Magic in the Stars (6 page)

“Sit, my lord.” She pointed at the wide wicker chair her guest
had vacated. “I have heard Lord Ashford was injured. How does he fare?”

Wanting to crush something but not wanting to smash furniture,
Theo hesitantly sat on the edge of the straw piece. It wobbled. He sat deeper
among the welcoming pillows. A few of the chairs at Iveston could use pillows
like these—if the dogs didn’t eat them.

His fingers were too large to wrap around the handle of the
fragile teacup offered. He’d never managed the art of holding china. “Ashford’s
arm and ribs are mending. They suspect a crack in the leg bone that is causing
him to be laid up longer than he likes.” Even though he’d practiced his speech,
Theo had difficulty reciting it under her concerned gaze. His gut churned, and
he suffered an insane longing for the days before she’d entered his life.

He’d like to curse her for a witch and demand she remove her
wicked spell. Unfortunately, modern science rejected magic.

“That is good to hear,” she said with what seemed like
genuine relief. “I had feared his chart predicted much worse. Lord Ashford
really should hasten to marry and produce heirs. That would free you of the
considerable burden you’ve been suffering under.”

Her sympathy almost undid him. Theo refused to believe she’d
predicted
Duncan’s fall or the king’s
death using charts based on an imaginary cosmos. But he selfishly wanted to
believe she understood the burden he’d carried all these years so that she would
accept his mission now for what it was.

She just sat there like a mysterious flower that would be
gone tomorrow—but still sliced him straight to the quick today, letting all his
guts spill out.

“He’s blind,” Theo said bluntly. “Ashford is totally blind.
He smashed his skull. The physicians don’t know if he’ll ever recover his sight,
and I despair of him recovering his right mind.”

She paled, revealing a sprinkle of rusty freckles across her
nose. Her cup rattled until she set it down.

He’d been unreasonably cruel, but that was how he felt—cruel
and miserable and ready to inflict his selfish rage upon the world.

“I see,” she murmured, although she wasn’t looking at him as
she said it. A black cat crept from behind a drapery to leap onto her lap, and
she stroked it absently, as if it were truly a witchy familiar offering comfort.

“No, you don’t,” Theo said angrily. “He has told Margaret he
releases her from their betrothal because he is no longer the man he was. She
accepted
his release! They’ve neither of
them ever considered any other since they were in school!”

Well, except for Dunc’s mistresses, but that’s what bachelors
did if they could afford them.

“That was very wrong of her,” the lady acknowledged sadly.
“Now that your brother's chart has reached the part of severity and destruction,
and yours is on the part of family disaster, they are closely followed by the
part of marriage. She’ll regret her decision someday.”

Destruction
? He’d
rode all this way to talk to a bedlamite?

Theo set his lips and ordered himself to keep an open mind.
“Well, I regret it right now.”

This wasn’t at all how he’d meant to do this. Slamming down
the delicate china he’d just picked up, Theo rose to pace the intricately woven
green-and-gold carpet. The complex design distracted him until he practically
fell over his feet. Was that a representation of the planets amid the
curlicues?

Another feline peered from beneath a curiosity cabinet and
ducked back under at his approach. Theo rubbed his brow and tried to focus.
“Ashford has ordered
me
to marry,
produce heirs, and carry on in his place, putting me in charge of his
holdings.” He spat out the words as if hammering nails.

“Oh dear. That is not good,” she said. “A man with his head
in the stars cannot be expected to grasp the nature of earthly objects. Surely
you have a steward to attend the estate, at least?”

He was irritated at how quickly she accepted his
limitations, but she wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t already told his damned
brother. “Our steward disappeared months ago. Dunc never found a better one and
hasn’t been in a hurry to do so—until now.”

“Disappeared? Do you generally have valuable staff vanish?”
she asked in perplexity.

Theo waved his hand in dismissal of Iveston’s perpetual
state of abandonment. Of course Margaret had left. Women always did. She’d just
picked the wrong damned time—if there was ever a good time to walk out on
friends. “People come and go. That isn’t the point. Ashford’s responsibilities
encompass far more than just the land. As you should be aware, our family
indulges in industry. For generations we’ve invested in coal and canals, and
these days it’s steam engines and foundries and more. Our entire widespread
family depends on Ashford.”

Her beautiful midnight eyes widened and he could almost
swear they sparkled.

“That is extremely heroic of you,” she said in what sounded
like awe. “You must set aside all that you are to become all that your family
needs. Not many men are capable of such selfless sacrifice.”

Theo wanted to snarl. “I assure you, I’m not in the least
heroic. Without the estate, I have no home and no income. I need estate funds
to develop the manufactory for my telescope glass. Although I’m not sure what
the point is now since I’ll barely find time to continue my observations. I
cannot possibly manage everything.”

“And you tell me this because . . . ?”
she asked with that acerbic tone belying her fluffy peahen appearance.

This was where he made a complete and utter nodcock of
himself, but desperate times and all that . . . . “Because
if I must marry to produce the heir Ashford will not, it has to be someone who
understands about running businesses and estates. I cannot do it all myself. I
don’t
want
to do it all myself. I am
a scientist, not an industrialist or a farmer.”

He swung around and faced her directly. “I don’t believe in
astrology, but if you can use your foolishness to convince a useful woman that
we suit, I won’t care if she’s plain as a door or frumpy as an old maid.”

***

Taken somewhat aback, Aster sipped her cooling tea before
answering. She was accustomed to men rejecting her charts. That this highly
intelligent, eminently respectable gentleman who understood the heavens chose
to reject her observations hurt more than most. But there was no sense arguing
over his disbelief.

“I’m not a matchmaker,” she told him. Except she could be,
possibly, had it ever occurred to her to look beyond her family. She knew which
zodiac signs complemented each other.

“Surely, you must know someone suitable,” he insisted,
pacing like a caged tiger. “Your family is full of eccentrics who must have
some agricultural knowledge.”

She winced. “It’s true, my family contains many intelligent,
capable women,” she corrected, thinking aloud. “But none of them are farmers. As
I told Emilia, I do not normally chart many people beyond family. I need
specific information as to birth date, time, and location. I suppose I could
sort through my library, but right off hand, I cannot imagine a suitable
candidate. You would do better to hire a steward.”

Lord Theophilus rather resembled a sleek, muscular leopard pacing
her parlor in search of prey. She had the feeling she might be his quarry and
that he might pounce at any moment.

“And then, should the new steward desert us like the last
one, we would be right back where we are now,” his lordship exclaimed with a
frustrated wave of his arm that nearly decapitated a fern. “Duncan could run
the estate with one arm behind his back. He only employed a steward so he could
spend more time with politics and the steamship business. But he insists if he
can’t ride and see the fields or even the ledgers, that we will be robbed blind
unless I stay on top of business.”

“And your other brothers? I recall there is a pack of them.”
That was perhaps not the politest way of stating it, but the agitated gentleman
didn’t seem to object. It was rather refreshing to speak as bluntly as he. “Are
none of them interested in the estate?”

The marquess’s reluctant heir ran his hand through his
hair—recently cropped, Aster noticed. His lordship had at least attempted to
appear respectable for this visit, which gave her a visceral thrill. She didn’t
think the self-absorbed, absent-minded Lord Theophilus often tried to impress
people.

“Not a one,” he groaned. “Every marquess since the first has
provided for his progeny, legitimate or not. We all receive equal allowances
from the estate to establish ourselves in our interests. We have uncles and
cousins running mines, canals, factories . . . You name it and
there is an Ives behind it. Duncan has been the only Ives interested in the
land. Perhaps in another generation . . . but not now.”

Aster perused her mental list of his family but concluded
much as he had. “Land is scarce. Unless one inherits a vast amount, farming is
not a profitable industry. I understand.”

“But women often run small farms, don’t they?” he asked with
a plea in his eyes.

She gestured helplessly. “We grow roses for perfume, herbs
for medicine, but we do not often have the land required to run sheep or grow
wheat, nor the wealth to have tenants. Perhaps a widow who has helped manage
her late husband’s estates. It will take some research. How long will you be in
London?”

If nothing else, she had to respect a man who accepted that
women could do more than look pretty.

“I can’t waste a moment,” he said in despair. “Erran’s
business is in London. William is only home a tenth of the time. Jacques is currently
standing guard, dealing with farmers and merchants, but he has no head for more.
The rest of the lot are schoolboys. We have a cousin who promised to help at
harvest, but I need to produce my glass orders
now
. And there are still the shipping and mining ventures needing
attention. I feel like a jester juggling too many balls.”

“You are not very good at juggling yet,” she remarked. “You
dismiss everyone as inconsequential when, with a little planning, each person could
take up one small piece of the load. Perhaps what you need is a
managing
female.”

His glower didn’t perturb her. His eyes were a glorious
experience. Today, the gray had lightened to a sky blue shadowed by lashes as
long as her own. Aster wanted to smile at his frustration, but this was not a
laughing matter. His situation was serious—with the potential to endanger her
own. Her charts had been quite clear on the matter.

Ashford’s blindness was alarming. The marquess had been a
potent force for change in the Lords. His loss would be felt in wider circles
than the estate—like Gwenna’s bill to help child laborers. Losing his support
could be catastrophic to their goals. Aster’s instincts failed her on the
proper action now.

“I will stay in London long enough to learn of available
stewards,” Lord Theo said frostily. “Then I must be off to interview them.”

“Suitable women do not grow on trees, my lord,” she
countered. “It will take time. Your glass orders will have to wait. And might I
remind you, my charts are complex and time-consuming. I do not produce them on
whims or for free. Just as you must make your own living, so must I make mine.
You would do well to have a few women in mind as a starting place.”

That caught his attention. Apparently, if she was to cost
him money, she became a little more worthy of his interest.

“You didn’t charge us for the warning,” he said, halting his
pacing.

“I’d drawn your brother’s chart for my library. The warning
was for the good of the country and possibly my family. Finding a wife is a
selfish pursuit and entirely a different matter.”

“It’s not a damned chart I want, but a wife. Is the cost the
same?” He appeared to be clenching his teeth as he asked.

“It is not always a matter of money,” she answered, thinking
quickly. “In your case, a successful request to the Astronomical Society to
accept astrology as a science would earn you half a dozen charts.”

Lord Theo’s jaw tightened. “Astrology is not a science. It
is a female affectation I’m willing to endure in hopes of getting what I need.
Real scientists would not be so polite. They would tear your charts apart if
you attempted to present them.”

“My charts are very scientific!”
Female affectation
! She should smack him, but she’d encountered
this type of opposition too often. She simply needed to convince him otherwise.
“To what purpose do you seek the stars if not to enlighten human understanding?
We use the same mathematics, share the same interest in the placement of the
planets. We should be
communicating
!”

“But no two astrologers could ever achieve the same
results,” he said scornfully. “Have you ever read an almanac that correctly
predicts the weather? Science is based on empirical evidence, and you have
none. I do not believe star charts predict compatibility, but you
know
women. Tell me how much it costs in
pounds and cents for you to find me a wife who can manage estates.”

She’d stupidly hoped this man was different because their
charts seemed so compatible—another example of how badly she read her own chart.
Still, she refused to let him deride her abilities.

“Ten pounds per chart, once you have provided exact birth
date, time, and place,” she retorted, refusing to admit she had no idea what
empirical
evidence
might be. She would look it up as soon as he was gone.

“I am to walk up to women and ask when and where they were
born?” he asked in incredulity.

“If you want anyone other than the Malcolm descendants in my
library, you will. I can go over my charts and make lists. I can call in a few
friends,” she said, rising. His virile presence was too intense for
concentration. She needed him to leave before she said anything else ridiculous
for him to scorn.