoat hung by a dangling button, and he was loosening his cravat as if it were a noose around his neck.

  Aster bit back a smile and noticed what a perfect pair he and Emilia would make—both tall, slim, handsome, and bookish. She fought the selfish desire that she could say the same of herself.

  “My lord, I hope you have brought welcome news.” Judging by the stormy gray gaze he focused on her, she knew he had not. Her fear increased, but taught hospitality from an early age, she eased him into the company. “Emilia, may I introduce Lord Theophilus Ives, heir to the Marquess of Ashford, Earl of Ives and Wystan. Lord Theophilus, my cousin, the Honorable Emilia McDowell.”

  Emilia gave him her most splendiferous smile, the one that should bring grown men to their knees. She even reined in her tart tongue for a vaguely pleasant “My pleasure.”

  With surprise, Aster noted his lordship merely gave her beautiful cousin a cursory glance before swinging his attention back to her. She shivered a little at his baleful intensity.

  Had the doom in his chart already arrived? Surely he didn’t blame her!

  Five

  Theo tried not to gape at the lady’s parlor. He’d stepped out of a gray London day into a jungle of greenery, complete with cats hiding in the foliage—although admittedly, they were of the domestic kind and not tigers or lions. Across from the window full of ferns and flowers, a mural of what he assumed were palm and banana trees adorned the parlor wall. Interspersed among the mural’s vegetation were giant orange, red, and yellow flowers, not to mention a few painted monkeys and parrots.

  And the most striking creature of all was perched on the edge of a wicker chair stacked in pillows to match the jungle. Lady Doom was spreading her
plumage today in a brilliant yellow-and-green striped gown with just a frail bit of translucence covering her splendid bosom.

  And her hair was a fiery copper. He could scarcely drag his gaze away from her riotous mass of curls. In his rage and despair, Theo railed at the fates. It was as if he’d just discovered a new comet shooting across the heavens—while his telescope was falling apart.

  “Have a seat, my lord, join us in a cup of tea. Nick, have Cook send up some biscuits and a fresh pot, will you, please?” She followed this command with a gesture to take a seat near her other guest.

  Theo wished tea and the other guest to perdition. He had spent his entire journey from Surrey to London rehearsing what he would say when he arrived. Finding polite conversation under this sensory bombardment was beyond his limited social skills.

  Rather than take the seat indicated and offer the usual flummery—he’d already forgotten the other lady’s name—Theo paced across the salon to examine what appeared to be a mask painted on a fibrous shell.

  “My father, and his father before him, journeyed extensively in India and South America,” the witchy lady explained. “They sent home many rare examples of native artwork. Miss McDowell’s mother is my father’s sister. She added to my collection with the artifacts they sent her as well.”

  The skinny female in black laughed. “Mother emptied the attic in relief when Aster set up housekeeping. She had no idea how to use elephant tusks and coconut shells.”

  “It is inspiring,” Theo reluctantly admitted, wishing he could be in darkest Africa about now. “One almost wishes to visit jungles to see these specimens in nature.”

  “Exactly!” his hostess exclaimed in delight. “I have tried growing palms and various other plants my father brought home, but I have no conservatory, and there simply isn’t enough light from a single window.”

  “We have a conservatory,” Theo said, wondering how he could ask the other guest to leave, then pondered where Lady Azenor’s rather daunting companion had gone. Awkwardly, he realized he could not stay if the other lady left, not without risk of compromising his hostess. Devil take it. He hadn’t ridden all this way to turn around and leave without making his damned foolish request.

  He could only conclude that desperation had driven him here. It certainly wasn’t logic.

  The maid carried in an extra teacup and a fresh tray of biscuits, scones, and tea. Theo eyed the delicate straw contraption he was expected to lower his heavy weight on and chose to remain standing. The feminine frippery confined him, and he fought the urge to just grab the lady and haul her outside where he could breathe freely. He tasted a biscuit rather than speak.

  “How is your brother?” Lady Azenor inquired gently.

  He had expected a glint of defiance, a “told you so” or two—especially since she’d been right about the king’s death, the wet weather, and the rioters as well—but she seemed genuinely concerned. Theo swallowed without tasting. “That’s what I’ve come to see you about.”

  The other lady smothered a laugh and stood up. “Keeping mute doesn’t work either, Aster. It appears your prattle is more a case of knowing exactly what to say. I don’t possess your gift. I bid you good-day, my lord.”

  Aster sounded far more approachable than Azenor. He’d done a bit of research into the lady’s family, confirming his fears—she was from the unpredictable Dougalls, a Scots branch of the eccentric Malcolms, the ones with all the queer alphabetical names. Aster, he could almost live with.

  Theo bowed but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the other lady’s departure now that he had his hostess alone. Alone. She’d let her guest leave. He was relieved and anxious at the same time.

  “I won’t trouble you with—” Reluctantly, he started to excuse himself.

  “Sit, my lord.” She pointed at the wide wicker chair her guest had vacated. “I have heard Lord Ashford was injured. How does he fare?”

  Wanting to crush something but not wanting to smash furniture, Theo hesitantly sat on the edge of the straw piece. It wobbled. He sat deeper among the welcoming pillows. A few of the chairs at Iveston could use pillows like these—if the dogs didn’t eat them.

  His fingers were too large to wrap around the handle of the fragile teacup offered. He’d never managed the art of holding china. “Ashford’s arm and ribs are mending. They suspect a crack in the leg bone that is causing him to be laid up longer than he likes.” Even though he’d practiced his speech, Theo had difficulty reciting it under her concerned gaze. His gut churned, and he suffered an insane longing for the days before she’d entered his life.

  He’d like to curse her for a witch and demand she remove her wicked spell. Unfortunately, modern science rejected magic.

  “That is good to hear,” she said with what seemed like genuine relief. “I had feared his chart predicted much worse. Lord Ashford really should hasten to marry and produce heirs. That would free you of the considerable burden you’ve been suffering under.”

  Her sympathy almost undid him. Theo refused to believe she’d predicted Duncan’s fall or the king’s death using charts based on an imaginary cosmos. But he selfishly wanted to believe she understood the burden he’d carried all these years so that she would accept his mission now for what it was.

  She just sat there like a mysterious flower that would be gone tomorrow—but still sliced him straight to the quick today, letting all his guts spill out.

  “He’s blind,” Theo said bluntly. “Ashford is totally blind. He smashed his skull. The physicians don’t know if he’ll ever recover his sight, and I despair of him recovering his right mind.”

  She paled, revealing a sprinkle of rusty freckles across her nose. Her cup rattled until she set it down.

  He’d been unreasonably cruel, but that was how he felt—cruel and miserable and ready to inflict his selfish rage upon the world.

  “I see,” she murmured, although she wasn’t looking at him as she said it. A black cat crept from behind a drapery to leap onto her lap, and she stroked it absently, as if it were truly a witchy familiar offering comfort.

  “No, you don’t,” Theo said angrily. “He has told Margaret he releases her from their betrothal because he is no longer the man he was. She accepted his release! They’ve neither of them ever considered any other since they were in school!”

  Well, except for Dunc’s mistresses, but that’s what bachelors did if they could afford them.

  “That was very wrong of her,” the lady acknowledged sadly. “Now that your brother's chart has reached the part of severity and destruction, and yours is on the part of family disaster, they are closely followed by the part of marriage. She’ll regret her decision someday.”

  Destruction? He’d rode all this way to talk to a bedlamite?

  Theo set his lips and ordered himself to keep an open mind. “Well, I regret it right now.”

  This wasn’t at all how he’d meant to do this. Slamming down the delicate china he’d just picked up, Theo rose to pace the intricately woven green-and-gold carpet. The complex design distracted him until he practically fell over his feet. Was that a representation of the planets amid the curlicues?

  Another feline peered from beneath a curiosity cabinet and ducked back under at his approach. Theo rubbed his brow and tried to focus. “Ashford has ordered me to marry, produce heirs, and carry on in his place, putting me in charge of his holdings.” He spat out the words as if hammering nails.

  “Oh dear. That is not good,” she said. “A man with his head in the stars cannot be expected to grasp the nature of earthly objects. Surely you have a steward to attend the estate, at least?”

  He was irritated at how quickly she accepted his limitations, but she wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t already told his damned brother. “Our steward disappeared months ago. Dunc never found a better one and hasn’t been in a hurry to do so—until now.”

  “Disappeared? Do you generally have valuable staff vanish?” she asked in perplexity.

  Theo waved his ha
nd in dismissal of Iveston’s perpetual state of abandonment. Of course Margaret had left. Women always did. She’d just picked the wrong damned time—if there was ever a good time to walk out on friends. “People come and go. That isn’t the point. Ashford’s responsibilities encompass far more than just the land. As you should be aware, our family indulges in industry. For generations we’ve invested in coal and canals, and these days it’s steam engines and foundries and more. Our entire widespread family depends on Ashford.”

  Her beautiful midnight eyes widened and he could almost swear they sparkled.

  “That is extremely heroic of you,” she said in what sounded like awe. “You must set aside all that you are to become all that your family needs. Not many men are capable of such selfless sacrifice.”

  Theo wanted to snarl. “I assure you, I’m not in the least heroic. Without the estate, I have no home and no income. I need estate funds to develop the manufactory for my telescope glass. Although I’m not sure what the point is now since I’ll barely find time to continue my observations. I cannot possibly manage everything.”

  “And you tell me this because . . . ?” she asked with that acerbic tone belying her fluffy peahen appearance.

  This was where he made a complete and utter nodcock of himself, but desperate times and all that . . . . “Because if I must marry to produce the heir Ashford will not, it has to be someone who understands about running businesses and estates. I cannot do it all myself. I don’t want to do it all myself. I am a scientist, not an industrialist or a farmer.”

  He swung around and faced her directly. “I don’t believe in astrology, but if you can use your foolishness to convince a useful woman that we suit, I won’t care if she’s plain as a door or frumpy as an old maid.”

  ***

  Taken somewhat aback, Aster sipped her cooling tea before answering. She was accustomed to men rejecting her charts. That this highly intelligent, eminently respectable gentleman who understood the heavens chose to reject her observations hurt more than most. But there was no sense arguing over his disbelief.