Magic in the Stars (29 page)

“Probably dating back a century or more,” Theo said with a
casual gesture. “I believe some of the ancestors liked to throw theatricals,
but we’ve not had so much of that in our time.”

“Jacques would have liked a drama or two,” Aster said,
cautiously opening the first wardrobe. But Jacques had just been one more of
the wolf pack abandoned when convenient and left to fend for himself. Duncan
might claim they didn’t need mothering, but the marquess lied through his
clenched teeth.

A cloud of moths flew out of a packed space of old velvets
and wools—winter clothes. Vowing to return with lavender and cedar, she shut
the door and proceeded to the next.

“Those look like they might be my mother’s,” Theo said,
peering into the crowded closet of delicate fabrics. “They’d be the newest of
the lot.”

Aster gingerly removed a gown so fine, it could have been a
night shift. “The embroidery is lovely,” she said, holding it up to her front.
“But I would look like a barque of frailty in this, even should it fit, which
it won’t. Your mother must have been very tall and slender. I would trip over
the hem and fall out of this bodice.” She eyed the narrow band skeptically,
wondering how anyone except a broom might fit into it decently.

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.”

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, making 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.”