Magic in the Stars (13 page)

Having bathed in the luxurious tub and dressed in her
dinner gown, Aster allowed Dr. Joseph to examine and wrap her ankle while she
picked his brains about the marquess’s plight.

“So there is
some
hope that his sight might return?” she prodded, when the physician beat all
around the proverbial bush.

“Some, just as there is some chance he might keel over dead
tomorrow. I do not expect either result. I believe the brain swelling is
reduced, but it has damaged the optic nerve,” he said stiffly.

Dr. Joseph was a man in his early thirties, disguising his
youth with a prickly brown beard and wire-rimmed eyeglasses. Aster noted he
peered over them most of the time. She wondered if he might be a good match for
Emilia.

What to do about the blind marquess loomed larger in her
mind than marrying off Emilia. Aunt Gwenna’s parliamentary bill to help the
children was even more important than keeping Iveston from descending into
chaos—although Lord Theo might not appreciate that sentiment. How could she
force a blind marquess to acknowledge his duties?

“But just as my ankle will recover, Ashford’s optic nerve
might,” she suggested. Before the physician could argue, she asked, “Were you
born in January?”

Dr. Joseph began putting the tools of his trade back in a
satchel. “I was. How did you know?”

“Capricorn. Stubborn, serious, and cautious. Probably Cancer
rising, so you’re also empathic and a caretaker. Around the fifteenth,
perhaps?”

He smiled gently, patted her knee, then stood up. “January
15, 1799, to be precise. Theo explained your predilection for astrology. You
would do better to create a better almanac than to predict human behavior.”

“But I was right, wasn’t I? I have a peculiar ability for
interpreting what others cannot.” Which might be the reason others could not
duplicate her results, she realized uneasily. Her Malcolm gift gave her an
extra advantage. “You are still unmarried?”

“I am. I have been too busy studying and building my
practice to dally with the ladies.”

“Exactly,” she said in satisfaction. “Ambitious and
hardworking.”

He regarded her with amusement. “Will you find a match for
me too?”

“Not if you continue to look upon me as some sort of
fanciful child,” she retorted, taking his hand to stand up. “But if you’ll
listen instead of judging, then you are invited to our tea party the day of the
village fete. You should find the company agreeable.”

“I would be delighted to join the company,” he said,
offering his arm to help her from the room. “I am not as certain I am delighted
to eat anything served unless you have found another cook.”

Aster muttered an improper word under her breath. “They have
no cook either?”

“The last one booted the dogs out of the kitchen, and Will
booted out the cook in retaliation. The tale is all over the village.”

“Aside from his dislike of howling animals underfoot, was
this cook worth keeping?” she asked warily.

“Probably the best in the county,” Dr. Joseph said, watching
her with curiosity. “He can’t find another place that pays as well around here,
so he is looking in London, although he claims to hate the city.”

“Will you carry a message from me to this cook?” At the
physician’s expression of interest, Aster continued, “Tell him the dogs will be
removed to a more appropriate area, and I will give him my mother’s secret to a
perfect soufflé if he will return.”

The physician’s lips curled in appreciation. “I will do
that, my lady. It’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.” She nodded and waited for him to take
the stairs down.

Then, with determination, she limped in the direction of the
Marquess of Ashford’s chambers. She could not operate without his express
permission. And she needed to be certain a man with so many astrological knives
hanging over his head wasn’t a danger to her friends and family.

And then . . . She might consider one of her more audacious
plans, one she dare not admit even to herself, not until she had at least met
the elusive marquess.

She could hear vile profanities emanating from behind the
door before she even knocked. Crunching china was followed by
loathsome bampot
and a loud slam of an
object against a wall. She supposed she ought to come back when the marquess
was in a better humor, but she had a suspicion that would be after he was dead
and buried in his grave.

She’d rather prevent that.

She knocked. More curses greeted her.

“I shall come in at the count of ten,” she admonished. “And
if you lock the door, I will tell the housekeeper you have killed yourself and
ask for the key.”

“She won’t know where it is,” a deep voice grumbled. “Come
in. Theo said you’d be here.”

Pleased that his lordship was so perceptive, Aster waded
into a wonderfully spacious chamber that appeared to have been struck by two
hurricanes and a cyclone. Heavy green velvet draperies hung crookedly over any
evidence of sunlight. Tilted glass wall sconces gleamed dully on the walls,
even though it was five in the afternoon of a reasonably sunny summer day. The
usual threadbare carpet adorned the wide-planked floor, ripped in places where
booted feet had caught on the threads and yanked the holes wider.

Papers, books, broken china, clothes, boots, and various
items of sporting equipment were strewn everywhere she looked—on floors,
tables, chairs, and desk. The broad, towering marquess with his waistcoat badly
buttoned and his cravat undone resembled a bear standing in the center of chaos.
His dark hair looked as if it hadn’t been cut since the accident, and his thick
beard hadn’t been shaved in weeks, at best.

Neither long hair nor thick beard disguised the jagged
healing scar disfiguring his handsome visage from partially-shaved scalp to
jutting cheekbone. Ashford’s stature alone was intimidating. He made two of her
at the very least. The raw wound would scare small children into tears.

Azenor approved. Her newly hatched scheme took on momentum.

The marquess desperately
needed
a wife to take him in hand and direct him to do his parliamentary duty. She had
resigned herself to never marrying, because she could not accept endangering a
man she loved. However—she could never love a growling bear of a man like this.
But with a little experience, she
could
manage him.

She needed more time to compare their charts. It was
possible this scheme was the disaster hanging over the heads of both their
families. She hated having to balance all possibilities. Life would be easier
if she could simply do what her head said was best.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” she asked with interest
as he stumbled over a tea cart that should never have been placed where he
could run into it.

“What do you want?” he asked in a surly tone. “If you just
want to stare, get the hell out.”

“I can find more attractive views if staring was my goal. I
want to know that I have your permission to change your company rooms in
anticipation of the tea party during the fete.” Unable to tolerate the
untidiness, she shoved the cart against the wall and began gathering papers.

“What are you doing?” he asked in suspicion. “I didn’t ask
for your help.”

“I am the family Librarian. I am compulsively tidy. If these
papers have been placed here in some kind of order, I shall happily return them
to their original state. Otherwise, I see no reason not to pick them up before
you trip and break your neck.”

“Breaking my neck would solve a great deal,” he agreed. “But
I’d rather wait until Theo is wed and his wife bedded. He has a habit of losing
women before he makes it to the altar.”

“As you lose servants? Have you tried a smaller household?”
she asked acerbically.

“Marry them all off!” he roared. “Find them all good homes,
along with the damned hounds.”

One of the maligned creatures crept out from beneath the
bed, tail wagging.

“If you’ll give me permission to make changes . . . ?”
she asked again.

“Burn the place down, I don’t care. It’s not as if I’ll see
what you’ve done.” He swiped his foot at a broken teapot and stumbled his way
back to the bed, limping far worse than she.

“May I also make some changes in here?” she asked daringly.
“That carpet really needs to go. I don’t know how you’ve tolerated it this
long.”

“My great-great uncle brought it back from China. It’s rare
and valuable.” He dropped to the unmade bed, sending another puppy scrambling
from beneath the mattress.

“It
was
rare and
valuable,” she asserted. “It is now ready for the dustbin. There is utterly no
way of repairing it. Perhaps a good weaver could cut out the solid portions and
bind it for a wall hanging.”

“Fine. Then the damned dogs can wet on the bare floor. That
will be easier to clean.” He unerringly lifted an adoring puppy from the floor
and stroked its head.

“You have no valet?” Azenor sought through her mental files
for the last footman she’d trained. She couldn’t train a valet, but a good
servant could learn.

“What do I need a valet for? I sent mine to Theo so he can
learn to make himself presentable.”

“Ah, that explains his buttoned waistcoat. I am grateful for
your thoughtfulness. It would be most difficult to find him a wife if he
continued about in shirtsleeves. Thank you for this opportunity to allow me to
train a few more servants and introduce my friends to your household. It should
be an enlightening experience,” she said primly, bobbing a curtsy even though
he couldn’t see it.

“I still don’t believe in planets charting fates,” he
growled. “For all I know, you sent someone to scare my horse that night just to
prove your predictions were right and worm your way into my household.”

“Oh, very good, my lord. Stay on your toes and be wary. I
shall send the stewards up to you for interviews, shall I? Would you like your
valet back?”

“That’s enough impertinence! Get the hell out and get Theo
married or leave!” Ashford roared—just like an injured bear. Even the puppy in
his lap ran for the covers.

“I shall
not
introduce you to his potential candidates,” she said thoughtfully. “But I do
wish to discuss my Aunt Gwenna and Uncle Harry’s labor bill at another time.
Good evening to you, sir.”

Satisfied that she’d done her duty as she’d been taught, Aster
limped toward the stairs. Her ankle did feel much better now that it had been
soaked and bound. She had too many tasks to carry out to laze about like an
invalid. A household without a cook was a
disaster
.
As she knew from her own very large family, food was the glue that bonded
disparate personalities into working together.

Although food hadn’t bound these quarrelsome Ives together,
it seemed.

“What the devil are you about now?” Lord Theo demanded,
coming up the stairs with books and a walking stick in his hand.

“Asking your brother’s permission to do as I please,” she
said haughtily, raising her nose in the air at his tone. “You said you have a
conservatory, correct?”

***

What the hell did the conservatory have to do with Duncan?
Theo glanced cautiously in the direction of his brother’s chamber. When he
heard no lion roar of fury, he glanced back at the demure miss in . . .

His heart nearly stopped in his chest as he thoroughly
absorbed the lady’s evening attire. She was wearing another of those iridescent
gowns that shimmered with blues and greens and grays, but it was the
décolletage that held his eye and nearly caused another tongue-swallowing
episode. There was nothing
demure
about the display of ripe, full curves pushing against the frailest wisp of
silk, without a ruffle in sight. But it was the heart-shaped freckle nearly
hidden in her cleavage that had his brain spinning in his skull and all his
blood rushing southward.

He gulped and lost track of her question. Stupidly, he held
out the walking stick he’d uncovered in the debris of the study. “Use this to
keep your weight off your foot. Not that you have any weight . . .” He sighed and
returned his gaze to her narrowed eyes so he could think again.

“Thank you, I think. Perhaps you should offer the stick to
the marquess?”

“He had one. He used it to smash everything on his washstand
the first time we offered it. Fearing he would use it to smash our heads, we hid
it.” Theo refrained from offering his arm as she tested the cane. He had to
quit looking at her . . . and touching.

Not looking or touching made for difficulty in wooing, but
he’d already faced that challenge. How did one woo a woman who had to hate him
before she would marry him? A conundrum he meant to conquer. Could he make her
hate him by touching her? Experimentation was required.

She swung the stick and used it to limp down the stairs.
“Try imagining being unable to look at the stars,” she said, thankfully
following her own train of thought and not his. “Then perhaps you can
appreciate the level of your brother’s frustration. For a Scorpio,
particularly, it will take an enormous will to re-learn manipulating his
surroundings.”

Theo skipped the weird bit and concentrated on imagining
life without stars. An emptiness gaped inside him, followed by unreasoning
panic and a need to
do
something to
prevent such a catastrophe. And knowing it was impossible to prevent what one
couldn’t foresee, he grasped some of his brother’s fury.

He muttered a bloody oath. “No wonder he says he’d rather be
dead.”

“Exactly so. So you must find things he
can
do until he has found a role that suits him. Interviewing
stewards will be a start. Prying him out of that cave so he might mingle with
others is probably too much to ask right now, but a goal for the future. The
conservatory?” she asked imperiously.