Magic in the Stars (20 page)

“They’re expecting the marquess,” the vicar insisted. “It’s
a rare honor for the village folk to have his lordship in their midst. To them,
you are even more exceptional. It’s not as if they see you in attendance at
church.”

Ah, retribution. Theo understood the concept. He’d generally
punched the nose of anyone attempting to get even with him, but that had been
back in school. These were men of authority, and he respected them, most of the
time. If they meant to get even with him for neglecting the church, he couldn’t
very well punch them in the nose.

“I don’t suppose I could read them a lecture on how the moon
phases affect the tides and possibly the weather?” Theo asked without hope.

“Just hand out the ribbons,” the squire said. “You’ll do
fine.”

“What time?” he asked in weariness, consulting his pocket
watch. The tea party was still half a day away.

“At noon,” the squire said in satisfaction. A portly man
who’d raised his children and now had time to interfere in all things related
to the village, the squire folded his hands over his ample belly. “If you are
to act in your brother’s place since his tragic accident, we must introduce you
around.”

Theo wondered what gossip rampaged that they were already
considering Duncan out of the picture, but he wasn’t interested in encouraging
the conversation. “We are expecting guests, but I shall be there at noon, as promised.”

After their elders left, Hugh and Hartley hurtled into the
study with two spaniels and a hound on their heels. “May we go to the village?”
they asked in unison.

Theo raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Since when do you ask
permission?”

“Lady Aster said we must, so you know where we are. They’re
to have an archery contest and a sack race and they’ll have Bath buns and
sausages,” both boys shouted excitedly, their various choices of fun
intertwining into one whole.

Theo had a vague recollection of making himself sick by
stuffing a quantity of fete food down his gullet, then rolling down hills in
some mutant form of racing. He supposed he could hope the twins would
considerately heave into the bushes before returning home.

He removed some coins from a drawer and handed them over to
the boys. Remembering Lady Azenor’s words, he warned, “Do not interrupt the
ladies’ party this afternoon unless you are bleeding and broken in three
places, understood?”

They cheered and ran out without making any promises. He
tried to remember if he’d had tutors or anyone with him when he and his
brothers had run wild at that age, but he couldn’t recall any. He’d trust that
the squire or vicar or someone would see they didn’t cause too much trouble.

By noon, he’d worked his way through stacks of invoices and
ledgers and was almost ready for a walk in the fresh air to clear his muddled
brainpan. About the only person in existence who had not crossed his threshold
was the one he most wanted to see . . . Lady Azenor.

But after he’d committed the mortal sin of kissing her until
they were both embarrassingly hot and bothered, and asking her to marry him, she’d
disappeared. He ought to resent her rejection, but it only made him more
determined.

He prayed she had not left for home as she’d threatened
earlier. He was reasonably certain if there was any perfect match in his stars,
it was the annoying little general, not some unknown stranger.

She’d asked him about
asteroids
—then
listened to his reply without yawning. Even living in his lonely outpost, he
recognized that a woman like that was rare—even if she did believe in illogical
superstition.

In desperate circumstances, he could overlook a little
madness.

After traversing all the main rooms in hopes of seeing the
lady, Theo headed out into the damp wind. The twins had said she was about. He
would have to wait for the party.

Hoping to hasten the tedious duties ahead, he rode his horse
into the village. Mobs of people roamed the square, chatting and laughing and
eating unpalatable food. To his surprise, there were a surprising number of
fancy London carriages lined up along the church grounds. The lady’s guests
were apparently as intrepid as she to brave the weather. He hitched his gelding
to a post and hurried toward the tent where the judging was usually held.

It hadn’t occurred to him to dress for the occasion until
Lady Azenor intercepted his path by holding up her dainty gloved hand. She was
garbed in filmy blue frippery from the fabric holding down her enormous straw
hat—hiding her bountiful curls—to the frills at her bodice concealing her
delightful bosom, and even at her hem, covering her neat ankles. He hated that
gown.

She glanced disapprovingly at his untied cravat. “Your guests
are here. They are gathering in the tent to watch the cow judging, along with
everyone else. Where was your valet this morning?”

“Hiding.” Theo hastily twisted the wrinkled—and probably
spotted—linen into some semblance of order. “All the ladies are here already?”

“Of course they are! We invited them to attend the fete.”
She buttoned his waistcoat while he fumbled with the linen. “You do own a hat,
do you not?”

“Not one as ugly as yours,” he countered, having already
gathered that the broad brim made it impossible to tease her with more kisses.
“No time to return for it. I take it I am late.”

“Is there a reason your valet is hiding?” She stepped back so
he could finish his buttons. When he didn’t immediately fasten his frock coat,
she tugged it impatiently.

He really shouldn’t like her fussing so much. “Jones? I am
not accustomed to anyone caring what I wear, hence I am an insult to his profession,
and Dunc threw a shoe at him. He’ll probably go missing shortly. Want to find
another old soldier to polish my shoes?” He finished buttoning and yanked a few
wrinkles out of the fabric.

“My uncle was the one who recommended Mr. Browne. Our family
has a bad habit of rescuing good people from the workhouse. Uncle Calum is
quite pleased that the marquess had the exceptional good taste to hire a
hardworking man, even if he has only one arm.”

“Remind me to look into your family before they start
sending prostitutes to tend the nursery,” he said dryly. “You did say your
father was an earl and not a bishop, didn’t you?”

Unoffended by his language, she stepped back to admire her
handiwork. “My father is a Scots earl who grew up in India—not precisely your
traditional English sort. The uncle in question is his younger brother, who
manages the family mining interests and what little farming is done on the
estate. I believe Mr. Browne served in a regiment with him at one time.”

Theo rewarded himself with the pleasure of placing a hand at
her back, just above the supple sway of her hips as they hurried toward the
tent. Fat drops of rain began to splash the already muddy grounds. “I don’t
know one cow from another. I trust all I’m expected to do is hand out ribbons.”

“And look like a marquess,” she said in a dry tone he did
not mistake.

“My boots are polished to a fine shine,” he said. “Who can
ask for anything more?”

“I dislike to mention this—but your fine shine has acquired
a distinct odor. I wouldn’t look too closely if I were you. This
is
a cow pasture, after all.”

Flashing him a smile that had the power to bowl him over had
she not just grounded him in reality, the lady hurried into the milling crowd
inside the tent, leaving him on his own.

Amused, aroused, and irritated, all at the same time, Theo
hastened to shake the hands of the dignitaries waiting for him.

As chairman for the fete, Margaret was on the dais as well.
Even though Theo was perfectly aware that she had once hoped to stand up here in
the marquess’s reflected glory, he scowled and took the far side of the
platform from her.

***

Aster circled among her friends, welcoming them, giving
them directions to the Hall, admiring frippery—while keeping the corner of her
eye on Lord Theo on the ceremonial platform. She had already learned the
dark-haired sylph on the dais wearing a pleasant smile and a London gown was the
woman who had been affianced to Lord Ashcroft. She should have made more effort
to discover the lady’s birthdate. In person, Miss Caldwell didn’t seem as
unlikable as Aster had expected her to be.

A roped-off section in front of the dais separated animals
from the crowd, but rough men laying wagers on the contestants pushed and
jostled the ropes. Always wary of potential disaster, Aster watched and stayed
to the rear of the tent.

Having spent most of her growing-up years in the Edinburgh
residences of her mother and father, she had very little experience with
country fetes. She’d attended a few church festivals where the women baked and
knitted and showed off their handiworks, but that didn’t involve smelly sheep and
cows in a tent. If it weren’t for watching hatless Lord Theo awkwardly hand out
ribbons and shake hands, she’d make her excuses and head back to the house.

Realizing her heart raced a little too fast while watching his
lordship, Aster pasted on a smile and began edging toward the exit. She patted
hands and reassured everyone they were welcome to arrive at the Hall whenever
they were ready.

As she reached the tent entrance, a loud crack of thunder
preceded a precipitous cloudburst of rain, and she groaned in dismay. A gust of
wind caught the canvas overhead, and the crowd glanced anxiously at the swaying
tent poles. But warm and dry, most people returned to watching the highlight of
the fete—although Aster assumed it was the presence of the rarified aristocrats
providing the entertainment, not the cows.

Hoping this was just a shower, Aster waited at the exit for
a chance to run for the covered carriage she’d had the wisdom to order earlier.

Outside, fete attendees raced for the church or their own
homes. She watched the twins roll under a farm cart, still devouring their
sausages as if they were starved.

Inside, the nervous animals lowed and bleated. The humidity
increased the stench, and she almost wished she dared brave the rain to escape.
At least her family was back at the Hall, so her presence wasn’t endangering
them.

A streak of lightning followed immediately by another loud
clap of thunder warned the storm was directly overhead. Aster turned worriedly
to check on the proceedings on the temporary raised platform where Lord Theo
and the other dignitaries continued handing out ribbons.

As she watched, a fistfight among the gamblers broke out
near the rope. The crowd shuffled out of the way. The animals shifted, and Miss
Caldwell looked uneasy, holding out her hand to steady herself on the nearest
male arm, which happened to be Lord Theo’s. How had she worked her way to that
side of the dais?

Rather than comfort the nervous lady, the ungentlemanly astronomer
leaped off the platform to break up the combatants. Aster rolled her eyes at
this typical Ives behavior, but admittedly, stopping the fight seemed smarter
than escorting a fainting female. He
had
said he was done with hysterical women.

She admired the muscular strength of Lord Theo’s punch that
laid flat one of the irate gamblers who swung at him. With the swiftness of
expertise, his lordship shoved aside a blow from another swinging fist and
popped his assailant’s nose until it bled scarlet. Apparently living in a
brawling family taught one boxing skills.

Pushed to their limits by the yelling and shoving, the cows abruptly
broke free of their enclosure. With bawling
moo’s
,
they yanked on ropes and scattered sheep.

Frightened, the entire herd of animals fled in every
direction—including into the makeshift platform. As one large steer smashed
into a prop holding it up, the whole deck listed to one side. The no longer
dignified dignitaries slid sideways into the trampled filth.

Appalled, Aster covered her mouth with her palm as Miss
Caldwell and her fancy gown hit the mud along with the vicar and squire. She
was pretty certain the lady’s screams were more furious than terrified.

She searched for Theo in the melee of muddied farmers and
gentlemen flinging punches below the collapsing platform. To her relief, she spotted
him rising from the mayhem, shaking the drunken gamblers by the back of their
coats.

That’s when the other half of the herd burst through the
ropes in his direction—and straight at the tent pole.

Aster’s screams joined those of all their guests and the
villagers.

***

Temper roiling, Theo dropped the drunkards and grabbed the
tent pole. Cows and sheep milled and trampled the crowd—including his lady
guests—driving them into the storm. The wind tossed the soaked canvas, and rain
poured underneath, turning the trampled grass to a sea of mud.

So much for his polished boots.

With despair, Theo watched Lady Aster open her ugly umbrella
and hasten her friends to a waiting carriage. She no doubt blamed her damned
stars for mad cows and Englishmen. The rest of her guests would just have
hysterics and leave.

He was almost convinced his own planets were crashing from
the heavens, telling him marriage wasn’t in his cards, that he’d be forever
alone. He had been fine with that when all he knew was the stars, but now that
he’d been burdened with the weight of the world, he understood that he’d only
been half living.

One sturdy lady in silk and lace dared the trampled cow pen
to pet a few animals and calm them down. Remembering his vow to marry any woman
who could help him with his hated chores, Theo tried to memorize her features
so he might pay attention to her should she survive the storm.

She smiled at him but didn’t attempt to push through the herd
to help him hold the pole steady. He couldn’t blame her there. Besides, he
supposed ladies didn’t speak to gentlemen to whom they’d not been introduced.
He couldn’t remember being introduced to her anyway.