Magic in the Stars

by Patricia Rice

  Theo held it up to her shoulders, and his eyes gleamed with delight. “Could you have a seamstress make it into a gown for just my perusal?”

  Aster shivered in anticipation. If she went through with this marriage . . . So, maybe he didn’t love her. Maybe he didn’t respect her abilities. But would she find another man who would look at her like that? She doubted it. And she wanted to wear wispy gauze just to see him gaze upon her with such happiness. Theo wasn’t a bad man. He deserved a little fun. So did she.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, teasingly flirting the thin fabric, “but I’m not quite so concerned with the bedchamber as I am the church.”

  “That’s good to know,” Theo said, holding the fabric up for her to admire. “But the vicar is coming here so Duncan might attend. Does that help?”

  “The vicar is the same as a church.” She hung the gown back and rummaged on the shelves, producing some lovely gloves—and a book. “What is this doing in here?” She opened the leather cover to read Georgetta Ives Personal Journal.

  Theo glanced at the pages. “Ah, so that’s where it got to! My mother used to scribble in this. I don’t have many memories of her, but I do have a few of her writing in this book. She wrote predictions for all of us when she was ill and could no longer get about. I guess someone stored it with her things so we didn’t destroy it.”

  “A journal! Could she be a Malcolm who isn’t on my family tree?” Aster asked excitedly. “I can’t think of a more thrilling wedding gift.”

  “If that’s what it takes to persuade you to marry me, then it is yours,” he said, moving on to the next trunk. “Looks like these might be my father’s things.” He removed a green-and-red striped waistcoat. “Perhaps I could gift wrap myself for you to open tomorrow night.”

  Enfolding the precious journal in a piece of cloth, Aster laughed as he lifted out a matching green silk coat. “Look at the lapel and all those buttons! It would take me half the night to pry you out.”

  “That won’t do.” He caught her waist and kissed her. “Are you sure you cannot wear the embroidered gown? Then we could go straight to bed afterward.”

  Flushing, she swatted at his sleeve and escaped his hold to open the next door. “You will be presenting me to your family and others as your wife. If we are really to do this mad thing, we must do it properly. I still think we should wait until I have time to run to London. Delaying another day can’t hurt.”

  “You have no idea how much it can hurt,” he said with a groan, peering over her shoulder. “I left you for a few hours and found you fleeing once already. I’m not risking that again. I like that yellow one. It’s not quite as nice as those shimmery things you wear, but it would look good on you.”

  “I think it’s supposed to be cream and has just yellowed with age.” Aster drew out a gown of rich silk. “At least it has a decent bodice, I think.” She held it up to examine the fit. “But I think it was meant to be worn with panniers to hold up all this fabric.”

  “It may have been my grandmother’s. Didn’t they wear those bigger gowns with all this lace back then?”

  “The silk is gorgeous.” Aster smoothed the billowing layers of skirt around her. “Your grandmother must have been more my size. If I had time, I could take apart the skirt and fashion sleeves . . .”

  “No time.” He began unfastening her hooks. “Try it on. You can say it’s a family tradition to wear our ancestor’s wedding gowns.”

  “I doubt that it’s a wedding gown.” But it didn’t really matter. Aster loved the richness of the silk, and the tiny seed pearls, and the extravagant lace . . . She gasped at how quickly Theo removed her bodice.

  “Given the choice, I’d walk you down the aisle like this,” he said in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to her bare nape. “Hurry and put this on before I start looking to see if anyone stored a mattress up here.”

  She hastily stepped away. “You have a way with words after all,” she muttered, struggling into the bodice. “The sleeves only come to my elbow. I think it needs an undergown.”

  Accustomed to the billowing sleeves of current fashion, Aster wiggled her arms through these narrow, short ones. Theo pulled the bodice tight from behind and began to fasten it.

  It fit perfectly, sort of. Aster gaped at the way her breasts almost flowed over top of the sumptuous fabric. “It definitely needs a top layer,” she fretted. “This wasn’t meant for morning wear!”

  Theo held up lengths of matching lace. “Can you use any of this? I prefer the top just as it is, but I suppose it isn’t proper to give the vicar a fit of apoplexy.”

  “That would be one definition of disaster,” Aster said dryly, fastening what appeared to be a silk collar attached to the lace and letting the whole drape over the bodice and down to the floor. “I’d rather not let my stars kill off the entire village, if it can be avoided.” She examined the effect of what was more cloak than veil. “I’m not a seamstress, but it appears this was designed to be tied on, so I might fashion a shawl and train out of it.”

  Removing the lace, she let him drop the gown over her head, then held it to her waist. The lovely silk puddled over her toes. She still felt like a princess.

  “I am the luckiest man this side of heaven,” Theo said fervently, gazing down on her. “And I’ll frame all the weird star charts that brought you to me.”

  “I am not convinced that I am the perfect partner I see in your charts,” she cautioned—although she was pretty certain she was, except for that danger problem. If there was a better match who might not burn down the Hall, she felt obligated to warn him. “You could be overlooking someone right under your nose.”

  “You’re right under my nose, and no other, so it has to be you.” He bent to steal another kiss.

  When she came up for air again, Aster pushed him back. She needed air to clear her head. “Show me your telescopes.”

  “Taking you on the roof at night would be disastrous,” he said, helping her out of the gown. “You don’t know your way around.”

  “How do you keep from killing yourselves and each other?” she cried in despair. “I will have to lock all of you up to keep my predictions from coming true!”

  “Then we’d burn the house down,” he said cheerfully. “We are the disaster, not you.”

  Twenty-five

  After spending most of the night preparing a marriage bed fit for his bride, Theo paced his chamber the next morning, dodging the valet’s valiant attempts to straighten his stock. “Aren’t her sister and cousin back yet? What the devil is keeping them? London’s only an hour away!”

  Sprawled across Theo’s bed examining one of Aster’s charts, Erran shrugged. “It takes hours to primp.”

  Erran had apparently widened his range to brief sentences. Theo had been enjoying the unusual silence from his brother’s mercurial moods, but he supposed he should be grateful he didn’t have to deal with a mute brother as well as a blind one.

  “They wouldn’t primp before they got here.” Dodging the valet’s stock straightening, Theo stalked to the window but the drive was still empty of carriages. “The vicar should be arriving, shouldn’t he? Jones, get the devil out and go prettify Duncan!”

  “He said the same about you,” the valet said with dignity.

  “Dashitall! I’ll have to ride into the village and find the vicar in my wedding clothes. Does anyone know if Aster is ready?”

  “One of those new little maids has been running about asking for pins and darting up and down to the attics,” Jacques said. “And the twins are at the telescopes, watching for her sister’s arrival. I’d say your lady won’t be ready until the other women are here to approve.”

  “You know too damned much about women. Go find the vicar. I’m going to talk to my bride.” Theo brushed off the valet and flung open the chamber door.

  The twins practically spilled in, both chattering at once.

  The swelling around Hugh’s bruise had diminished but half his face had gone purple, mak
ing it easier than usual to tell them apart. “Two carriages,” Hugh shouted.

  “A huge black stallion!” Hartley added with a hint of awe.

  “The vicar’s gig is way behind.”

  “And everyone in the village is walking this way!”

  Theo used an inappropriate swear word and pushed past the boys. “Why on earth is the village coming? Are they carrying pitchforks and planning on storming the castle?”

  Emerging from Duncan’s suite to see what the ruckus was about, William shoved one of the spaniels back inside and shrugged his lack of a good answer.

  “They’re hoping for a party?” Jacques guessed.

  “I’ll see what kegs we have on hand.” Finally interested, William hurried for the back stairs.

  “Kegs without food aren’t a good idea,” Duncan called from his doorway. “Who the devil invited them?”

  A chorus of “Not I” rang out as Theo hurried toward Aster’s chamber. He feared he would live in a perpetual state of panic at this rate.

  He should have set her up in a suite. He should have prepared for a party. He should have done ten thousand things besides seducing her in inappropriate places. It was a miracle she was still here.

  He pounded on her door. “We’re about to be inundated with guests,” he shouted.

  “And the problem with that is?” she inquired from within.

  “They’ll want food.” That sounded feeble. He was panicking over nothing.

  He was panicking because the vows had yet to be said, and he was still terrified she’d run. Margaret had been right in that much—Ives couldn’t hold on to their women any better than they could keep servants.

  “Cook is preparing a feast for us,” she said reassuringly. “You’ll just have to share instead of keeping it all to yourselves. You might tell him to bake more loaves and add another roast to the spit.” She sounded as serene and calm as Theo didn’t feel.

  “Are you ready?” he asked. “Do you need anything? I can have them open the wine.”

  He thought he heard her giggle.

  “A drunken bride! That would embellish the family legends for a century.”

  He took a deep breath. If she meant to be part of the family legends, she wasn’t running away yet. “It will be a drunken groom if you don’t come out soon,” he insisted, glaring at the wooden panel separating them.

  “Let me know when the vicar is ready and my sister is here.”

  “There’s a huge man on the black stallion,” Hugh shouted. “He’s riding up the drive before everybody.”

  Aster’s door popped open. “A black stallion?”

  Theo forgot words. His bride was a vision in cream and copper. The maid had somehow battled all the wiry red coils into lush, silken, upswept waves, surely adding inches to her height. Or perhaps the old-fashioned high-heeled slippers had done that. Her beautiful midnight eyes were almost aligned with his nose, and he had the preposterous notion of simply kissing her until they melted away.

  That was before he glanced down and saw the creamy perfect globes of her breasts rising above a teasing fringe of lace and silk, and he almost expired on the spot.

  She was wearing pearls that perfectly adorned her slender neck and emphasized the plumpness of her most excellent bosom. He should have remembered to ask for his mother’s jewel case. Duncan must have thought of it.

  She was marrying a brainless maggot.

  “Did Hugh say there was a rider on a black stallion?” she prompted, forcing him to drag his gaze upward again.

  “I’ll lock you in a tower before I let a rescuing knight sweep you away,” Theo declared senselessly.

  “No rescuing knight,” she replied with a hint of tartness. “Most likely my father, the Terror of Lochmas out to do what he does best—intimidate. You had best lock yourself in that tower.”

  Theo swallowed. “I thought he was a professor.”

  “He’s a Dougall. He conquered Amazon tribes! He only teaches because my mother won’t let him roam while the children are still young. It’s summer, so he’s not corrupting young minds but out causing trouble.” She didn’t look as concerned as Theo felt.

  The knocker thundered in the rotunda below.

  “Will someone answer the damned door?” Duncan roared.

  The marquess had shuffled his way as far as the intersection between the two main corridors without knocking over any statues. Wearing a tailored black frock coat and starched linen, with his hair trimmed and his face shaved, he almost looked like the brother Theo knew—except for the raw red scar searing brow to temple.

  “You can’t hide from my father,” Aster whispered. “Assist the marquess down the stairs and confront Lochmas directly. Knowing he didn’t catch you by surprise will take some of the wind out of his sails.”

  Theo didn’t know about greeting a Scottish earl bent on intimidation, but keeping Duncan from falling headfirst down the stairs seemed the wisest course of action. More than anything, Theo wanted Duncan presiding over the family and estate again so he could retreat to his scholarly corner, undisturbed. He had to keep Dunc alive for that to happen.

  Reluctantly tearing away from his bride’s radiant beauty—her eyes were shining so expectantly that shooting stars would dim in comparison—Theo hurried back to the main corridor.

  They were really doing this. Aster was actually marrying him—provided her father didn’t kill him first. He could barely breathe for fear he’d bungle these next hours.

  Theo tugged at his tight neckcloth before catching Duncan’s upper arm and steering him to the handrail. “Aster says it’s her father,” he said. “Can we lock him in the dungeon until the service is over?”

  “Lochmas is out there?” Duncan asked in incredulity. “You dragged the Lion of Edinburgh out of his lair? I think just hearing how this plays out should be sufficient. I won’t need to see it.”

  “You know her father?” Contrarily, Theo contemplated tripping his obnoxious brother and letting him hit the rotunda headfirst for not providing that tidbit of information.

  Duncan shrugged. “We correspond occasionally.”

  Below, a nattily attired footman opened the door. Where the devil had they acquired livery?

  “Where is my daughter?” roared the large, black-haired man shoving past the startled servant. As if possessing a second sight, the intruder stalked to the center of the circular entrance and glared up the stairs.

  Theo had guided Duncan to the last landing. He pinched his brother’s arm in warning. “Center floor, on the star. He looks like one of us.”

  “Rumor has it there’s an Ives in the woodpile back a century or so ago. He may be a cousin four or five times removed, nothing to worry about,” Duncan muttered before turning his blind stare to the spot where the earl stood. “Lochmas,” he said genially. “We hadn’t expected you.”

  For a moment, it was almost like having his old brother back, and Theo swelled with pride and relief.

  “Obviously not,” the Scots earl retorted with a load of sarcasm. “You didnae have even the courtesy to send an invitation.”

  “Papa!”

  Theo swung around to watch his bride rushing down behind them. She’d lifted her skirt to reveal trim, beribboned ankles as she took the stairs at a reckless pace on heeled slippers.

  Theo held Duncan in place, averting collision as Aster dashed past to fling herself into the earl’s arms. Even the earl looked startled, Theo noted with satisfaction.

  “What are you doing here?” she cried excitedly. “I thought you’d promised to take the little ones to the Highlands for the summer. You know it’s not safe to be near me.”

  Guiding Duncan down, Theo listened with interest for the reply to this.

  “Your auntie said you were flirting about this place, and your mama fretted, so I came to see what it was all aboot.” He set his daughter back far enough to study her, and his frown blackened at the bruise on her brow. “What the deuce is this! Have the brutes been beating you?”


  She tapped his brawny shoulder impatiently. “Don’t be ridiculous. I got in the way of a rock. And you may get in the way of worse if you hang about me for long. But it’s so good to see you!” She hugged him again.

  Through eyes black as a moonless midnight, the earl glared over her head at Theo. “And ye canna protect her from flying rocks?”

  “No more than I can stop the rains or keep my damned brother from trying to break his neck,” Theo replied, leading Duncan down the stairs. “You want to lock her in a tower?”

  The earl’s expression saddened as he hugged his daughter. “You preach misfortune, lass, and now I hear ye’re wedding without any of us to see you off! That’s a misfortune if I ever heard one.”

  “We were intending to take a wedding journey north,” Aster said excitedly. “It wouldn’t have been proper to travel together otherwise.”

  Theo and Duncan reached the rotunda foyer. The earl attempted to disentangle himself, but Aster placed herself between them, holding her father’s hand—presumably to keep him from fisting it.

  Theo was grateful for her calming influence. In revealing his blindness to the outside world, Duncan seemed tense enough to attempt swinging back if it came to fisticuffs. If Aster handled her father, Theo could divert arrows to Duncan’s pride.

  Sharing, he decided, that’s what marriage was about. Relief replaced his earlier anxiety. The burden he’d been carrying momentarily lightened.

  “Lord Ashford, this is my father, Adam Dougall, Earl of Lochmas. Papa, may I present Duncan Ives, the Marquess of Ashford, and my betrothed, Lord Theophilus Ives. Theo is an astronomer, and he’s told me there are more planets than in my charts!”

  “Is there now?” the earl rumbled irascibly, glaring at Theo. “And what else does he be telling ye that you think to marry without my permission?”