Magic in the Stars (21 page)

The storm blew off as hastily as it had arrived. The tent
pole sagged from the weight of the dripping canvas and the sloppy mud, but the
farmers were leading out the last of the cows. Lady Azenor had apparently
rescued her friends. And the rest of the crowd had dissipated.

Theo looked for the lady who had petted cows but she was
nowhere about.

Envisioning a lonely future of miserable village fetes,
rioting farmers, and a servant-less household, Theo slopped through mud to his
horse, wondering if it was too late to run off to Africa. He shook his head in disbelief
as his soaked nephew ran up—carrying an umbrella.

“Lady Aster sent the carriage in case it’s still raining,”
Hugh announced, handing him the umbrella. “She says you’re to go in the back way
and change first.” He fretted at his lip as they walked, apparently attempting
to remember all his instructions.

She hadn’t run away, taking all her guests with her?

“Oh, and she says thank you for being a hero and holding up
the tent and that she’ll be certain all the ladies know how brave and strong
you are,” Hugh finished triumphantly. “Although I think any of us could have
held a tent pole.”

How did the damned woman do it? She had air for brains if
she thought he was a hero or she was the impetus for catastrophe, but she still
miraculously held the damned tea party in her dainty hands. He was almost ready
to believe in magic.

Theo ruffled the boy’s hair. “Go try it and see what happens
when the next storm blows through.”

“Maybe next year.” He ran off toward the merchants closing
up their food carts.

A hero
. The lady
thought he, the socially inept bookworm, was a hero.

Or a sapskull who would believe her flattery—the lady did
tend to embroider the truth upon occasion.

In either case, he knew his duty. If she’d gathered the
party, he had to attend and do his damndest to choose a wife.

Africa was looking more promising. What would the stars look
like down there?

Standing in the refurbished drawing room, surrounded by elegant
guests waiting for their host, Aster felt her smile falter at the introduction of
still another Ives gentleman—who wasn’t Theo—into the party. This gentleman
brought two small children.

Apparently Iveston had few footmen guarding the doors
because the household welcomed anyone at any time. She refrained from rolling
her eyes at this insight.

Her female guests eagerly assessed the handsome older Ives standing
in the entrance—they were there because they were interested in marriage, after
all. And admittedly, the curly-haired tots were adorable.

Uninterested in acquiring a husband, Aster more
pragmatically checked for a wife, a nanny, or a nursemaid to handle the
children clinging to the newcomer’s boots—but of course, there was none. Ives
simply did not keep women about. She was starting to accept their peculiarity.

Distinguished, with just a touch of silver threading his
black hair, the uninvited guest smiled deprecatingly as Aster broke free from
her guests to greet him.

“My apologies for interrupting Theo’s tea party, but the
nanny quit, and I’ve an important appointment in Brighton on the day after
tomorrow. I was hoping there would be a maid who could look after the twins for
a few days.”

Aster opened her mouth but words failed to emerge. After the
muddy fete fiasco, she’d just spent the last hour frantically preventing her
guests from fleeing to the city. She had instructed maids and housekeepers in the
fine art of cleaning silks, drying shawls, and scrubbing slippers so her guests
could converse in comfort. And now he wanted a
nanny
?

She didn’t even know who he was!

As if summoned by her distress, Jacques materialized at her
side. “Pascoe! Come to look over the bride selection? Lady Azenor here has
provided some prime choices. I might even consider the wedded state, if they
weren’t all smarter than me.”

Aster didn’t believe in having vapors, but she thought she
might acquire the talent if she must deal with Ives impropriety for much
longer. It seemed far simpler than instructing the heathens on basic etiquette.

Rather than introduce herself, she crouched down to take
small hats from the silent, wide-eyed children. “Do you like biscuits?” she
asked.

At their eager nods, she summoned one of her new footmen to
lead them to the kitchen. Theo’s younger brother Erran sauntered up to smack
the newcomer on the back in male greeting. More elegantly dressed than any of
the other brothers she’d met, Erran had an odd habit of not speaking. He stayed
true to form now.

Having caught her breath and recovered some of her
equilibrium, she rose to the occasion. With the men looking on her in bemusement,
she held out her hand to the stranger. In her haughtiest teacher tones, she
announced, “I am Lady Azenor Dougall, daughter of the earl of Lochmas. Lord
Theophilus asked me to hostess this party for him. And
you
are?” she prompted when no one seemed inclined to do more than gawk.

“Our Uncle Pascoe Ives,” Jacques hurried to explain. “He exports
and does something official in government.”

Ah, another one of the illegitimate branches. She recognized
the name.

Mr. Ives bowed over her hand. “My pleasure, my lady. I’ve
heard much about you. I don’t suppose you produce nannies by magic?”

Sigh, another reference to her witchy ancestry. What was it
with these rude men?

Thankfully, Lord Theo
finally
descended the front stairs—at a dangerously masculine clip—before she had time
to compose a retort. Theo’s hair was still damp, but he’d apparently located
his valet. His brown muffler was precisely tucked into his chocolate brown coat,
which fit impeccably to emphasize his naturally broad shoulders and slim hips.

Aster thought her eyes would roll back in her head at sight
of the tight-fitting buff trousers accentuated by his high-waisted frock coat
and gold waistcoat. She had to forcibly drag her gaze down to inspect his
polished black pumps, complete with small spurs. He was appropriately dressed
for an informal country afternoon in a manner that would make any red-blooded
woman swoon.

While she wondered if one could recommend valets for medals,
the men were tossing greetings over her head. And the ladies in the drawing
room had quit any pretense of sipping tea and were riveted by the spectacle of so
many Ives males gathered in one place.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Aster led the
gentlemen into the salon, offering tea and introductions. Dr. Joseph was
already there, along with one or two other gentlemen whom Theo had suggested.
Congratulating herself on averting the disaster the storm had almost wreaked,
Aster separated Theo from the herd so he might meet his prospective brides. She
simply wouldn’t think about
nannies
.
That wasn’t part of the task at hand. She must stay away from children at all
cost.

“There was a stout female wearing something green,” Theo
whispered. “She petted the cows and didn’t run screaming. Which one is she?”

“Besides my Aunt Nessie?” she asked in exasperation,
gesturing at her aunt, garbed in green stripes, sitting beside the fire,
gossiping with the other companions.

“Half a dozen guests are wearing green, including me, and I
don’t recognize
stout
.” Probably
because she herself wasn’t of the graceful slenderness of women like her cousin
Emilia. Once upon a time she had fretted over her looks, but now that she knew
she wasn’t destined to marry, her shape seemed no longer relevant.

Aster gestured at a woman casting them interested glances. “Elizabeth
might be cow-witted enough to pet a rampaging wild animal.”

“Cows are placid beasts, not wild animals. And she seemed to
be calming them down, which seemed like a better reaction than screaming.” He
shot her a pointed look.

Aster shrugged off his disapproval. “I scream when people
are stampeded or I am in jeopardy of being buried alive in a collapsing tent.
If Hugh did not tell you, you are my hero for averting
that
disaster.” She led him toward Elizabeth, a lovely young woman
with big eyes and a gorgeous complexion, if not a stylishly skinny figure. “I
am not accustomed to rustic pursuits.”

“I’d rather not be,” he said grimly. “Cows are Dunc’s
interest, not mine.”

He smiled and bowed as Aster introduced him. “Miss Warrington’s
home is near Oxford,” she continued after the introductions. “She is an animal
lover who has provided me with some of my lovely kitties.”

Aster discovered she was gritting her teeth and tried to
smile as if she were actually pleased that Lord Theo had finally expressed an
interest in a more suitable candidate.

“The cowth were motht lovely, milord,” Miss Warrington
simpered, batting her lashes. “My father raitheth pigth.”

It was at that disastrous moment, as Theo struggled to
suppress his horror, that Aster recognized the error of their ways. Lord Theo
might claim he’d marry any Friday-faced female who could help him with his
duties, but the intellectual scientist had failed to mention that he really did
not wish to spend his life discussing farm animals. And she had learned that
despite his social unease, he enjoyed articulate conversation, which even she
must admit, was not easy with Miss Warrington, whose affected lisp intensified
with nervousness.

What he
needed
and
what he
wanted
were of opposing qualities.

Daunted by the discovery, Aster searched the room for
someone who might better suit his conflicting needs. Her cousin Emilia had
arrived a little while ago and was now talking animatedly to Theo’s
impoverished—mute—lawyer brother. Emilia was an excellent
conversationalist—when she wasn’t buried in her studies. But she had even less
interest in cows and tenants than Aster.

Deirdre was already affianced. Briana . . . was
simply too young and effervescent. Theo and his burdens would crush her happy
nature. Surely they must have older guests who were articulate. Desperately,
Aster began counting through them for the most suitable . . . .

Until she saw Aunt Nessie petting her kitten by the fire. Theo’s
aging basset had taken its favorite place on the hearth, and Aster’s lungs quit
functioning. She held a hand to her chest and tried to catch her breath and not
panic.

Always on the alert for catastrophe, she recognized the
potential straightaway. She had foolishly involved too many of her family in
this occasion and allowed them too close to her. What on earth had she been
thinking?

She couldn’t leave. She had to send her family away before
the roof caved in. Surely, Bree and Dee would understand. They had been willing
to stay away from the fete. Emilia . . . would have to decide
for herself. Her cousin really did need a husband.

First, she must deal with the imminent disaster of Nessie
and the kitten. Leaving Theo looking lost and harassed, she hurried across the enormous
medieval hall . . .

But not in time. A squeal of toddler excitement echoed through
the door of the dining room on the east side where the buffet was set up.

Boyish laughter and puppy yips resounded from the corridor
through the north door.

By the fire, the kitten tensed in Nessie’s lap. The hound
looked up warily.

Aster couldn’t divide herself into three pieces and rush
three different directions.

In their slightly damp and bedraggled silks and laces, her
guests appeared oblivious to impending pandemonium. They were chattering with
handsome, eligible gentlemen, and sipping excellent tea. They were enjoying the
feast produced by a happy cook—who had been assured his meal would inspire a
new mistress to organize the household. Even the servants were praying for Theo
to find a wife and return stability to a home that had been upended by the
marquess’s tragedy.

And the whole charade was about to descend into the usual Ives
anarchy that would drive their elegant guests screaming from the Hall, never to
return. It only needed goats.

Aster swallowed her panic and acted quickly. She snatched
the anxious kitten from Nessie’s lap just as two pairs of twins raced in two
separate doors, hands full of food, chasing after escaping spaniels and
puppies—and a tiny
goat
. At least,
Aster thought it was a goat as she clutched the terrified kitten and froze in
horror with utterly no idea how to halt a herd of rampaging creatures.

The aging basset howled a protest at the intrusion on his
private domain and trampled the frilly hem of Aster’s gown.

Locating this new source of amusement, the other dogs
instantly raced toward the fire and the basset . . . .

And Aster. And the kitten.

***

Theo watched in abject dismay as the polite party exploded
with the force of a celestial supernova—playing out his worst nightmare. Hysterical
ladies screamed, dodged, and spilled their tea onto their fancy gowns as the
dogs and brats—and damned
kid
—crashed
past them. William, of course, was nowhere in sight to rein in his pack of
howling hounds. And Pascoe was on the wrong side of the room to stop his
giggling tots from chasing the puppies straight toward Lady Azenor . . .
and the fire.

Theo dropped his cup and dashed across the new carpet,
shoving aside his guests as Hog howled and leapt from the hearth—knocking over his
hostess with the kitten. At the same time, the baby goat leaped for her arms
and apparent safety from the dogs.

Assailed on both sides from dog and goat, Lady Azenor toppled,
wailing as she hit the floor. The kitten leapt free and ran for the new
draperies, followed by the pack of puppies and spaniels. The goat lingered to
nibble a bit of lace. Theo feared the lady had skipped hysterics and gone
directly to fainting when she did not immediately arise.