Magic in the Stars by Patricia Rice Read Free Book Online

limited social skills.
    Rather than take the seat indicated and offer the usual
flummery—he’d already forgotten the other lady’s name—Theo paced across the
salon to examine what appeared to be a mask painted on a fibrous shell.
    “My father, and his father before him, journeyed extensively
in India and South America,” the witchy lady explained. “They sent home many
rare examples of native artwork. Miss McDowell’s mother is my father’s sister.
She added to my collection with the artifacts they sent her as well.”
    The skinny female in black laughed. “Mother emptied the
attic in relief when Aster set up housekeeping. She had no idea how to use
elephant tusks and coconut shells.”
    “It is inspiring,” Theo reluctantly admitted, wishing he
could be in darkest Africa about now. “One almost wishes to visit jungles to
see these specimens in nature.”
    “Exactly!” his hostess exclaimed in delight. “I have tried
growing palms and various other plants my father brought home, but I have no
conservatory, and there simply isn’t enough light from a single window.”
    “We have a conservatory,” Theo said, wondering how he could
ask the other guest to leave, then pondered where Lady Azenor’s rather daunting
companion had gone. Awkwardly, he realized he could not stay if the other lady
left, not without risk of compromising his hostess. Devil take it. He hadn’t ridden
all this way to turn around and leave without making his damned foolish
request.
    He could only conclude that desperation had driven him here.
It certainly wasn’t logic.
    The maid carried in an extra teacup and a fresh tray of
biscuits, scones, and tea. Theo eyed the delicate straw contraption he was
expected to lower his heavy weight on and chose to remain standing. The
feminine frippery confined him, and he fought the urge to just grab the lady
and haul her outside where he could breathe freely. He tasted a biscuit rather
than speak.
    “How is your brother?” Lady Azenor inquired gently.
    He had expected a glint of defiance, a “told you so” or
two—especially since she’d been right about the king’s death, the wet weather,
and the rioters as well—but she seemed genuinely concerned. Theo swallowed
without tasting. “That’s what I’ve come to see you about.”
    The other lady smothered a laugh and stood up. “Keeping mute
doesn’t work either, Aster. It appears your prattle is more a case of knowing
exactly what to say. I don’t possess your gift. I bid you good-day, my lord.”
    Aster sounded far
more approachable than Azenor. He’d
done a bit of research into the lady’s family, confirming his fears—she was
from the unpredictable Dougalls, a Scots branch of the eccentric Malcolms, the
ones with all the queer alphabetical names. Aster, he could almost live with.
    Theo bowed but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the other lady’s
departure now that he had his hostess alone. Alone . She’d let her guest leave. He was relieved and anxious at
the same time.
    “I won’t trouble you with—” Reluctantly, he started to
excuse himself.
    “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