Magic in the Stars

by Patricia Rice

  Aster donned her best smile. “If that’s all this is about, I shall straighten out the story myself. Do have a seat, Miss Caldwell. If we are to be neighbors, the least we can do is get to know each other over a cup of tea.”

  If she couldn’t immediately flee back to London, she might as well make herself useful.

  Jacques looked from one to the other of them warily, then escaped with obvious relief at Aster’s nod of dismissal.

  Aster took one of the newly cleaned arm chairs and poured the tea from a mismatched set of china. “The widow owes us a cow for nearly putting out Hugh’s eye and causing such a violent disturbance that it dragged Mr. Browne and one of our tenants from their work, not to mention bruising me on the eve of my wedding. An adulteress and a woman who would sell herself for a cow receives no sympathy here. Would you care to explain what is really happening?”

  The lady scowled and studied her teacup. She seemed to be a few years older than Aster and far more poised and polished than Aster ever hoped to be. Margaret looked the part of marchioness with her elaborately coiffed ringlets and artfully applied cosmetics. Aster wished she knew the lady’s birthday, but she would place her wager on Margaret being a Virgo.

  “I’d meant to take out that wall of windows and replace them with doors onto the terrace,” the lady said, not answering the question.

  “First, there would need to be a terrace and not a lot of broken stones and crumbling benches,” Aster retorted. “Were you intending to marry his lordship for his house?”

  The lady shrugged. “At least it would have been my own, to do with as I wish. How is he?”

  “Furious. Beyond furious. And you score no points with his brothers. Theo is marrying me simply to return some semblance of normality. Crying off was not well done,” Aster said crossly.

  “I nursed my mother for years. I do not have the heart to nurse a husband and all the other Ives who will inevitably spill through here when they need help.”

  The lady wrung a lacy handkerchief, then continued. “Did you know that when Duncan and his brothers were very young and attending Eton that they were sent home when the school closed from an outbreak of measles?”

  Aster shook her head, soaking up any information that might aid her.

  “Their father was in London. Their younger uncles were at Oxford or out carousing. Their older uncles had left the household. There was no one here to greet the boys except a few footmen and kitchen staff. When Erran came down with spots, Duncan had to ride out in search of a physician. The three of them took care of each other until the physician finally realized their plight and sent for their father. Nursing Ives is a never-ending process.”

  Aster sat in horror trying to imagine such an appalling lack of concern for family. They had been raised like wolves! No wonder Theo was desperate for her small help.

  “Do not feel sorry for those little boys,” Miss Caldwell warned, reading Aster’s expression rightly. “For they have grown into men who are equally negligent. They care for nothing but themselves and their own pursuits. Duncan has already abandoned parliament and the work he was doing there to nurse his wounds. Theo will ultimately abandon the Hall when denied the observatory he wants. You would do well to go home, my lady.”

  Having delivered her horrifying message, Miss Caldwell brightened. “Montfort’s place will suit me far better than this gloomy Hall, and he said we might live in London. I think I shall enjoy that.”

  She didn’t look as if she’d enjoy it, Aster observed, but imagining those three lost little boys, she was too sick to her stomach to continue the conversation. “You wish me to convey that message to the marquess?”

  Miss Caldwell finally looked up to meet Aster’s eyes. “Did you not ever wonder why there are no women in the household? They will kill you just as they’ve killed every other woman in their care. I think I shall take my chances on Montfort.”

  Well, dying could certainly be the disaster she saw in her charts—but marriage seemed far more likely to be the looming tragedy.

  Twenty-four

  Thinking the tower in Northumberland was looking better and better, Theo settled the matter of Maeve, the Cow Deprived. “You’re welcome to the witch,” he told the baronet. “I fully support Lady Azenor’s insistence that she be removed.”

  Aster hadn’t told him that after Maeve had hit Hugh, she’d ordered Browne to fling the widow off the estate. He twitched his shoulders in discomfort at his increasingly tight coat. Did one just toss tenants out of their houses? How the devil would he know?

  Was that the disaster she kept predicting—letting someone else handle his responsibilities led to rock-throwing and cow-stealing? Damnation.

  Eager to prevent Aster’s escape, Theo steered his neighbor from the office. “After what Maeve did to Hugh and Lady Azenor, I won’t allow the woman to return to Iveston. If you wish to file a complaint against Mr. Browne—who was merely doing his job—then so be it and good luck. No tenant harms my betrothed and my nephew and remains on my land to tell about it.”

  “It won’t do, it won’t do at all,” the baronet continued to protest as Theo escorted him from the office. “You need more experienced guidance.”

  Ah, so there was the reason for this visit. The baronet thought he could run the estate better than Theo.

  “The laborers are all up in arms as it is,” Sir George continued. “The widow is very popular. Her plight will stir them to rage.”

  “Duncan is still magistrate, is he not?” Theo asked, attempting to conceal his contempt. “If I ask, he’ll have Maeve up on charges of assault. We’ll send her to gaol and then there’s none to incite anger. She’s damned lucky we’re just kicking her out. I’m wagering I could find women willing to testify Maeve engages in prostitution. You’ve picked the wrong cause, Caldwell.”

  Theo stopped in the drawing room doorway and felt his anger diminish at sight of his maybe-betrothed presiding over the company. She glanced up at his arrival, and he could swear she winked. Her copper curls twisted every which way, falling on her brow and nape with abandon. Her traveling gown was much the worse for wear. And she still looked like royalty in the cream and azure chamber she’d created.

  “Sir George.” Despite her wrinkled dishabille, Aster nodded with the dignity of a queen.

  The baronet was a large, stout man with receding blond hair and a booming voice that fit a hunting field better than a drawing room. He looked uncomfortable bowing over Aster’s hand, speaking polite pleasantries. As soon as he straightened, he sent a pleading glance to his daughter, who instantly rose.

  “It’s been a pleasure, my lady,” Margaret said in the polished tones that Theo knew she’d learned at her expensive finishing school.

  He didn’t think Margaret sounded pleased, but he was as much in a hurry to pry their guests out as they were to leave.

  “I understand there is to be a wedding?” Sir George boomed, taking his daughter’s arm. “Shall I offer our congratulations?”

  Heading off any tart reply Aster might make, Theo steered his guests toward the rotunda. “I’ll accept them. Lady Azenor is a prize well beyond my expectations.”

  A prize he’d stolen, coerced, seduced . . . No wonder she was ready to fling him in the pond and set the goats upon him.

  After seeing his guests off, Theo returned to the drawing room, but as he’d feared, Aster had already slipped away. He’d need to put a bell on her to keep up with her. He hurried up the stairs to check on Hugh—and found his reluctant bride telling tall tales to the twins—and to Duncan.

  His brother had propped himself against the wall to listen. At Theo’s arrival, Duncan twisted his head as if to determine who was there. He scowled a warning.

  Properly cautioned against interrupting, Theo silently jostled his big brother for position because he was still irritated at having the estate’s responsibilities dumped on his inadequate shoulders. Since Duncan was merely listening to the story and not seeing the maternal scene as Theo did, he shif
ted without complaint. No one had ever told them bedtime stories. It was an illuminating experience.

  Theo waited until Aster was finished and the twins were roaring in laughter before he intruded. “I’ll not tell Pascoe that you know how to tell stories or he’ll steal you from me.”

  “Pascoe can find his own damned woman,” Duncan snarled, returned from fantasy land to the moment. “Did you rid the premises of intruders?”

  “No thanks to you,” Theo retorted now that the spell was broken.” I could have used a little support down there. I didn’t know who the devil Maeve was.”

  “If you spent less time in the library and more time in the tavern, you would.”

  “You’re complaining because I’m not a drunk and a rakehell?” Theo protested.

  “I shall have Cook send supper up here for all of you.” Ignoring their bickering, Aster rose from the side of the bed. She touched her own bruise, then Hugh’s. “I think Hugh and I shall spend more time in the library and less separating quarreling tenants.”

  That sounded as if she meant to stay. Heart thumping illogically, Theo offered his arm. “I’ll be happy to lead you to the library, unless you wish to rout a few more ogres for me. Quarreling neighbors are as bad as tenants.”

  “We don’t want mothering,” Duncan protested. “And the estate doesn’t need more bookworms in the library.”

  Theo swung around and whacked his brother’s bulging bicep with all the strength of his bookworm fist. “You abdicated, big brother,” he roared as Duncan staggered back in surprise. “If you want the damned throne back, I’ll hand it over, and Aster and I will repair to the tower in Wystan. Otherwise, leave us to muddle along as best we can.”

  “Hugh,” she addressed the boy in the bed, “if I see you and your brother treat each other like savages the way your father and uncle do, I shall send you both off to Wystan so you might learn civilization.” Aster sailed out of the room.

  Defending himself from Duncan’s retaliatory swing with a lifted arm and shove, Theo ran after her.

  ***

  Aster was downstairs ordering a meal served in the twins’ chamber when Theo caught up with her. She didn’t want to be angry with a man who had been raised like a wolf and didn’t know better, but she was confused and shaken and she had no clothes.

  “You hit a blind man,” she said before he could speak.

  “I discovered well before he was blind that the only way to hit Duncan is when he doesn’t see it coming,” Theo declared without remorse. “His arms are longer than mine, and he always wins otherwise.”

  “He can’t ever see the blow coming,” she protested. “You must change your ways.”

  “If you’ve decided to become a bitter spinster who berates astronomers for their bigotry rather than marry me, what does it matter?” he grumbled. “I believe I shall retire to Wystan and let Erran run the estate.”

  “Oh, that will work very well. Erran speaks even less than you do. But I suppose he does know how to dress properly.”

  Which avoided the subject—did she wish to become a bitter spinster? Of course not. But that was a very real possibility given her ruined reputation. And if she didn’t dare visit her family . . . She wanted to beat Theo for making her face facts.

  “I accept that your science is different from mine,” Theo said gruffly, out of the blue.

  His hair flopped in his eyes, his coat was undone, and his boots were still muddy from the pond, but in her eyes, he was still the handsomest man she knew—and the most appealing. How could one resist those little-boy-blue eyes?

  “I really don’t want to let the Society humiliate you as it does anyone who offers theories different than their own, but I will, if you demand it,” he added reluctantly.

  Aster held a hand to her chest to keep her heart from leaping out. He still wanted her to stay!

  Choices. She must make choices. Her stars seemed further away than ever. “You said so earlier. I believe you. Perhaps I’ll wait until I have more information about planets and moons and asteroids I don’t know about before confronting them.”

  He studied her warily. “Do you still wish to look for a smarter man than me?”

  No, she wanted to fling herself into his arms and return to the pond. Or the tub. Or a bed. And she was officially out of her mind. “There are no smarter gentlemen in London or I would have found them. What I want is respect. If you can accept that my science is different from yours, then I will accept that men don’t understand that their version of science cannot explain everything.”

  His beautiful silver-blue eyes flickered with hope, and he shoved a straying strand of hair from her cheek. “I accept that science cannot explain women. Do you still wish to return to London?”

  “I have to go to London to fetch my trunks. I can’t be married in this!” She held out her drab traveling gown.

  He carried her hand to his mouth, kissed it, and nearly brought her to her knees. How could the man who yelled at his brothers and hauled her around like a sack of coal be the same man who otherwise treated her as if she were more valuable than gold? Perhaps she could find a scientific treatise on men. Or write one, if she lived long enough.

  “We have a date with the vicar tomorrow. You’re not going anywhere,” he insisted, catching her arm and dragging her back up the stairs.

  “We appear to be going somewhere,” she corrected as she ran to keep up with his longer steps. She was definitely out of her mind, but a thousand times happier than when she’d told him she was leaving. That had to mean something.

  “To the attic. There are trunks and trunks of clothing up there.” He led the way to a floor with many paneled doors and hurried her past them.

  “You want me to wear someone’s old clothes on our wedding day?” she asked in incredulity. “Is this how Ives kill their wives—with insanity?”

  “We don’t kill our wives. My great-grandmother and grandmother were both still alive when I was born. No one lives forever. And if Margaret was telling you about our mistresses, they never hang about after they discover we won’t wed them or pamper them with jewels. They’re not dead, just gone for greener pastures. Margaret is looking for excuses for her abominable behavior.”

  He understood her fear and effectively dismissed it! Now she remembered why she adored this man. He was dangerously close to being the stabilizing influence her Libra indecision needed.

  He flung open one of the doors they passed in the silent upper corridor. “Nursery, schoolroom, servants quarters, in case you’re interested.”

  With curiosity, she peered past his shoulder to a linen-shrouded room, until he tugged her hand and dragged her to a new flight of stairs.

  Well, almost the balance she needed.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know Margaret’s birthday, would you?” Dragged along by Theo’s haste, Aster was practically gasping for air by the time they reached the final landing.

  “First of September. She throws a harvest festival early and calls it her birthday fete.” The stairs opened onto another corridor of low ceilings and plain doors.

  “Virgo, as I expected. I should draw her chart and see if she is right for Duncan. Perhaps we could bring them together again. She seems like the managing sort he needs.”

  Aster stared in curiosity at the rows of doors on this top floor. She’d never seen a house so huge that even the attics had attics.

  “Please, don’t,” Theo admonished. “They’ve both led each other on for a decade. It’s time to move forward, and I’d rather not do it with Margaret wasting money on silk furniture the dogs will ruin. Her only interest has ever been spending money and demanding attention.”

  “But someday, Duncan may marry, and his wife will be in charge,” Aster argued, finding a new reason to doubt her sanity in marrying into this family.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’ll charge the estate for my services in the meantime, and we’ll be rich and build our own house. It doesn’t look as if I’ll ever have
time for an observatory anyway.” He sounded resigned.

  “What exactly is an observatory?” she asked, since it seemed so important to him.

  “A structure for observing celestial objects. Stonehenge might be a prehistoric example for observing the sun and moon. McFarlane in Scotland has instruments that measure the stars from a specific point to create sailing maps. Sir William Herschel built a magnificent one in Slough. I want a specific point for observing the moons—a place large enough for my very largest glasses.”

  “A structure on a hill? Is that what Wystan is?” She tried to imagine where he might put such a building on the estate.

  “Wystan is tall but the tower is too small for my scope without considerable improvement. There’s a rocky hill on the south end of this estate, but all my money is tied up in the manufactory. Until it starts making a profit, I can do nothing.”

  Dismissing the subject, he opened the first door and lit a sconce on the wall.

  The last rays of sunlight illuminated a dusty chamber of old boxes, trunks, and wardrobes. In ways, it was actually neater than the rooms below. No one had spilled books or saddles or dogs up here. The dust lay evenly between rows and rows of . . . clothes?

  “Probably dating back a century or more,” Theo said with a casual gesture. “I believe some of the ancestors liked to throw theatricals, but we’ve not had so much of that in our time.”

  “Jacques would have liked a drama or two,” Aster said, cautiously opening the first wardrobe. But Jacques had just been one more of the wolf pack abandoned when convenient and left to fend for himself. Duncan might claim they didn’t need mothering, but the marquess lied through his clenched teeth.

  A cloud of moths flew out of a packed space of old velvets and wools—winter clothes. Vowing to return with lavender and cedar, she shut the door and proceeded to the next.

  “Those look like they might be my mother’s,” Theo said, peering into the crowded closet of delicate fabrics. “They’d be the newest of the lot.”

  Aster gingerly removed a gown so fine, it could have been a night shift. “The embroidery is lovely,” she said, holding it up to her front. “But I would look like a barque of frailty in this, even should it fit, which it won’t. Your mother must have been very tall and slender. I would trip over the hem and fall out of this bodice.” She eyed the narrow band skeptically, wondering how anyone except a broom might fit into it decently.