Magic in the Stars (5 page)

Usually, she had an awareness of these things, but the only impression
she experienced was of something wrong in the connection between the marquess’s
family and hers. She could not put her finger on specifics. “Danger in the part
of family” simply wasn’t enough to issue warnings, especially since Ives were
only very distant family, and she wasn’t at all attached to them.

Nick, her footman, scratched at the door. Nick was a sturdy
young man with a thick neck and broad shoulders. She’d rescued him off the
streets when she’d seen him fling a bully into the gutter for kicking a street
urchin. His preference for his own sex was so perfectly suited to her
all-female household, she hated the idea of letting him go when the time came.

She took the card from the salver he offered and laughed in
delight—then grimaced at the difficulty the visit caused. Emilia was one of her
favorite cousins—and thus in danger in Aster’s company. “Take Miss McDowell to
the parlor, please, and have Daisy bring us some tea.”

A visit from her cousin Emilia should brush away an
impending fit of dismals, if her cousin remembered not to linger too long. They
were of a similar age, both still unmarried, and both independently established
outside the family home—for different reasons, of course. Emilia did not live
in dread of endangering all her loved ones.

Today, Emilia had draped her tall, slender form in dramatic
black and violet, displaying her mourning for the late king. With her black
hair, fair skin, and high cheekbones, the effect was regal, leaving Aster
feeling like a plump, dowdy hen.

She rushed to kiss her cousin’s cheek anyway. “You look
positively daunting today! What dragon are you about to tackle?”

“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!

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.