Magic in the Stars (7 page)

“I cannot guarantee you will find the perfect mate within my
circle,” she continued, taking his arm and leading him to the door. “You have
just met Emilia. She is looking for a husband so her grandfather’s executor
will release her rather considerable inheritance. She would be perfect for you
in all other respects—but like your family, she has other interests, and they
don’t include estate management.”

With a puzzled expression, Lord Theophilus glanced at the
doorway as if it would summon the memory of the woman who had just passed
through it. “Perhaps you could introduce her to Erran. He’s a peacock who
always comes up short on his tailor’s bills.”

“Perhaps,” she said noncommittally. “But the task now is to
find
your
match.”

He studied her with despair. “I don’t suppose
you
know of estates? You seem the
managing sort.”

Her insides clutched with the desire to shout
Yes, yes, my charts say we are all that
should be compatible
, but she shook her head. Because her own chart was
always strangely skewed and that
doom
in her family sector was much too accurate. “I am a city girl and know nothing
of rural estates. Besides, my charts say I must never marry. It is much too
dangerous, and your family doesn’t need any more tragedy.”

“If I don’t find a wife soon, I see nothing
but
tragedy in the months to come.
Either I will kill Duncan, or he will kill me.” Lord Theophilus slammed his hat
on his head and strode out—leaving the peaceful serenity of her parlor
shattered.

How did one find a
safe
wife for the man for whose stars crossed with her own in dangerous
incompatibility?

Still gnashing his teeth in frustration, Theo sought his
uncle’s home near Hyde Park. Uncle Pascoe used the name of Ives, although
Theo’s widowed grandfather had sired him late in life and never bothered to
marry Pascoe’s mother. Theo thought he ought to look at his marriage-shirking
ancestors as warning, but unlike Lady Azenor, he didn’t believe in portents.

Pascoe was the youngest of the uncles, in his thirties. He’d
been married once, produced twins still in the nursery, and had poured his
energy into developing various forms of transportation so that fabrics woven in
Manchester could reach London, Paris, or Boston in the shortest possible time.
The process involved considerable government and political interaction, thus
his residence in London.

Pascoe greeted Theo’s arrival with a slap on the back and an
offer of brandy. “You look as if you’ve just buried both parents and your
favorite mistress. Come in, sit down, and tell me what I can do to help.”

Taking a sturdy leather chair in the gloom of his uncle’s
study, Theo gratefully accepted the brandy. He tried not to contrast this dark
room of heavy furniture, scattered books and papers, and dead animals on the
wall with Lady Azenor’s sunny, colorful, and well-ordered parlor, but the vivid
image was emblazoned on his mind.

Women were an entirely different breed from men, that much
was obvious. He’d never suffered from the lack of female influence but he did
wonder about the changes ahead.

“You’ve been married,” Theo said, leading with the most
pressing subject. “Do all women keep a house orderly and tightly feathered like
a birds’ nest?”

Pascoe laughed. “Lily was never home. She ran half a dozen
charities. Our housekeeper does her best to clean the clutter, but as you see—”
His gesture swept the stack of paper and dusty objects on his desk.
“—housekeepers are limited in scope. I shouldn’t think I’d like a feathered
nest much. Are you planning marriage?”

“If it’s possible to
plan
marriage, I might be amenable. But I have a suspicion it will take a little
more than specifying my needs as if I were choosing a horse.” Theo sipped his
brandy and contemplated living in a home feathered like Azenor’s. He didn’t
think it possible, and his imagination gave it up to contemplate the more
interesting picture of the lady’s delicious figure in his bed.

He ought to have
something
pleasant to contemplate in the midst of total, irrevocable disaster. But the
lady had been unequivocal in insisting that they would not suit. And although he
did not believe in her fated doom, he knew a city girl with ridiculous notions did
not meet his requirements for a wife. He needed a good, practical country
woman—but not Margaret. He shuddered.

“The closest one can come to planning a wife is to attend
the season’s events and compare the various available misses. That wasn’t for
the likes of me,” Pascoe said with distaste. “I literally ran into Lily in a
very bad section of town. She wouldn’t have been caught dead in a fashionable
salon. But I don’t recommend searching back streets for rare gems as a
practical policy.”

“One might as well rely on searching the stars,” Theo acknowledged
gloomily.

After a few more brandies, Pascoe dragged the story out of
him. Rather than bother with the formality of the dining room, they ordered
supper set up before the fire.

“Much as I hate to say this, Duncan is better off without a
woman who flees at the first sign of trouble.” Pascoe leaned back in his chair
and contemplated the fire after hearing the sorry tale. “Perhaps your lady
friend could search for the right wife for him while she’s looking for one for
you.”

“Duncan is wallowing in self-pity,” Theo retorted. “It will
take time before he’ll accept that he’s still a valuable commodity.”

Pascoe snorted at this description. “Put it in terms of
profit, and perhaps he’ll listen. But you’re right, not just yet. He’ll be
hoping his sight will return, and who knows, maybe he’s right. Most physicians
are quacks. Is there any chance someone really tried to kill him?”

Theo shrugged. “Duncan would know better than I, and he
claims not. He’s not very clear on what happened. The blow to his head
scrambled his memory. He just thinks the horse stumbled while his bosky mind
was elsewhere, and that it was his own fault.”

“It’s possible.” Pascoe peeled an apple as a servant cleared
the dishes. “If you’ve seen no evidence of wrong-doing, you have no reason to
believe otherwise.”

Other than the lady’s warning, and that hadn’t been specific,
but Theo’s questioning mind kept picking around the idiocy as one does a scab.
“I don’t want to marry and bring a lady into danger.”

“You want an excuse for not marrying,” Pascoe pointed out
cheerfully.

No, he wanted an excuse to marry managing, manipulative, colorful
Lady Azenor so he didn’t have to make an ass of himself bumbling about parlors.

Theo squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I hate this. I trust
finding a steward will be simpler.”

***

Finding a steward wasn’t simpler. Theo stopped at one of
Duncan’s clubs to make inquiries and ran into the Earl of Lansdowne. The earl appeared
to know him even if Theo didn’t recognize the distinguished older man until
they were introduced.

“Ashford took a fall, did he?” Lansdowne asked, fastening
his coat buttons in preparation for leaving the club. “Will he be back for the
September session?”

“One assumes,” Theo answered edgily, having no idea what the
answer ought to be. “I’m just here to inquire about the names of likely men for
the position of steward.”

The earl shrugged and donned his tall hat. “Everyone’s out
of town. Surely one of your bastard brothers can look in on the tenants.”

At the deliberate insult, Theo rolled his fingers into
fists, but even he knew better than to punch an earl. “The bastard who is
training the royal hounds, perhaps?” he asked coldly. “Or the one engineering
the Manchester railway? We’re all such layabouts, I’m sure you’re right.”

He strode off, leaving the earl and his companions to glare
after him. So much for asking the help of his so-called betters.

He managed to collect a few references from more helpful men
and left word in several places without biting anyone else’s head off. But too
many people asked after Duncan, and he had nothing to give them. He had a vague
notion he was supposed to pound men on the back, make jokes about Ashford
spending time in bed, and assure everyone that the head of an industrial
fortune was right on top where he belonged.

But Duncan was flinging shoes and tea trays and Theo
couldn’t speak such a massive lie.

After following up every lead he’d been given and finding
himself near Lincoln's Inn Field, Theo rewarded his perseverance by stopping in
to see if the library of the Astronomical Society had any new treatises. John
Herschel was writing at a table and glanced up at Theo’s appearance.

“Still think your lens can find more than the six moons on
Saturn mine can find, Ives?” Herschel asked, setting aside his pen and rubbing
his brow.

“Certainly,” Theo said with a shrug. “I just need better
weather.” He rummaged through the pamphlets on display.

“If we’re to win the royal charter, we need to produce a
discovery of sufficient magnitude to gain His Majesty’s recognition. I’ve been
promising his highness he’d hear from us by September. If you can’t produce
your new glass, we’ll have to call on someone else.”

A chance to display the achievements of his new glass had
been Theo’s goal ever since he’d developed the new lens. But he needed more
time to test it and write up the report and produce more . . .
Theo wanted to raise his fists and howl.

“It can’t rain forever,” he said in surly acceptance while
he scanned Herschel’s latest tract.

“Your name will be mud with the society if you can’t
produce,” Herschel warned.

“I have the glass,” Theo insisted, fighting his panic that
he’d never
test
the glass at this
rate. He waved the pamphlet he’d been reading. “
Inductive
reasoning?” he asked in incredulity. “You would infer a
scientific principle based on what . . .
intuition
? Have we all gone mad?”

“Don’t question the premise until you’ve been married for a
year as I have,” Herschel said dryly. “We can often see probable evidence that
women think differently than men, but it is impossible to provide deductive or
empirical evidence of the theory—as just one example.”

Thinking of Aster and her insane theories of the universe,
Theo considered punching his own eyes out. “You would prove astrology true?” he
asked irritably.

“Unlikely,” Herschel agreed. “But we do not always have the
instruments to measure what is obvious from observation. Take the tract and
study it. There is more to science than mathematics.”

“I really don’t want to hear that,” Theo grumbled, shoving
the pamphlet into his coat pocket. “Next, you’ll be asking women to join the
Society.”

Herschel snorted and bent over his pen and paper again. “Why
do you think I’m here and not at home? Not a chance, my boy, not a chance.”

Weary in mind and soul, Theo stumbled back to Pascoe’s to
find an invitation waiting for him from Lady Azenor to join her and a few
guests for tea. Theo stopped to examine his reflection in the hall mirror and
tried to determine if his rumpled cravat and the gravy stain on his waistcoat
might pass muster.

“You need a valet,” Pascoe said, wandering down the corridor
from his study.

“I don’t need a valet to make glass or study the stars. Can
I hire a temporary valet?” Theo asked.

“Most likely not. And my Merritt is not available. He’s
invaluable as far more than a valet. He can even keep books. The problem with most
servants is that they’re uneducated and only trained in one task.”

“Not a problem I’m inclined to tackle,” Theo acknowledged. “Iveston
is filled to overflowing with untrained, uneducated Ives progeny. Maybe I
should marry a schoolteacher and keep the brats home.”

“A schoolteacher who will train them to be stewards and
valets?” Pascoe hooted. “Ives don’t make good servants.”

“Outlaws, pirates, and potentates,” Theo agreed in
frustration. “We’re useless.”

“Leaders and men of science are always needed. We’re just
worthless for domestic purposes. Have Lady Azenor find a match for me while
you’re at it. One who can tell stories to the demanding fiends in the nursery.”

“I’d rather be an outlaw,” Theo growled. Realizing he was
late, he hurried off without hunting for more starched linen.

Upon reaching the lady’s street, Theo swallowed a lump of
panic. Three carriages were unloading a wave of women in enormous silk sleeves,
bell-like skirts, and frippery from head to toe.

The lady had been busy. If he weren’t so terrified, he’d be
impressed. His future could be in one of those carriages.

He hurried to assist the women emerging from the last vehicle.
Enveloped in their silks, laces, and perfumes, Theo was too overwhelmed by
femininity to notice if the occupants were fair or young. They chattered to him
and each other as Lady Azenor’s surly footman held the door open.

Theo entered last and the footman winked at him. Taken
aback, Theo absent-mindedly clung to his hat and followed the ladies into the
colorful parlor.

Azenor was garbed in peacock blue today. Unlike the others,
she wore reasonable sleeves and a simple skirt that didn’t require voluminous frills.
Short, compared to her guests, she still stood out like a beacon of rationality
and a star in the night sky. Theo wanted to grab her and carry her off and be
done with it.

Which was utter nonsense and probably a product of panic.
This marriage business required a good deal more . . .
sensory stimulation
 . . .
than his solitude-loving brain could handle all at once.

He remembered to bow politely at introductions but didn’t remember
a single woman’s name while he watched the footman carry off his hat.

“Miss Jenkins,” Lady Azenor reminded him, catching Theo’s
arm and turning him toward a voluptuous woman wrapped to the chin in lavender.
“Lord Theo is an astronomer. He says I must find empirical evidence to prove my
charts are accurate.”