by Deb Marlowe
A Slight Miscalculation
By Deb Marlowe
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Slight Miscalculation
Copyright © 2014 by Deb Marlowe
Cover design by Lily Smith
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsover.
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The Half Moon House Series:
The Love List
An Unexpected Encounter
A Slight Miscalculation
and
coming soon: The Leading Lady
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About the Author
The Half Moon House Series
Chapter One
London 1814
William Hampton, Viscount Worthe, glared at the nervous footman blocking the doorway. “Say. That. Again,” he ordered.
The footman swallowed, his eyes darting from Worthe’s frown to his clenched fists. “The young miss is not at home, sir.” He bit his lip and leaned forward, his manner confiding. “I don’t mean in the sense of not receiving visitors, sir. She’s not here at all.”
The paper that had blighted his life crackled in his pocket as Worthe stiffened. “I believe I asked for J. M. Tillney.” He spoke slowly and clearly this time.
“Yes, sir.” Now the footman looked at him as if he were the one with attics to let. “But as I said, she’s not here. She’s rarely home, lately.”
“Do you mean to say that J. M. Tillney is a girl?”
The footman began to look alarmed.
“Wait.” Worthe pulled the letter from his pocket. “Lord Tillney franked this. This is his home, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And is there no one else in the house who might have signed a letter with that signature? Not the baron himself, but his heir? A ward?” He fought to keep the sudden desperation from his tone. “A nephew?”
The footman drew himself straight. “I may be new to my post, sir, but I know the family. The young miss is the master’s only child, and the only one with those initials.” He glanced behind him, then motioned Worthe back, stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “I’m risking my place saying so, sir, but if that letter is indeed from Miss Jane, then I beg you will not mention it to anyone else. Her mother will have kittens, should she hear she’s written a gentleman she’s no acquaintance with. It’s not seemly.”
Worthe frowned. “She did not write me directly. She sent the letter via the Astronomical Gazette. They passed it on to me.”
“Begging your pardon, but Lady Tillney won’t hold with that, either. She don’t approve of Miss Jane’s scholarly interests, any more than she likes her spending so much time at Half Moon House. Says she’s ruining her chances at a husband.”
A husband? Worthe’s humiliation doubled. All of his plans had been put in jeopardy by a debutante?
A call sounded from inside. “That’s Wheats. I must get back to my post.”
“Hold, please. Half Moon House, you said? Is it an astronomy society?” That would make sense.
Already closing the door, footman merely shook his head.
“But that’s where I’ll find her?” At the man’s quick nod, Worthe thrust out a hand to keep the door from closing. “Where is it located?”
“Craven Street. Just ask—everyone in London knows the place.”
Worthe turned on his heel, his mind spinning. An amateur enthusiast. Surely that explained it. But did it? He stopped at the end of the walk and glanced down at the damned note that had plagued him.
Many congratulations on your discovery of the new asteroid. How thrilling for you. I read over your mathematics and ideas on the variations in Uranus’s orbit with interest. There is a slight miscalculation on the second page, however. I thought you would like to know.
He’d scoffed when it had first arrived. But uncertainty had haunted him. He’d checked all of his calculations again. It had taken him two days to find the mistake.
Worthe had been furious. Humiliated. Despondent. How had he missed it? How had everyone else, at the Gazette and beyond? Truthfully, it didn’t destroy his plans, he just had to make adjustments. But the correction smarted. The casual ease with which his mistake had been pointed out set his teeth on edge. He’d become obsessed with meeting the man who’d sent the letter. He wasn’t sure if he wished to thank him or pop his cork for him, but he most definitely wanted to meet him.
He’d left off his exhaustive work on his telescope, gathered his papers and come straight to London, purposefully not informing his mother of his arrival, so as to avoid the inevitable dragging forth of every unmarried chit of her acquaintance. And now he found that it was one of them he searched for.
He crumpled the letter and threw it aside, stomping onto the pavement, vowing to put the incident behind him.
But a few minutes later he was back, retrieving the damned thing, smoothing it out and tucking it away again.
Half Moon House, indeed.
The footman had been correct, the first hackney driver knew the place, although he gave Worthe an odd look when asked. Worthe climbed down when they arrived, paid the jarvey, and stood, contemplating the place.
The townhouse looked ordinary enough, but the door was distinctive. The fan above had been carved with a half moon and a scattering of stars, all set with glass. A very pretty effect at night, he’d wager, when the light shone through. But he could not recognize the pattern of the stars.
He snorted. A very amateur society, after all.
His knock was answered immediately—by a girl wrapped in a sheet, one corner thrown over her shoulder. She beamed at him while he stared at the ivy in her hair and the waxed grapes tucked in the crook of her arm. Granted, he was largely out of touch with the ton and their interests, but this? He could not explain it.
“Welcome, Mr. Middleton, sir! I am a nymph of the vine, handmaiden to Dionysus. Won’t you come in?”
She opened the door wider. Frowning, he opened his mouth and stepped in—just as a call rang out.
“I’m Diana, Goddess of the Hunt!”
Suddenly, Dionysus’s handmaiden screamed. She jumped back as an arrow shot past her—and straight into Worthe’s shoulder.
The impact knocked him back, he stumbled . . . and fell back, landing hard and grunting as his head struck the stone walkway. His last thought, as the light faded, was that he didn’t recognize the pattern of stars dancing overhead, either.
“Oh, please, sir. Do wake up!”
The stars were still there when he opened his eyes again.
Wait. Not stars. Sunbursts of gold in a pair of wide, green eyes. He blinked, still befuddled, but immensely relieved to find a recognizable pattern at last. Andromeda—the princess constellation—laid out clearly in the form of faint freckles across the bridge of a finely crafted nose.
“Is that real?” His tongue felt thick, but he reached up to b
rush a soft cheek. He checked. His thumb remained clean and the freckles were still in place.
“Oh, Molly.” The owner of the freckles drew back, worry etched across her pretty face. “You’ve addled his wits.”
“No.” Worthe struggled to sit up. “I’m fine.”
“I’m ever so sorry, sir!” Another young woman enveloped in white wrung her hands at his side, her bow discarded nearby. “I meant to hit the door!” She looked to Andromeda. “I’m so glad you made me blunt the end!”
“As am I. The poor man will likely have a bruise, you shot with such force. But never mind. Let’s get him up.”
The world tilted again as Worthe sat up. Mist rushed in to blur his vision. Groaning, he felt gingerly along the back of his skull.
“Oh, that’s quite a lump!” Andromeda exclaimed. “Peggy, will you run for ice?”
The nymph hurried away, leaving her grapes. Frowning, Worthe counted five young ladies surrounding him—all draped in white linen—except for his Andromeda. He squinted to see that she wore sprigged muslin in a light green that showcased those spectacular eyes and contrasted nicely with soft, chestnut curls.
“Can you stand?” she asked.
He nodded. A mistake, as nausea tried to wash over him, but he found it easy to ignore as she pressed close to help. The princess Andromeda possessed ample curves to go along with her sun-burst eyes and intriguing freckles.
She held him steady as they made their way inside, never faltering as they passed through a wide entry and headed for a parlor on the right. “It makes sense, Andromeda,” he said through the fog. “You must have been both beautiful and strong to survive being chained and left for that monster.”
“Oh, I’m afraid you are rattled, sir. I’m so sorry about all of this, Mr. Middleton. You’ve mistaken me. My name is Jane.”
Alarm bells worsened the din in his head. Worthe abruptly stopped. Jane?
“Mr. Middleton? Oh, sir. Mr. Middleton?”
“Yes?”
Worthe turned. Too suddenly. He groaned. He hadn’t made that answer. Another chap stood in the open doorway behind them, dressed like quality, foot tapping impatiently. “I’m here to see Hestia,” he announced.
Andromeda looked between them. “You’re Middleton?” she asked the other man. “Then who—?” She eased Worthe down on a long, low sofa. “Never mind, now.”
Dionysus’s handmaid returned with ice wrapped in a cloth and Andromeda . . . No, not Andromeda. “You said your name was Jane?” he rasped.
She nodded and pressed the ice to his aching head.
Worthe waited for anger to push back in, but it was no match for the disappointment churning up from his gut. His Andromeda must be Jane Tillney.
“Sit a moment, please?” she asked. She turned to the other man. “I’m sorry, sir. Hestia Wright has been called away, and Callie Grant with her. I’m helping out as I can. Won’t you come in? She told us of your play, though, before she left, and that you are looking for girls to travel with your company.”
“Aye. Six girls to act as a sort of Greek chorus,” Middleton answered, his head bobbing enthusiastically. “Just a line or two each, nothing difficult. Bit parts only, they will deliver commentary on the action from the heavens above. But they’ll be counted full members of the company.”
“And you’ll be performing first at Sadler’s Wells?”
He nodded. “A couple of weeks to perfect our performance and then we set out. Late summer is prime for a travelling company. We’ll be back before the weather turns.”
He ran an eye over the girls. They had grouped together, listening avidly. “I’ve others interested. Auditions are Thursday. I see you’ve heard you must provide your own costumes.” He sighed. “I do wish you’d come up with something different than the rest. Ah, well. Make them good. I imagine they’ll be the deciding factor.”
He bowed low to Jane and grinned at the others. “Until Thursday!”
The din that exploded in the room once he’d left had Worthe clutching his head again.
“Did you hear that? We need better costumes!”
“Miss Jane will help. She’s got us this far.”
“I’ll carry wine instead of grapes!”
“He said there’s more wanting the spots. Probably there’s no use in even trying.”
“Oh, dear,” Miss Tillney said.
“Now listen here, you lot!” Worthe winced again as Diana brandished her bow and raised her voice. “We’re doing this! I went with Middleton’s company last year. He does a proper job. No hedge inns or hayseed barns. Only sizable village fairs and towns with assembly rooms.” She glared around her. “Hestia got me the chance and it was the first time I made my own money and got to keep it. All of it,” she said with a significantly raised brow. “I got a few more roles besides, when I come back. And,” she paused to be sure of their focus, “We went out with seven last year and only four returned—‘cause three met nice, young farmers with harvest blunt in their pockets and an eye for a wife to occupy the winter.”
A moment of dead silence quickly gave way to a cacophony of shrill exclamations. Worthe looked up to find Jane smiling fondly at the lot of them.
“Surely you’re not running away with the troupe?”
“No.” She smiled. “Can you hold the ice yourself now, Mr.—Wait! I still don’t know your name!”
“But you are Miss Jane Tillney?”
She nodded.
“And this place?”
She frowned. “You don’t know Half Moon House? Hestia Wright’s infamous home for women in need?”
“I don’t get to Town often.”
“Hestia and this place are known the world over.”
He shrugged. “I don’t spend much time with people, either.”
Her frown deepened. “How did you find—”
“Tell me,” he interrupted. “Why do you help these women?”
Solemn, she paused, watching the excited group. “Because everyone needs help sometimes.”
The words hit him with nearly as much force as Diana’s arrow. His first instinct was to dispute them. He got on very well on his own, without anyone’s assistance.
He stopped. Did he? She’d helped him, too, hadn’t she? At least, he’d wager that was how she thought of that provoking letter. And maybe she’d been right. It was better to know about his mistake, now, was it not?
He wanted to know how she’d found it. Why she’d written. He eyed her slim figure, the earnest lift of her chin—and knew there were other things he’d like to know as well.
“Your name, sir?” she asked again.
“Constellations.”
“Excuse me?”
“Constellations,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the racket. “That’s what your costumes should be.”
Chapter Two
Jane Tillney bit her lip, afraid the stranger had hit his head harder than she had thought. She hoped that was it—that he hadn’t been confused to begin with. What a shame that would be in a man so young, so broad of shoulder and lean of hip. She’d felt the hard planes and latent strength of him when she’d pressed to his side. A waste if his mind was not as sound as his body.
The girls had quieted and looked at him with interest.
“Commentary from the heavens, that’s what Middleton said you’d deliver. You don’t have to be Greek gods. You can be constellations.”
Jane’s head lifted.
“What is it?” someone asked.
“Patterns in the sky, made of stars. Some are figures from mythology, like Hercules. Others are the swan, Aquarius, the water bearer, the northern crown . . .”
“It’s brilliant!” Jane was caught up in the idea. “Ladies! Imagine long, rich cloaks of darkest blue, each with a different star pattern shining from it. A headdress of swan feathers on one, a silver crown, an urn . . .”
Excited chatter burst out again.
Beneath that bump lay a mind as sharp as his chiseled jaw, thank God. She l
ooked directly into his dark, brown eyes. “Who are you?”
He rose. Managed a bow with only a bit of a wobble. “William Hampton, Viscount Worthe, at your service.”
Surprise caught her breath, and unease refused to let it go. That letter—she’d wondered if it would be taken badly. Watching his carefully blank expression, she doubted he’d come to thank her.
She pushed all that away, though. Forced a bright smile. “Well, then! You are the perfect person to help us design.” She gestured toward the girls. “Will you lend a hand?”
He kept his gaze fixed on her—and nodded.
“Girls! Fetch paper and ink! We’ve new plans to make!”
Lord Worthe was soon seated in the midst of them all, drawing constellations on a lap desk while she made notes about accessories and tried not to stare.
He didn’t make it easy. The girls were thrilled to have the attention of a dashing nobleman—but his manner toward them looked . . . odd. As if he’d no experience with adoring young women.
Highly unlikely.
She bent back to work. “Silver ribbon, I think, to connect the stars as you’ve done.” She pointed as they finished the last of the patterns. “Girls, spread out. Here’s the list of supplies. Scrounge for everything you can find here, and I’ll see what I can do about the rest.”
They scattered, and Jane was left alone with Lord Worthe.
She took the drawings from him. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, sir. I think your idea will do the trick.” She tilted her head. “Likely I owe you an apology, as well. Yes? If you only wished to thank J. M. Tillney, a letter would have sufficed. Instead you’ve traveled to Town.”
“I wanted to call him out, frankly. Then, perhaps, to question him. To thank him, finally.” He gestured. “I never thought to find . . . this.”
