Night of a Thousand Stars by Deanna Raybourn Read Free Book Online Page B

came to believe you were one of us. They do say that blood will always tell, Poppy.”
    I gave him a look of grudging admiration. “I’m torn. I don’t know whether to be outraged that you spied upon me or flattered that you cared enough to do it.”
    His smile was wistful. “I always cared, child. I cared enough to give you a chance at an ordinary life. And if you think that wasn’t a sacrifice of my own heart’s blood, then you’re not half as clever as I think you are.”
    His eyes were oddly bright and I looked away for a moment. I looked back when he had cleared his throat and recovered himself. “I’m surprised you found me clever from my school reports. The mistresses were far more eloquent on the subject of my behaviour.”
    “No, your marks were frightful except in languages. Looking solely at those I might have been forgiven for thinking you were slightly backwards. It was those reports of your behaviour that intrigued me, particularly the modest acts of theft and arson.”
    “But those were necessary!” I protested. “I broke into the science master’s room to free the rabbits he’d bought for dissection. And the fire was only a very small one. I knew if the music mistress saw her desk on fire, she’d reveal where she’d hidden the money they accused the kitchen maid of stealing.”
    He clucked his tongue. “Impetuous. Instinctive. Audacious. These are March traits, child. We’ve been living by them for the past six hundred years. There have been epic poems written about our oddities, and more than one king of England has had cause to be grateful for them. And now you are one of us.”
    I gave a little shiver as if a goose had walked over my grave. “Rather a lot to live up to.”
    He shrugged. “I should think you would find that consoling. You have an ancestor who eloped with her footman, another who rode his horse into Parliament, a great-grandmother who used to dance with a scooped-out pumpkin on her head because she found it cool and refreshing. And those are the ones I can talk about in polite company,” he added with a twinkle. “Don’t be put off by your legacy, Poppy. Embrace it. Follow your own star, wherever it leads, child.”
    “Follow my own star,” I said slowly. “Yes, I think I will.”
    The only question was, where?
    * * *
    The next day I had my answer. I had gone to the pantry to try yet again to help George with the washing up, determinedly cheerful in the face of his resistance.
    “You will come to like me,” I promised him.
    “I have my doubts,” he replied shortly. I put out a hand to wipe a glass, and he flicked the glass cloth sharply at my fingers. “Leave that be.”
    “I could read to you while you work,” I offered. I picked up the book he had stashed on a shelf in the pantry—
Northanger Abbey
.
    I sighed. “It’s not Austen’s best, you know.”
    He snatched the book from my hand. “It’s Austen and that’s good enough for me.”
    He replaced the book lovingly on the shelf, and I took it down again. “Very well. I apologise. But why do you like it so much? Don’t you find Catherine Morland appallingly naïve?”
    “It seems to be a common failing in young ladies,” he said, giving me a dark look.
    I burst out laughing. “Oh, George. You do say the nicest things.” I flipped to where he had carefully marked his place. He had almost reached the end of the first chapter. I cleared my throat and read aloud. “‘But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty surrounding families cannot prevent her. Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her way.’”
    I looked up, giving George a thoughtful look. “Do you suppose that’s true, George? Do you think when a young lady is supposed to be a heroine, her hero will appear?”
    “Certainly,” he said, polishing an invisible spot from one of the glasses. “If Miss Austen says it, it must be true. But not all young ladies are meant to be heroines,” he added