“Does that mean that everything you’ve told us about our charts is wrong?” Dee demanded. “Is Edward not the right man for me?”
“Astrologically, Edward is the ideal man for you,” Aster said, puzzling out how she could know this without charting Uranus into her cousin’s chart. “There might be slight differences if I apply the mathematical calculations I used last night, but would you give him up over slight differences? If so, then you had best not marry him.”
Dee slumped in her chair and glared at her teacup. “I want certainties. Do you even love Lord Theo?”
Aster shrugged and sipped her tea. “I don’t know that love can be charted or predicted. He needs me. We enjoy each other’s company.” And more, but she wouldn’t try to explain the physical bliss he’d taught her last night. “Is there a better basis for marriage?”
“Aster!” Bree nearly shouted, horrified. “You cannot just take the first man who offers simply because he asks. Marriage is forever! One needs love to smooth over the difficulties, and heaven only knows, this household is simply bursting with difficulties.”
Aster smiled over her teacup. “And here I believed everyone thought me compromised and that I must marry. Tut, tut, my dears, you are showing your eccentricity.”
Bree glared back at her as only sisters could. “If all those guests were your friends, they wouldn’t say anything.”
“People talk. It’s what they do best. Father’s allowance is modest and not sufficient for clothing and feeding the servants I train. If my reputation is ruined, my additional income will dry up. But here . . .” Aster sat back and admired the enormous dining hall they’d cleaned and refreshed. “Here, I could train an army, and the Ives fortune won’t even notice the dent.”
“That’s not what marriage is about,” Dee grumbled unhappily.
“Edward is off making his fortune so he can afford to keep you in the style to which you are accustomed,” Aster pointed out. “Marriage is about many things, some of them unpleasantly financial. You may dream of love and romance and hearts and flowers, if you wish. I’ve never had that opportunity. To find a man who knows about my disastrous chart and is willing to brave it to have me . . . That’s romantic enough for me.”
She’d almost convinced herself that marriage was the best choice. If she could simply concentrate on all the positive arguments and avoid the negative ones, her Libra need for balance would happily take vows.
She’d already given her vow.
Inhaling sharply at that memory, she wondered what had inspired that moment of sublime commitment. Or insanity. She’d barely realized she’d known the words. Had she actually said she vowed to love Theo?
He hadn’t said the same—but then as she well knew, Theo did not always speak his feelings. Although the things he’d said last night—had been said in the heat of passion. In the cold light of day, he hadn’t even waited around to kiss her good morning.
There she went again, waffling. It wasn’t as if she actually believed she was in love with Theo. She was much too practical for that. Her concern needed to be whether it was safe for her to marry. She didn’t want to bring more danger into anyone’s lives, and unfortunately, she didn’t see how she could close her heart to Theo and his family so they’d be safe from her unstable chart.
She fretted over that far more than the realities of marriage to a man of science who didn’t believe in the zodiac.
As they finished breakfast, Jacques entered, seeming diffident.
Of all the Ives men, he looked and behaved least like an Ives. He was blond, slight, and possessed a smile that was almost boyish in its charm. Of course, he was only twenty-three, if she remembered his chart. He wasn’t smiling now as he waited for Aster to acknowledge him.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, gathering up her shawl and thinking she needed to send for more clothes. And a wedding gown! She’d burnt her only good day dress.
“Dunc won’t answer his door, Theo has gone to London, and we have a problem Mr. Browne isn’t suited to handle.” He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and frowned at Bree and Dee.
“And you have some odd notion that I can?” Aster asked in astonishment.
“It involves women,” he said bluntly. “And if something isn’t done quickly, one of them will kill the other, and Theo will have a real problem on his hands.”
“Women? If they’re some of the marquess’s mistresses or the like, then I would just take a broom to them. That’s most likely not the best solution,” she said pertly.
“Tenants. They’re fighting over a cow. It was just words before, but it’s escalated to fists and hair pulling. I fear it will grow worse.”
Puzzled, Aster donned her shawl. “I cannot imagine what I can do. Are they very far off? I don’t ride.”
“Not far, but the gig will take us faster than walking, if you don’t mind.” He seemed relieved and worried at the same time.
“I trust neither of them has a knife.” Hoping the morning wasn’t too cool, she hurried toward the stable exit. She wasn’t wearing boots, but her shoe wardrobe was as limited as her gowns. She really needed to send for more if she meant to stay.
She did mean to stay, didn’t she? To live in disorder and chaos and abandon her beautiful city nest? Panic clawed at her insides, but action allowed her to hide it.
“Agatha has a rake that she swung at us when we tried to interfere. If William were here, he could probably grab her, but I don’t think I could take on either of them without causing grave insult. Assaulting tenants is probably not the done thing.” He hurried her out to the yard where a stableman was hooking up the traces to a polished low-slung gig.
“And hauling women about is the only way you can contrive to settle a fight?” she asked in disbelief.
“If they were men, we’d just wade into the fray and pop them one until they saw stars,” Jacques asserted. “I’m not bad at fisticuffs. But I’ve never hit a woman.”
“Thank goodness for that.” She allowed him to hand her into the gig. “Where are their families?”
Jacques shrugged. “I do not keep up on the tenants, but from some of the argument, I gather a father or son is involved. But there were no men about while we were there.”
“You live here but you do not know the tenants?” Aster tried to fathom how that might be, but the inhabitants of her father’s rural lands were more family than tenants. It was a very small estate built mostly on rocks, after all.
“Dunc deals with them. And the steward. I didn’t really grow up here. I know the men who hang about the tavern on a Saturday evening, but I have enough problems without hanging about their daughters.” He scowled.
That was the first time she’d seen him scowl. There might actually be depths to the pretty boy. “No scattering of more Ives’ bastards?” she asked cheerfully. “That must be hard on you.”
He shot her a look of incredulity. “You do not mince words, do you?”
“Do you think I’d have any chance of surviving here if I did?” she asked.
He accepted that without argument and continued bluntly, “I send most of my allowance to my mother to keep her in fripperies so she can look the part of wealthy lady. I am hoping she’ll find a protector. Supporting a mistress isn’t in my cards.”
Aster compared his words to what she recalled of his chart and shook her head. “That’s not all, is it? You have a dream that you’re hiding from your brothers.”
The dappled mare clip-clopped a half mile before he reluctantly replied. “She knows theater people and brags about my plays to producers. I’ve even had one or two accepted, although they’ve made very little money. I’ve vowed if I have no success by the time I’m twenty-five, I’ll take over Theo’s glassworks. He can use the help, and I’m not totally incompetent.”
“No, you’re just an Aries, with dreams bigger than you are. You need to be in London, rubbing elbows with dramatists, making yourself known. I believe most successful men become so by knowing the right p
eople.”
Before he could respond, they heard the furious shouts of the fight over the hedge, and Aster gestured for him to stop. “Best not to let the mare too close to a brawl. I can walk from here.”
Jacques tied the animal to a tree and followed her over the stile into a field apparently used as an animal pen. A few bored sheep munched a patch of clover, and a cow and her calf lay in a brief patch of sunlight through the clouds.
At the edge of the enclosure, two women reached across the stone-and-hedge wall, yanking each other’s hair and trying to drag one another across the barrier. Fists had been engaged and blood had been spilled, but so far, the rake and hoe nearby did not seem to be in play.
“He gave the bloody cow to me!” the tall, black-haired younger of the two women yelled. “You have no right to steal it. I’m going to the marquess, and you’ll see who gets what.”
A stouter, shorter woman with salt-and-pepper hair flying down her back did her best to smash the taller woman’s head into the wall. “It’s my cow and he had no right to give it over. I raised her since birth. She feeds my young ’uns. And you’ll take her over my dead body.”
“Women ain’t got no rights, you old biddy! He gave it for services rendered, all proper and square. I earned that cow!”
“I begin to see the problem,” Aster whispered as they approached. “Is the older lady married and the younger one not?”
“I believe the younger is a widow. I’ve seen her in the tavern, entertaining several of the men. I know naught of the other.” Jacques held her elbow to assist her over the rough field.
Perhaps this was the kind of problem Aster could help Theo with. She knew little about cows, but she knew people. Eager to prove to herself that she wasn’t making a mistake by marrying Theo, she studied the situation.
“I’ll come up on their near side,” she suggested, “if you’ll come up on their far side and remove their weapons, please. I’d rather not be smacked in the face with a hoe.” Before her wedding, she didn’t add. That still seemed a little ephemeral with the groom missing. With her luck and planets, Theo had probably broken his neck galloping to the bishop.
“Hello, ladies,” she said cheerfully, lifting her old skirt and approaching from the nearest side.
Caught up in their fury, neither woman responded.
She really wished she knew if they fought over husband or son. Barring that, she wished she had a broom. Or a bucket of water. She glanced around, noted Jacques had purloined the weapons, and saw a bucket by the water trough. She nodded in that direction. His eyes widened, but like all Ives, he was smart and caught on quickly.
“The marquess sent me to see what the quarrel is about,” she said more loudly. “I do believe he is the magistrate. Shall I take your grievance to him?”
“Who the devil are you?” the younger woman demanded, yanking harder on the older woman’s long hair.
“Lady Azenor Dougall, affianced to Lord Theophilus. If you don’t cease your fisticuffs, I shall have to resort to drastic measures. Wouldn’t it be better to state your case rather than decapitate each other?”
The younger woman swung her fist at the older’s jaw, sending the matron staggering. But neither released their holds. So much for reason and logic.
“Well, Miss La-di-da,” the younger sneered. “I’m Mrs. Maeve Higby and this here cow stole my cow. I want it back. You tell the marquess Maeve wants Agatha arrested.”
Aster was developing a strong dislike for the bigger of the two. “And you’re Agatha?” she asked of the older woman.
“My Harvey did not give that cow to the whore,” the presumed-Agatha shouted. “She’s lying!”
Ah, they were coming closer to the core of the argument. Still, she didn’t know if they were talking husband or son. “And who might Harvey be? If you would please release each other, we might reach the bottom of this faster.”
“The witch got him drunk!” the older woman shouted. “My Harvey never strayed afore.” Infuriated at just stating this aloud, the wife used both hands to slam Maeve’s head into the hedge.
With a sigh, Aster nodded at Jacques, who stood by with a bucket. Granted permission, he happily flung the water over both women.
They shrieked and jumped apart, wiping at the foul-smelling slime dripping down their faces. Aster hurried to place herself between them. “Cooler heads prevail,” she informed them. “Mrs. Higby, I would have your tale first.”
Before either could speak, young Hugh galloped up on a restive mare. “Mr. Browne says I’m to take both ladies to the office,” he shouted.
“Browne can go to hell!” the belligerent Maeve retorted. “It ain’t none of his business, and none of your’n either.” She swung her fist at Agatha, who dodged.
The blow struck Aster squarely on the cheek, and she staggered. Shocked, Jacques and Hugh jumped into the fray as the two women went at each other again.
Appalled, Aster drew back as the irate widow grabbed a loose stone from the wall. With a furious swing, the widow aimed at her adversary.
The stone flew from Maeve’s hand and slammed into Hugh, who dropped to the ground. Blood spurted from the blow to his brow.
Feeling the crushing of doom to her faint hopes, Aster fell to her knees besides the boy, weeping and trying to staunch the gash with her gown.
Twenty-two
With the license tucked in his coat pocket, Theo galloped for home, trying not to imagine all the potential disasters he’d left untended. Instead, he fretted over whether purchasing a special license instead of a regular one had been a wasted effort. Would Duncan actually come downstairs if they married in the Hall?
He had hoped to marry this evening. Waiting for morning seemed to just ask for trouble. He would become as superstitious as Aster at this rate.
But the vicar was busy and claimed the morning would be better. The special license would allow him to come to the Hall. That had been the best Theo could arrange. He need only hang on to the lady another eighteen hours or so, and she would be irrevocably his.
Perhaps he ought to feel a little guilty about not asking her father for Aster’s hand, but as she’d said—Theo was inclined toward action first, and Scotland was a long way away.
By the time Theo saw the Iveston carriage and the baggage wagon loaded with boxes rumbling toward him, all his doubts and fears coalesced into shocking reality.
Once again, he was about to be abandoned—Aster was leaving.
What had his brothers done this time?
Which made him so angry, he couldn’t think at all. Aster knew better than to be frightened off by anything his family did. He expected more from her!
Maneuvering his gelding to block the lane, Theo held up his hand ordering his driver to halt. Ever obedient, the coachman did so.
Theo swung down from his horse and yanked open the door. Three demure young women and one confused old one stared back at him. “Where are you going?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you planning a wedding?”
And then he saw the bruise on Aster’s cheek, and his temper exploded. “What the devil happened?”
He hauled her bodily from the carriage to examine the damage, wanting to weep as he caressed the appalling purple marring her perfect cheek. He didn’t think he shouted, but she winced, and her younger companions bunched their gloved fists. He held her tighter, waiting for explanation, with his heart ready to burst from his chest.
“It was an accident,” she asserted, struggling against his hold. “Hugh was hit by a rock. You should go to him. Now put me down.”
She spoke calmly, but Theo could practically feel her vibrations. It didn’t take a mathematician to add two and two. If she blamed herself for Hugh’s injury . . . she would run. She was running.
He added the fuel of panic to the conflagration of his fury and fear.
“How badly is Hugh hurt?” Theo’s imagination had run rampant since the Prophetess of Doom had first darkened his doorstep. Alarm thundered at the thought of young Hugh lying hu
rt and injured as Dunc had been. But he would yank out his heart before he’d lose his little general. He clamped his arms tighter against her struggles.
“Dr. Joseph is with him. He seems to think Hugh’s eye will be fine in a few days. Now set me down.” She wriggled against him—as if all those lush curves squirming against him would encourage him to set her aside.
“And why aren’t you with Hugh instead of in a carriage?” Theo demanded, even knowing the answer.
“He could have lost his eye! This is all my fault,” she wailed, flinging her arms around his neck and weeping into his shoulder. Theo held her close and despaired of ever having what he wanted.
“I simply cannot risk endangering anyone else, so I am leaving,” she announced, pushing against him again.
That’s what he’d figured. Hugh got swatted—and she believed it was her damned planets at fault. A gentleman would let her go and try to woo her back to reason—or better yet, hunt a more rational female.
Theo had no such intentions. He kicked the carriage door closed on the gaping women. “Go fetch the lady’s wardrobe. And cats, and a wedding gown,” he commanded. “She’s marrying me tomorrow with or without you.”
Aster pummeled him with her small fists, but he wasn’t having any of it. He’d pander to her planets some other day, but not on his wedding eve.
The driver was already heeding his orders about London, and the team galloped off. Theo doubted even Aster’s audacious relations would leap from a moving vehicle.
All he needed to do now was persuade a madwoman to stay—which made him equally insane. They deserved each other.
Carrying his betrothed, Theo flung her into the saddle, much as he had the first day she’d arrived.
“No running away,” he informed her, swinging up behind her. “I will not have hysterics. That’s an order.”
She choked on a mixed sob and laugh. “You cannot order me about. If I wish to go home, I shall. You cannot let me harm anyone else.” She keened this last.
Hysterics, Theo thought in his fit of rage. But he meant to stay the damned course. This one was not escaping. “Unless you deliberately hit Hugh in the eye with a brick in a malicious fit of temper, I will not believe you are responsible. We cannot keep having this argument.”
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