Magic in the Stars (4 page)

Theo grabbed another cue. “If you haven’t got the brains to
work that out, we’ll have to hire you out as a coatrack. Do you really think he’s
spending his nights with Margaret?”

Catching Theo’s drift, Jacques set about knocking random
balls into Erran’s. “While Dunc is dipping his wick, we could just fix the
window and roof.”

“Not . . . my . . . job.” Theo
set about knocking every ball off the table, in mathematical precision.

Northumberland, it would have to be. He’d chase all the
witches out of the castle and claim it for himself.

Later that evening, Theo stood on the roof, adjusting his
telescope to focus on the heavens. The rain had finally let up enough to see
through the clouds. All he needed was the final calculation and a sighting to
confirm it—

The hatch door over the stairs squealed open. “My lord, my
lord!” a groom cried from the opening. “Zeus just returned without his lordship!”

Theo’s first mulish thought was that this was the first
clear night he’d had in a week to track Saturn’s moons—and now he’d have to
spend it hunting his damned brother, who couldn’t keep his trousers buttoned.
If Ashford wouldn’t insist on visiting his village mistress while betrothed to
another, he wouldn’t tempt fate.

Although Duncan was a damned good rider and Zeus was a
superior horse.

That realization provoked the unwelcome memory of Lady
Azenor’s doom-and-gloom prediction. Theo didn’t believe in hocus-pocus. His
mother had left a journal of vague prognostications that had been a source of
amusement when he was younger . . . . But as far as he
could remember, they all made as much sense as assassinating planets.

Theo cast a stoic eye to the immense belt of glittering
stars overhead. Selfish bastard that he was, he didn’t want to be left with Ashford’s
responsibilities if anything happened to his damned lordship. Saturn would
return in a month, but he had only one older brother.

“Saddle horses,” Theo told the groom, “I’ll fetch Erran and
Jacques. You wake the stable hands.” With resignation, he closed the telescope.

Hours later, as men carried the bloody and unconscious marquess
in on a stretched canvas, Theo suffered a sick sensation in the pit of his
stomach. He’d just cursed Duncan earlier in the evening, had wanted to punch
him outright. And now . . .

He hadn’t hurled since childhood, but acid ate at his
midsection at the sight of his omnipotent older brother rendered helpless.

He didn’t want to believe in foolish superstition. Everyone
fell off a horse sooner or later. But . . .

Duncan was a bruising equestrian who should have had no
trouble in weather as clear as it was tonight. But impossibly, the marquess now
lay comatose, head and face bloodied beyond recognition, with a bone sticking
out of his twisted arm. His big body appeared lifeless, not stirring even as
the servants bumped him over the threshold.

Biting down his fear and self-contempt, Theo damned prophecy
as superstition, swallowed his anxiety, and concentrated on what needed to be
done.

“We’ve sent for every physician and surgeon we know,”
Jacques said worriedly, following the litter in.

How long had Duncan been out there before the horse returned
and while they’d hunted over acres of estate? How much blood could a body lose
in the hours he’d been lying alone and untended?

“How bad is it?” Theo asked, holding Jacques back while the
servants scurried about with hot water and bandages. “Broken bones?”

“Broken head,” Jacques said, his frown deepening. “Broken
arm, but it’s the head that’s bad. Looks like Zeus took a fall and Dunc sailed
right over his neck. It happened down at the bridge, where all those rocks line
the path.”

“The bridge” was no more than an ancient stone trestle
across a deep creek that flooded in the spring. The path was a short cut from
the village to the house, not a public road. Had the horse broken its leg and
not returned to warn them, no one would have found Duncan for days. As
marquess, he had many responsibilities and often spent weeks elsewhere without
leaving word. They would scarcely have noticed his absence.

That’s when Theo’s gut really took fire. He still didn’t
want to believe that planets foretold fate—but the lady had been right in too
many respects.

“Zeus is too old to startle or bolt easily,” Theo said, dismissing
illogic. “What would make him throw Duncan?”

Jacques’ eyes widened. “Dunc quit taking Zeus hunting
because he started spooking at gunshots.”

Would angry farmers
shoot
at Duncan? That was more logical—and uglier— than blaming planets. “I can’t
think like that,” Theo decided, rubbing his head to clear out the superstition
and panic. He was a man of books and science and not cut out for imagining
villains. “Send for Margaret and her maids. We need women to tend him while we
wait on the physicians.” Theo headed for the stairs and his brother’s chamber.

“He should be safe with women,” Jacques agreed, trotting for
the door.

That hadn’t been what Theo meant, but safe was good, too.
There was no reason to believe anyone had intentionally harmed Duncan, but Theo
damned well wouldn’t let anything else happen to him.

Standing over Duncan’s unconscious form a few minutes later,
gazing in horror at the gash opening his brother’s head from temple to jaw,
Theo froze inside. He and Duncan had argued over everything from the best time
for breakfast to the size of the observatory. But in his own selfish way, Theo
loved and admired his successful brother, and he’d never
ever
wanted the overwhelming responsibility that Duncan relished
wielding.

Lady Azenor had been right in one more thing. Theo belonged
in libraries and under the stars. He would make a perfectly rotten marquess.

***

Early July 1830

The children are
crawling under the looms, sweeping up stray cotton for their scoundrel
employers, and losing
limbs
!!!!
Wee
children
—
armless
!

Aunt Gwenna had underlined
limbs
and
armless
three
times, forcing Aster to shudder at the images conjured of such a horrible
injury—to a
child
. She read on,
wondering what her mother’s youngest sister expected her to do about this
tragedy. It wasn’t as if the zodiac predicted an end to mankind’s cruelty.

Your mother says you
are determined not to marry, which is a most excellent idea if you are able to
use your time helping others instead of pandering to a husband. I have heard
that you have been to see the Marquess of Ashford. He has responded favorably
in the past to our desire to outlaw child labor. You must convince him the need
is
immediate
and
vital
to the welfare of the country’s children
and future to stop these depredations for the sake of a few pennies profit.

Gwenna lived in the north country. She had apparently not
heard of Ashford’s grievous accident. But this reminder of how their families
were connected rumbled uneasily through Aster’s instincts—the danger signs
connecting their families through
her
were particularly troubling.

She read on.

Are you able to train
six-year-olds for safer work? Ones missing a hand? The situation is beyond
deplorable. The workhouse is full of the injured and disabled and the parish is
threatening not to take more.

Aster wiped angrily at a tear. She wanted to be useful, but
how did one train a six-year-old, much less one missing a limb? Her heart tore
knowing those children were doomed to starve otherwise. She wanted to take a
big stick to the evil men who allowed this to happen.

And given the latest news from Surrey, she knew the injured marquess
already had more problems than he could handle. She would fare better asking
the new king to help—which was to say, she could do nothing.

Thinking of the six-year-old brother she hadn’t seen since
infancy, she forced back a need to cry. She had learned grief could be assuaged
by acting on the more practical needs of the moment.

She resolved to petition the king
and
the marquess. She could develop a plan for training servants
more quickly than she did now. She would ask Cook if children could be used in
the kitchen or if that would be too dangerous.

She made notes of all she could do. Then realizing she was
putting off what
had
to be done, she
reluctantly summoned the woman who had been her stalwart companion these past
months. Jennet hadn’t been the mother that Aster desperately missed, but her
companion had kept her from feeling too alone in the world. She hated to see the
morose lady go.

When Jennet arrived, Aster settled back in her blue damask
desk chair and regarded her large, black-clad companion with approval, even
though her heart sank at what she had to say.

“Jennet, you have done an exemplary job these last months.
Not everyone learns to guard their speech
and
dress in a manner becoming a lady in such a short time. I have no
hesitation in recommending you as companion for Lady Hamilton’s youngest
daughters.” Well, yes, she hesitated at sending a damp blanket to a schoolroom,
but that was beside the point. “I believe by the time they’re of an age to come
out in society, no one will mistake you for anything less than their aunt.”

“I would rather stay with you, my lady,” Jennet said
stiffly.

Aster fought a forlorn smile and tried to be positive. “I
understand the comfort of familiarity. I, too, would prefer to keep you. But we
all know the rules we must abide by. I cannot become too attached to anyone.
The danger in my chart is very clear.”

“Yes, my lady,” Jennet said with just a hint of defiance.
“But I would rather face danger with you than leave you.”

At this example of her servant’s steadfast loyalty, Aster
wiped away another tear. She would become a watering pot if she did not toughen
up. “Mary said the same, and I dared to let her linger. You know what happened.
I cannot bear to let anyone else suffer her fate. Please don’t ask it of me.”

Jennet bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, my lady. Although I’m
not young and foolish enough to let my skirts near a fire.”

“I know you’re not. That’s why I chose you. That doesn’t
mean a carriage won’t run over you or the plague won’t strike you.” Which made
her worry about any orphans she might take in since she attached to children
quickly, but Aster could only confront one obstacle at a time.

“I’ve already grown too devoted to your company,” she
continued, “so it’s safest if you depart swiftly. The timing is propitious.
With everyone mourning the king’s death, there will be no activities these next
months. All society will depart from town, and I’ll not have an immediate need
for a companion. Lady Hamilton is a generous, kind employer. I would never send
you otherwise.”

“Of course, my lady,” Jennet said properly. “But I am still
willing to take the risk of staying with you.”

Aster’s soft heart lurched at this loyalty—a certain sign
that she was doing the right thing. “Let’s just think of it this way—there are
thousands of other good women in desperate need of help to achieve their goals.
My aunt has already found another likely prospect for training. Would you deny
someone else the chance you were given?”

Jennet’s eyes widened at this perspective. “No, my lady,
certainly not. You have saved my life. I just hope your next student is as
grateful as I am. And should you ever have need of me . . .”

Aster smiled gratefully. “I appreciate that, thank you. I
believe in spreading one’s good fortune. So, should you ever have the
opportunity, remember that sometimes all it takes is a helping hand to change a
life.”

With that larger goal to occupy her mind, Jennet dropped a
deeper curtsy and hurried off to pack.

Aster sighed and jotted off a note to her Aunt Daphne,
accepting the responsibility of training a new ladies’ maid. Often the women
her family rescued from workhouses weren’t suitable as companions. But she
could always use a maid.

And then, reluctantly, she wrote Aunt Gwenna, saying she
would take the children in a month, to help in training a governess. She simply
could not see how she could employ small children in any occupation that
wouldn’t be dangerous.

She supplemented the small stipend her family provided for
her support with astrology readings. She could stretch her income to feed a few
children. Perhaps she could let out a few of the upper rooms . . .
if she did not become attached to the tenants.

Shiva, her black feline, leaped into her lap, prodding Aster’s
hand for a rub. “I’m glad my chart allows cat friends,” she murmured,
scratching behind a kitty ear. “It would be dreadfully lonely otherwise.”

Shiva purred agreement. Tabby raised his striped head from
the hearth to see what he was missing, but he was old and lazy. Once he’d
ascertained no treats would be forthcoming, he settled back into the
jewel-toned Turkish rug he called his own.

Afternoon sunshine peeked through the white lace curtains
she’d installed behind the heavy gold damask draperies. The light caught on
lamp prisms and darted rainbows around the room. Brass from her father’s Indian
adventures multiplied the meager sunlight, and she let the familiar pleasures
ease her turmoil.

She was fortunate that her grandmother had deeded this house
to her when it became apparent Aster’s presence was too dangerous to her family
for her to remain in Edinburgh. She might never have family or close human
companions, but she’d always have the serene beauty of her surroundings.

She shuddered in memory of the smelly, anarchic Ives’
household and wondered how they had coped since the marquess’s mishap. She
hoped her warning had helped to some extent, and that Ashford would recover.
Perhaps she should write and ask how he fared. If she opened a conversation about
Aunt Gwenna’s pursuit of the new law, would that complicate the danger between
their houses?