Magic in the Stars

by Patricia Rice

  “If this is your way of protesting that your observatory hasn’t been built, it’s not helpful.” Duncan yanked on his other glove. “Until Margaret has settled on an architect, and we’ve worked out plans for renovations, there is no point in adding still another awkward structure to this monstrosity.”

  “I sank everything I own into the glass manufactory on your promise of an observatory. I can’t earn it back until I prove the worth of my glass. Without the observatory, I’m bloody well hamstrung,” Theo protested. “I’ve been waiting years for your damned nuptials.”

  Instead of adding his usual eloquent gripes about Duncan’s delayed marriage, Erran merely lined up a shot on the billiard table to aim around Theo’s boots. He’d barely spoken since his return from London and his first court case—a detail someone ought to ask about but hadn’t.

  “If you want a tower, go to Wystan,” Duncan repeated Erran’s earlier suggestion.

  “Wystan is full of females,” Theo said bitterly, climbing down. “You bloody well let every aunt and expectant second and third cousin fill the place, then tell me to exile myself there?”

  “What am I supposed to do, bring them here? It’s Wystan they want, and they can have miserable cold Northumberland. But it has a tower you can use.”

  “Right-o, a medieval fortress in the north is so very useful for scientific study and selling telescopes. I need an income.” Theo grabbed a whip from the rubble accumulating beneath the table. In a gesture of frustration, he lashed it at his damnable older brother’s boots, striping the polish before handing the whip over. “At least take the whip and watch out for the bridge when you come home. The stones are coming loose, and I’d rather remain the spare heir. The king did die, as the lady predicted, you’ll remember.”

  Theo really didn’t take the lady’s predictions seriously, but he damned well resented Duncan’s fiancée ruling the roost before she lifted a hand to help—or even produced an heir to get that monkey off his back. Lady Azenor had been right—Theo would make a damned poor marquess.

  As expected, Duncan had ignored the lady’s warnings. Occasionally, Theo fretted, wondering if he should insist a servant accompany his brother. The Captain Swingers currently inciting riots and setting barns on fire across the countryside reminded him a little too uncomfortably of the lady’s predictions of unrest.

  Duncan yanked the whip away and cast him an evil eye before striding off down the corridor to the stable.

  “The bridge?” Jacques asked, chalking up his cue now that Theo was out of the way. “I thought he was heading off to Margaret. That’s the other direction.”

  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.

  Four

  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?

  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?”