A Hint of Starlight

by Connolly, Lynne

“Ah, then, I should make myself clearer. The season is a time for people, would you not agree? Astronomy and trifling interests may be put aside.”

  “I assure you, sir, I take astronomy very seriously. Not trifling at all.”

  He smiled, as if she’d made a joke. “But ladies are not given to such pursuits.”

  “They are not allowed to,” she snapped back. “In case your memory is deficient, you recall the Royal Society considered my work good enough, but not my sex.”

  He patted her hand in what she imagined he meant as a soothing gesture. “Your work is excellent. What I have seen of it, of course. However, I would hate to see a frown on your lovely forehead put there by too much puzzling over columns of figures.”

  “And frowns from other sources? Or is it just astronomy that raises your displeasure?”

  “Where you are concerned, Lady Damaris, anything that dares to interfere with your beauty displeases me.”

  She was not beautiful, she knew it. Passable, perhaps. Some might even call her handsome. She bit her sharp rejoinder back. The man had just given her a gift, for heaven’s sake. She could hardly wish him to the devil now. “I am sure I can refrain from frowning when I calculate.” That was the best she could do for now. “Although, is it the same when I do the household figures?” Wives were expected to run the expenses of their husband’s household, and nobody disparaged that.

  “I would not expect my wife to undertake such tedious chores.” He sounded sincere. Some men did prefer their women untouchable, more like dolls than real women. Thank goodness Gerald was not one of them. Even though she could not see him, she imagined the tight expression on his face. He had encouraged his sisters to be more than decorative ornaments, and now he supported his wife’s business, and refused to take it into the portfolio of the earldom.

  “Then, Sir Peter, what should they do?” Annie sounded sweet, but the tartness underlying her tones revealed her true sentiments.

  “They should attend to their husbands, be attentive to his guests and bear his children. After that, then why not? My mother works a fine seam when she has the time. I have no objection to ladies undertaking anything respectable that amuses them, as long as they attend to their duties first. After all, a man should do exactly the same, do you not agree?”

  His statement sounded reasonable until Damaris considered the breadth of occupations a man could claim as his duty. Soldier, clergyman, politician…all these avenues were closed to her sex. She had never understood the full extent before, but Sir Peter had inadvertently put the matter into sharp perspective. Her chosen work was not a distraction. Everything else was the distraction.

  “You have met my mother, have you not?” Sir Peter said to her now. Having taken one look at Annie, he had chosen to change the subject, or rather, steer it in another direction.

  “I have had that pleasure.” The sharp-faced Lady Brady had exchanged some kind words with her at a musicale once. Damaris had been on the point of declaring that she couldn’t play a note in tune, when the lady had gone on to extol the virtues of the latest Italian genius. Damaris had found her soothing, because she did not demand a response to her statements, only a vague “Of course” or “Dear me”. Coping with her from day to day might prove more difficult.

  Mentioning his mother must mean he was intending to pursue her closer. In short, to take her to wife. He had befriended her at the start of the season and, at the time, she’d welcomed him as one of the few people who accepted them. His rivalry for the membership of the Royal Society was somewhat ameliorated because neither of them had yet been declared members.

  Then why did Damaris not feel happier?

  The reason approached them from the opposite direction.

  The Duke of Glenbreck was in full rig today, dark blue coat of dull satin, the full skirts flaring out over lean, masculine hips. Lace tumbled from his wrists and neck, and his waistcoat was a masterpiece of embroidery. For all that, he remained essentially male, a man in his prime, his powerful frame enhanced by his clothing. Even more enhanced because Damaris knew what lay under the fine silks. She had felt that firm, muscular body under hers when she’d sat on his lap. She sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to remain still.

  Arriving before the small group, he swept off his hat and performed a perfunctory bow. He had no compunction in meeting her gaze.

  Damaris shivered. He made every tiny hair on her body stand on end. “Lady Damaris, I intended to call on you. Forgive me for the delay.”

  “I had not noticed.”

  Of course you have, his derisory glance seemed to say. His mouth tightened. “Naturally you would not. However, I did send a note and a small gift for Lady Dorcas. Is she feeling more the thing today?”

  “Much better, thank you,” Annie replied. She came up on Damaris’ other side, their hooped skirts crowding the walkway. “Thank you for the flowers. They were a thoughtful touch.”

  “They were, indeed.” Damaris recalled the flowers. “Scentless varieties.”

  “I have heard that scents can disturb people who have the ill fortune to suffer in the way Lady Dorcas does.”

  “Yes, indeed. It was kind of you to remember that.”

  He shrugged as if it meant nothing at all.

  Sir Peter regarded him curiously. “Lady Dorcas?” he echoed. “I had not realized you had a tendre for the lady, sir.”

  The duke raised a brow, haughtiness personified. “Only as a concerned friend. I am afraid I was the instigator of the plan that took us to Greenwich. If I had known she was feeling unwell, I would have called the excursion off at once.”

  “His grace was kind enough to arrange for me to meet the Astronomer Royal,” Damaris said eagerly. She waved her fan as she spoke, her animation increasing. “I found Mr. Bradley a most informative gentleman.”

  Sir Peter did not hide his distaste. His lip curled as he addressed Logan. “Such indulgence is kind. Lady Damaris has an unusual interest, but it is not unseemly for a woman. However, the knowledge that she stayed the night with the Duke of Blackridge is not advisable. Do you understand how you could have damaged the ladies’ reputations, sir?”

  Logan took his time answering. His nostrils flared as he took in a breath, and he touched the hilt of his sword. Glancing down, his gaze fixed on the place where Sir Peter’s sword would sit, if he was allowed. Only aristocrats were entitled to wear a sword in London, and Sir Peter was a mere gentleman, albeit a baronet. The touch was fleeting, as if accidental, but everyone watching knew better. That included the passersby, many of whom had paused to stare into shop windows, no doubt to take advantage of the reflection rather than the contents of the shop.

  “I think the ladies’ standing is good enough to withstand a gesture made by a Good Samaritan,” he said softly. Menace laced his words. “If I hear differently, I will be forced to correct the perpetrator.” No mistaking what he meant there, no veiled comments or havering.

  If Sir Peter took offense and decided the duke’s remarks were meant for him and no other, this situation could degenerate into a duel. Horror-struck, Damaris waited for Sir Peter to respond.

  Under the fine fabric of his coat, Sir Peter’s muscles tensed. His shoulders flexed. Then he lowered his gaze, and nodded. “As will I,” he said.

  Damaris tried hard not to breathe a gusty sigh of relief. Tension dissipated, but did not disappear altogether. “Then we are in accord, sir,” Logan said. “In this, at least.”

  There it was again, the ratcheting up of tension. This time, Sir Peter chose to let it go. “No men agree on everything. It would be a poor world where that happened.”

  “Indeed.” Logan should have passed on then, since Sir Peter had possession of Damaris’ arm, and he did not seem about to let go. Logan should have given way. But he did not, and Damaris couldn’t be sorry about that.

  His control over her troubled her, but she would have to live with that as a fact, not hide from it like a recalcitrant child. She would cope with each incident as
it occurred until this madness, the wild beating of her heart, the increased awareness, went away. As it would. As it must.

  “You are on your way to Heath’s?” When he said that she could have fallen at his feet.

  Before she could say anything, Sir Peter took the initiative. “I would not bore Lady Damaris with the lens maker. Her pastime is commendable, but now that she has entered the world of womanhood, she will not wish to concern herself with such matters.”

  Damaris pulled away from him, forcing him to release her. She did not need Annie’s stifled laugh, which she unconvincingly turned into a cough. She spoke over the sound. “I take my studies seriously, sir.”

  Gerald spoke to Annie. “Come, my love. Is that parasol not in the shade you were seeking?” With a glance at his sister, Gerald led his wife off to the nearest shop window, giving them some privacy.

  “My astronomy is as important to me as anything else in life,” she said. Why this need to defend her interests? Men never had to do so. They could write important treatises, father children and make investments. All she needed was a man who would share his life with her, instead of instructing her.

  Sir Peter straightened, his cheeks reddening. Until then, she had not noticed he was wearing a fine film of powder on his face. His efforts to become a pink of the ton were taking an accelerated path. “I beg your pardon, Lady Damaris.” He bowed, and she favored him with a gracious nod.

  “Of course, sir, I forgive you. How could I do anything else when you give me such a fine trinket?” She ignored the duke’s raised brow. “Do you accompany us to Heath’s?”

  Sir Peter spread his hands. “I fear not. I have another appointment. Once I enter those portals, I am lost. I dare not risk that.”

  “The Astronomer Royal told us you saw him a few days before we visited,” Logan said.

  “Yes, indeed.” Sir Peter’s eyes opened a fraction wider. “I needed help with some figures. I took the observations at night, and I must have been overtired, because I could not remember half of them when I woke in the morning.”

  Damaris laughed. “Indeed, sir, I have done the same myself. I fear that is a sad result of enthusiasm for a subject. My sisters can be the same with their interests.”

  Sir Peter, back in control of himself, raised a brow. They were light brown, Damaris noted absently, meaning that his natural hair was the same shade or slightly darker. She had never seen him without a wig. Unlike Logan. The memory of his dark hair between her fingers remained with her still. “I fear the young ladies are swiftly gaining reputations as bluestockings.”

  That was something Damaris would never regret. Those pastimes had given the sisters solace in less happy times. That sneering nickname would not deter her. “A great man will look for a great wife. We merely strive to be worthy.” That sounded so good to her that she came close to applauding herself.

  Logan responded immediately. “I would wish to find a partner in a wife.” Studiously, he kept his gaze away from hers.

  Sir Peter did not. “As do I, but a woman needs protection and care. She should obey her husband, as it says in the marriage service. I wish to find a woman who would be my helpmeet.” He stepped towards Damaris, with the obvious intention of taking her arm again, but Logan was too fast for him. He lifted her gloved hand and placed it on his left arm. She had somehow taken Sir Peter’s right after they left the trinket shop.

  “I would deem it a favor if you let me take you to Heath’s,” Logan said. That Scottish burr assaulted her. After his crisp, perfect English, she could only assume he had used it on purpose.

  She smiled up at him, wishing she had dimples to flash. That would serve him right. A dimpling, simpering miss would make him pause. “You are very kind, sir. However I doubt my poor female mind would cope with the shiny things in the shop.”

  His raucous laughter turned not a few heads. However, the situation returned to normal, fewer people were paying attention to them, until now. Damaris glanced at Annie who nodded. “We will follow,” she said.

  Sir Peter bowed. “I fear I will not. I regret I must leave you. However, I trust you will attend Lady Steeple’s tomorrow night?”

  Lady Steeple was hosting a ball with a staggering number of guests. The word had sped around town in the last day or two. “Of course, everybody will be there.” She curtseyed to him, gave him her hand and murmured, “You were truly kind, Sir Peter.”

  “Then I will wait with bated breath to see you again.”

  He turned and strolled away, nodding to people, apparently at his ease. “He should not hold his breath too long,” the duke murmured. He glanced down at her, a smile tilting his lips. “Are you ready?”

  Eagerly, Damaris nodded. “More than ready. I came here to visit Heath’s.”

  They had to walk around the gallery to the other side. If anything, the nests of men in the courtyard had increased. Some wore particularly fine garments. “They will be going to the dinner at the Mansion House,” Damaris remarked, taking in the details of the colorful throng. “Annie and Gerald are attending.”

  “But not you?”

  She shook her head, the stray curls her maid had allowed to escape bouncing against her neck. “They are tedious affairs, if you aren’t in business. They are kind, but even more condescending than the ton. Most of them,” she allowed. “The man Annie nearly married will be there. He has not entirely given up on marriage to one of us. He wants to control her business.” She patted his arm at his bewildered expression. “Never mind. It’s complicated. Suffice it to say I have no mind to meet Joseph Stephenson.”

  “Ah. Marrying into the family?”

  “Something like that.” However desperate she was, she would not marry a man twice as old as she was and end as a City bride.

  The memories of that evening returned in full force. Her body tingled with the memory. She glanced away, forcing her mind to another path, willing her body to follow.

  “I would not have missed that for the world,” he murmured. “Only if you regret it.”

  That was the worst of it. She didn’t regret it. In fact, she wanted him to do it again.

  She urged Logan to move on, quickening her pace. “I am anxious to see Heath’s.”

  “Surely you’ve been there before? You did not live far from here, did you?”

  “I used to come and press my nose against the window.” She laughed at his unguarded expression of horror, the sound just a little too shrill. “Oh, not literally. But the instruments here were well beyond my pocket.”

  “And now?”

  She answered cautiously, although she had no intention of lying to him. “I plan to invest a little of my pin money, perhaps next season.” Most of her pin money had gone already, on the finery she had to wear in society, but she would not need as much in the future. If she asked Gerald, no doubt he would advance her what she needed, but she didn’t want to do that. She had always lived within her means.

  The window came into view, the precious window where the instruments of her desire resided. She did not answer his question. “Oh!” Her exclamation was involuntary. As always, she didn’t know where to look first.

  A magnificent sextant dominated the first window. She stretched her hand out, grazed the window with her thumb before she passed on to the second.

  “We can go inside,” his amused voice said from behind her.

  “I prefer to savor the moment.” Knowing she could not afford the wares within, she had only ventured inside the holy portals once, and then fled, scared off by her inability to purchase anything. She had, however, metaphorically pressed her nose to the glass more times than she could count.

  She drew a deep breath of wonder. A telescope was perched on a stand. It was a telescope of her dreams. A small sigh escaped her. The barrel was engraved leather, the gold images of flowers stamped into it, the leather dyed turquoise. “It’s a reflector.”

  “You do not have a reflecting telescope?” He sounded surprised.

  “I have a ha
nd-held one. I make do with that.”

  “We should go in,” Gerald reminded them. The doorbell clanged raucously as he opened the door and ushered Annie through to the cool, enticing depths within. The bell sounded like the sweetest chimes to Damaris.

  “The Gates of Paradise,” she murmured.

  “Oh, no, they are in Florence.” Logan followed her in. “I’ll show you one day.”

  “How?” She bit off the rest of her question when she saw his face, as shocked as she was. The words had obviously slipped out involuntarily. Of course he would not.

  Chapter Ten

  Excitement bubbling in her veins, Damaris strode into the shop, followed by Annie, Gerald and the Duke of Glenbreck.

  This was what she wanted, this was her aim. The smell of oil and polish enticed her. Thrills chased one another up and down her spine. The shop was full of the stuff of dreams. With these instruments, she could sharpen her observations and observe her quarry in breathtaking detail. Like the telescope Logan owned, the one she coveted was a two-foot model.

  “Could you tell me about the telescope in the window?” Eagerly, she asked the question before the rotund shopkeeper had straightened from his bow.

  The shopkeeper glanced at Logan, who was standing next to her. “Madam, that model is fine, but I have finer.”

  “Does it have achromatic lenses?”

  He spread his hands. “I could fit them, but the instrument is perfectly usable without them.”

  She scoffed, but while she made the sound, the duke spoke. “Don’t prevaricate, Heath. Show Lady Damaris a fine telescope suitable for detailed observations of the heavens, rather than for simple star-gazing.”

  This was Mr. Heath himself? The man inclined his head, a smile on his thin lips. “Of course, your grace. I have several. Star-gazing is a popular pastime in some circles, and the telescope in the window would suffice most of them.”

  “This lady is not ‘most of them’.” The duke sounded proprietary, as if he had a right to take care of her. Since he’d brought her here, perhaps he thought he did, but she had set out to visit this place alone. She would have stepped in here, duke or no duke. And probably been fobbed off with an assistant, she admitted wearily. At least she had to thank him for that.